1 (the scariest number)

The freight train rolls up my ribs, its inexorable progression through my lungs making air too heavy to suck up. They would only feed the fire. The slow rotation grows in repetition, over and over, fighting the slope, finding purchase in my throat. I can’t breathe at all, and the roar of the wind in my ears feels like the scream of the engine car rolling over my outflung hair. It can’t reach my mind, my head, or I’m dead, I think—no—I feel, for such orderly progressions such as thought are too far out, like a bridge to safety in the hazy horizon.

My body is still, ruffled by the wind, goose-bumps too ingrained and subconscious to be gouged out; it feels like a storm is coming, but in reality, it’s only the tumult I feel inside. It’s strange to be aware of a dual reality, the girl inside the terror, and the awareness of the terror as only a part, as if I am both on the tracks and riding down them.

Okay, well, that was fun. Ever feel so overwhelmed that you couldn’t think, couldn’t move, couldn’t speak? Well. That’s what I’m trying to avoid again.

This past Sunday I went to a friend’s church, and the pastor talked about vulnerability. I love and loathe this word—it fills me with a palpable sense of dread and revulsion, and yet I am so attracted to it. Its steady use of liquids to break up the train of affricates and stops… there’s just something about it. That’s where this crap-a-dingle comes in.

I know that being open (too open) is all the rage nowadays, especially in circles of shall we say, younger (whether chronologically or developmentally) peoples… But this isn’t really that (I devoutly hope). It’s more of… an experiment. Can being more open be better? Can I avoid the hard casing of protection that I feel even now advancing against the soft tissues of my heart? Can Jesus love a weak, struggling college student such as myself? Can people I love love me, even after reading this?

Until Easter (the lent season, minus the already gone days) I plan on writing on here—it can be a full blown rant, or just a sentence—or even a word. All of it is meant to be open (as I possibly can; sorry, no Freudian-type interview transcriptions). I believe that vulnerability takes great courage—and I hope to encourage it in myself, and others.

So yes—the above isn’t a random mash up of ideas—it was just the best way I knew to describe how I felt last Thursday afternoon. And saying that scares me. But I know… I choose to know… that I am not the only one.