Love by Cathrine Lodoen
It’s early and it’s bright. I wipe the sleep I could not find from my eyes as I look out the tiny airplane window. From up here it all seems so easy. Life. From up here it all seems so small and manageable. Life. From up here it all seems so overwhelmingly large and beautiful. I do not want to land. I just want to stay up here, holding his hand. Life.
We did not sleep much last night. We were celebrating. Our wedding. Our union. Our life together. After just a few hours, we had to leave for the airport. Bright and early, holding hands.
We managed a short nap. We had smiles plastered on our faces.
As we step off the plane, I scream. No one hears, because I am silent. No one sees, because they are blind. There is nothing but pain and fear, and yet no one knows.
It is 1996. It is beyond hot. A heat wave has hit Greece. The worst in over half a century. Our timing is horrendous.
We do not belong here.
We should not be here.
Yet we are.
It is our honeymoon. I am here with my love. He is a good man. He is kind and gentle. He makes me happy. I have no doubts about him. None at all. All would be well if it were not for the fact that two weeks prior I entered the land of anxiety and panic attacks. Slipped right in. Slipped right under. Beneath. Life. Lost.
Undiscovered and unknown lands.
Ignorance is bliss.
All would be well. All could be well. All should be well. It is not. Pain and fear. I scream. Silently, I scream. No one hears. No one sees.
We take a bus to the hotel and I feel overwhelmingly dizzy. Unwell. Diseased. I step out and off the bus. He catches me as I fall. We enter a hotel. No air conditioning. I can’t breathe. Our view is a construction site. Daytime is scorching. You have to spend it in the ocean. You have to stay afloat. At night you have no chance of reaching the land of sleep before 2 am, due to the heat. Construction work starts bright and early at 6 am. I can not sleep. I can not breathe.
It is too hot to eat. I am starving, yet I do not notice.
My heart beats.
It beats.
I ask him, “Do you hear it beating?”
“Listen to my heart beat.”
He holds my hand. He helps me sleep. He counts the beats so that I can rest.
Good morning.
I do not belong here.
I should not be here.
Yet I am.
Good days and bad.
Sickness and health.
Honeymoon.
I do.
Forever.
On the second day I have a full fledged panic attack. As cliché as it sounds, I think I am dying. Let me go.
He puts his arms around me. Pulls me back in. He tells me he is there. He tells me to stay. It’s not a question. He knows I am not able to answer. I can barely hear; I can barely see. He can. He does. He hears my scream. He sees my fear and pain.
He continues to hear, see and do. He does so for years. He still does. He is there as I work my way out of hell. He never hesitates as I scratch and scream. As I crawl my way out.
He is there. Every step.
Putting his needs aside.
Putting himself on hold.
As he holds me.
He takes me to doctors and shrinks.
He listens when I need to vent about them.
He shakes his head. He nods.
He helps me breathe, sleep and eat.
I am, thanks to him.
Most importantly, he holds my hand and tells me what I need to hear, when I need to hear it. Tells me what I need to hear when I do not want him to. He is brave.
“Don’t. No. It’s not true”.
I do not belong here.
I should not be here.
Yet, somehow I am.
“You need to face this, love”.
“You need to grow and breathe and be, my love”.
“All will be ok.”
Love.
He does not let me fade, he does not let me slip away.
He does not let me slip completely under. Beneath.
I am not lost. Life.
His love breathes life back into my fractured self.
I am whole and alive.
Through good days and bad.
Sickness and health.
I do.
He does.
Forever.
Love.
He is.
I am.
I ask him, “Are you tired?”
“You look so tired, dear”.
He reaches over and nods. Then adds, “It’s worth it. It’s so very worth it. Look at you. You are alive, my love.”
“You are.”
I belong here.
I should be here.
I am.
Thank you, my Love!
Thank you.
