Five Things I Can See

Five things I can see.

The breeze left its brushstrokes along the gently billowing sails of the charter. It painted their divots with shadows of dark blues from the sea and highlighted their convexities with bright whites from the midday sun. The boat sailed along with ease and with no great haste, making its way to the end of the world, where the sky meets the ocean. Several dolphins in a pod danced off to the left of the journeying sailboat. The brightness of the day was cause for squinting, even more so as it reflected off the white sand. Trees on shore swayed casually side to side, dancing to the lullaby of the wind and waves.

Four things I can feel.

Coarse sand, the remains of once complete and beautiful shells, scraped against my skin as I rubbed handfuls of it between my uncalloused palms. Hot rays traveled down to leave kisses of heat and shines of pink along my sun-parched skin, provoking a thin sheen of sweat upon my brow, lip, chest, and shoulders. The cool ocean played tag with my feet as it retreated only to come running back up to soothe my scorched skin, again and again. The wind rustled my slightly salted hair out of place and let it down to rest again in a new position.

Three things I can hear.

The sound of the softly whipping wind merged with the songs of seagulls and with the lapping of small waves waxing and waning in unison, in compliance with their mistress, the moon.

Two things I can smell.

The scent of creatures living below the depths filled my nose, fish I cannot see but know are there. The salty ocean air accentuated their musk, a smell I know would surely linger on my person long after I left.

One thing I can taste.

My tongue was dry and rough with the taste of salt, as commonly accompanies a day purveying the vast expanse of endless, blue ocean.

I inhaled slowly, breathing deeply. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. The exhale followed, slowly again, and I attempted to relax my muscles at each count. One. Two. Three. Four. Five. On five I opened my eyes to find myself in the same place I had been before, in a busy park sitting on the first empty bench I could find when the panic attack began.

The grounding method was a common one used for panic attacks, using the five senses to bring yourself back to reality, to make you realize that you are okay, physically at least. Name five things you can see, four things you can feel, three things you can hear, two things you can smell, and one thing you can taste. It helps with the derealization of attacks and works to change your perception of danger. Only, I did not long to go back to reality when in the midst of my panic attacks. Reality was not the place that calmed and eased my mind and body. And so, my version of the method took me to a place I felt most at peace, where I could forget all the troubles of the world and linger in a place of true serenity. A lonely beach shore, where I can see a sailboat trailing toward the horizon, feel the sun warm my skin and the sand in my hands, let the sounds of seagulls and waves keep me company, smell the teeming life of the ocean, and taste salt on the tip of my tongue. This is where I longed to be, where I felt happy, where I chose to go in my darkest moments.

The longer I watched the boat sail farther and farther away, the calmer I felt, until at last it was merely an inconspicuous spec on the edge of the Earth, this small thing that shrunk to nothing, and with it shrunk my panic to nothing.

It was the one thing I had found that worked, and so I visited the place often. Two, three times a week, maybe.

I ventured out of my bubble to peer at the people bustling about around me. There were joggers, some casual, some in serious training mode, with watches that tracked each step and the form of a marathon runner. There were moms pushing their babies in strollers along the paved sidewalk that intertwined between greenery and open fields where yoga groups switched between poses. There were rushed businessmen and women, in suits, ties, heels, hurrying along as they cut through the park to get to their next business meeting or whatever it is they did at this time.

Interesting, I thought, how the whole world around me could be so completely unaware of what had happened in my mind and body just then. Nobody knew I had fallen into a terrifying, hopeless abyss and managed to climb my way, with bloodied hands and heart, out of it.

My mind has a way of making me feel more alone than I really am, I have to remember that. I sit and watch these people, judging what I see as their “perfect” lives that must be unproblematic, unriddled with mental illness, and yet, I know I must remind myself that I truly have no idea what is going on beneath the superficial exterior of those around me. Any one of these people could be fighting battles I know nothing about. Yoga posing against anxiety, trying to run their way out of depression, taking their baby to the park to battle the imposter syndrome of being a new mom, or having a panic attack on a park bench while to others it simply looks like you’re sitting, taking a moment to yourself.

We are all just people, living, learning, and fighting our own battles every day. All I can do is hope that they, too, will find their little boat, sailing away and taking their worries and hardships with it, if only in their imagination.