Un-Calculated Risk

“Are you okay to present next?” She asks. I suddenly become aware of the eyes on me. This is how I’ve best understood the cumulative effect of things. One person glancing my way is no problem. Two, and I start to feel a little uneasy. Fourteen makes it hard to breathe.

I nod, swiftly moving my head up and down in that vertical motion I’ve grown all too familiar with. That’s the first thing they see, it distracts them from my eyes, which tend to always scream no. I often think how different things would be if my eyes had a body of their own; they’d shake their head relentlessly and phrases like ‘yes’, ‘sure’, ‘no problem’ and ‘I’m fine’ would become obsolete in my vocabulary. 

I stand up and walk towards the front of the room, plug my USB stick into the computer, and start to speak. I’m very aware of the sound of my voice, of the inconsistency of my tone. I’m speaking, but what comes out sounds like a low powered fan, slowing down and speeding up at random. My voice feels clouded, it doesn’t feel like it’s coming from inside me, just feels like something I’m enabling, like when you turn a switch on and off or when you slap the batteries in your t.v. remote in hopes that it will work again. 

I know I’ve written out what I’m saying beforehand. I know I’ve constructed those sentences with accuracy and precision, but as I say them now they make no sense to me. My words are almost inaudible. I look forward and am met by a few nods and smiles, even a validating thumbs up. At least they understand what I’m saying. I wish I could hear what they hear.

I know the temperature is unaltered but I feel colder.

And the water that once caressed my body is now piercing it.

And my arms and legs refuse to carry me upwards like they always used to.

———

I take a calculated risk, and put my music on shuffle. My earphones feel secure in my ears and the frequency of my steps accelerates, as if that will help. Sometimes I feel like I need to be in a controlled environment, one where the playlist I listen to has been carefully selected, one that does not give way to thoughts that tug on my windpipe.

‘Summer’, by Calvin Harris, begins to play, in a sound that’s clearer than my voice will ever be. For a minute I’m almost happy, relieved even. That tune is bright and energetic, it reminds me of long drives where I lay in the backseat and daydreamed. It reminds me of possibility and running and laughing. All of these emotions grow stronger with every beat, I can remember the sound of me laughing and I can feel the pleasant burning in the inside of my cheeks caused by smiling too much. 

But someone runs past me and I lose it. It’s probably just someone late for a lecture or a meeting, speeding down the pathway. It’s just someone short of time, they definitely didn’t mean to startle you, I tell myself. They definitely didn’t mean to disrupt your thoughts or make you feel less at ease, I say, again. The music continues to play. I’m not adjusting the volume but it seems to get louder, too loud for me to make out the words anymore. I can’t identify the consistency in the rhythm anymore, nor can I appreciate the skillful repetition. It sounds blurry, like when your glasses steam up after you enter a room. You know what lies in front but you just can’t see it anymore.

Something about my ability to hear feels clogged up. It’s like the urgency has forced my brain to prioritize other senses, switching this one momentarily off. So my ears just wait patiently for reception, trying unsuccessfully to not be too phased by the static. 

I couldn’t hear anything anymore.

And that made me feel like I wasn’t really there anymore.

And I wanted to give in to not hearing anything but the truth is I still heard this muffled static.

———

“If you could choose one song to describe yourself what would it be?”

Everyone pauses for a minute to think, even if the question wasn’t directed at them. 

I’m sat cross legged on the carpet. I occasionally run my hand up and down my leg in an attempt to generate warmth. The radiator is switched on but we’ve left the window open for some ventilation. It’s not open all the way, so I only occasionally feel the night breeze brush against me. At first it caused me to flinch a little every time, but I’ve now learnt to expect it. I almost find it calming when it does hit me, in a consistent, repetitive motion. The denim in my jeans feels soft against my palm.

“Radioactive. By Imagine Dragons.” I hear someone say. I recognize the voice immediately. 

“Oh really? Why?” He pauses again before answering.

“I don’t know it just kind of speaks to me I guess. It’s sort of about persevering through and I like the beat and the emotion conveyed in it.” Tom responds, in an enthusiastic yet calm manner.

His tone is not too different to when he is asked a question in a seminar. He always pauses before speaking, as if he likes to take his time, the answer is usually always genuine and coherent. He thinks on the spot, with a kind of ease I find impossible to attain.

“Words” I whisper to myself.

I speak clearly but my voice is only audible to me. They’ve turned the music back up and people have begun conversing again.

“Words. By Skylar Grey.” I say again, louder, clearer.

I find that the lyrics in the chorus really resonate with me, you know when you hear something that hits home?

“It’s so loud inside my head with words that I should have said”

I feel that constantly. But lately I’ve begun to think that maybe that’s how it’s meant to be.

And that maybe there’s a reason a lot of the conversations I have are all just in my mind. 

I had tried to scream for help but that was a mistake.

Because the water just poured into my throat.

And I was spiraling in an accelerating downward motion.

And I tried to close my eyes or just look away but I couldn’t.

I try to mark it, every time I remember, every time it hurts or scares me or momentarily paralyzes me. I think about recording it on my hand, a tally mark etched in black ink, to record that I’m going through something. It’s not like that will make others understand, but maybe this is about me understanding. 

I look around. My eyes slowly begin to circle the room, observing everyone as they chat. I’m starting to feel like I’m not here and I’m starting to like that. 

For the hundredth time I think about asking for help, and play out an imaginary conversation in my mind.

“Hey how’s it going?” They’d say. 

“Ummm not too great to be honest. I just haven’t been able to sleep properly in a while and the work’s just piling on.” I’d reply, looking down. 

“Oh no! I’m sorry to hear. Is everything okay? Why can’t you sleep?” They’ll respond. 

“I just went through something a while back. It’s really nothing but it’s just kind of been affecting me since then. Like it’s not a big deal but I’m just kind of phased by it.” I’ll attempt to explain. 

“Damn that sounds rough, do you wanna talk about it?” They’ll ask. 

I think about my facial expression and about theirs. I imagine being met with concern, and I imagine the comfort in that. 

“Hey!” I hear Tom say, who is now stood in front of me. How long was I gone for? 

“Hey.” I reply. I didn’t have time to compose myself and he looked into my eyes before I could instruct them into a stoic pose. I brush my hair away from my face, as if to distract him, fearing he’s seen what I’m really feeling. 

“How are you?” I say, almost flustered.

“I’m good”. He replies- calm, composed, friendly. He smiles, with a hint of concern. I wonder if that’s the result of what he saw in my expression earlier. Or maybe he can see the dark circles under my eyes, unhidden by the concealer I swiftly applied this morning. Maybe he’ll ask me if I’m okay and I’ll say no. Maybe he’ll tell me what to do, thinking on the spot as he always does, unlike me who pre-plans most conversations she has. 

Maybe I’ll feel like I’m being lifted from the water.

“Are you okay?” He asks. The words almost shock me. “You look a little tired.” He adds.

I’m lost for words. Just say you’re not. I think to myself. Just say it. Just say it and it’ll be over. I pause. I can’t. I feel my vision blur and my voice feels coarse even as I prepare to speak.

So I blink, and look down, and nod. 

———

I was on the swim team for years.

I had perfected most strokes- freestyle, backstroke, butterfly. 

I could do them in my sleep. 

I practiced most days, recorded my lap speed, marked it on a chart above my bed. 

My body positioned itself elegantly, immersed in the water, yet gliding through it gracefully. 

I knew what I was doing.

———

Happiness is about the chemicals released in my brain. I remember reading about studies explaining these chemicals, like the hormone dopamine. I remember in particular a study explaining that we may release more dopamine in the anticipation of an event than during the actual said desired event. 

I never checked the source. But maybe that’s why I only crave comfort and help, as opposed to asking for it. Maybe the comfort I really need is something I can only attain from anticipating it. That’s why my words are always only in my head. It’s not like someone can actually save me from my thoughts. Reality will only disappoint me.

So I like the illusion of thinking I have the option to one day say that I’m not okay.

Even if I never do.

But that day everything had felt too heavy.

And I had started to doubt if I could ever really even swim.

And I started to think that I never could.

And as I did I had started to sink.

And no one could hear me scream.

Because I wasn’t really screaming.

And I was alone.

And I don’t know how I made it out.

But the struggle lasted a while. 

I wish I wasn’t alone.

I’m finished with lectures for the day so I can go home now. My books are beginning to feel very heavy, clutched in my arms, and I need to sit down somewhere so I can put them back into my backpack. 

Someone runs past me. They weren’t running they were just walking briskly to make way for the line of students. I tell myself, as I look back.

It’s Tom.

“Hey!” I say. Loud. Clear.

“Hey.” He replies, smiling politely.

“Sorry, didn’t quite see you there! Are you heading home?”

“Yeah.” I replied. I’m smiling. Why the hell am I smiling?

“Ah cool. I’ve got a late seminar so I’m just heading to the library. I’ll catch you tomorrow for that 9 am?” He asks.

“Yeah of course.” I say, having almost forgotten I have a lecture tomorrow.

He walks away. 

Something inside me had lifted for a bit during that conversation. I couldn’t quite return back to thinking about how dopamine lies in the anticipation and how I just needed to keep up this system of anticipating so I’m never disappointed and how that is the safe and logical thing to do.

Something builds up inside my throat. 

I can feel the static in my ears.

“Tom.” I call out. I’m unsure if it was just a whisper or if those words were clear. 

He hears me. He turns around.

My heart skips a beat. 

“Do you mind if I join?”