Spacesuit

The glow of the street lights filtered through the drapes, illuminating the bedroom. I watched his chest rise and fall, slower and slower, until he settled into a peaceful rhythm.

There is something so serene, so supremely peaceful about watching those you love the most sleep soundly. My husband was now well on his way to dreamland beside me, and my dog was curled up on his bed on the floor.

My mind hadn’t quite quieted down enough to achieve the state of rest I sought. Although I had a good day, my mind was pulling thoughts from both the past and future for me to ruminate on. I went back and forth between them until they were so intertwined it resembled a ball made of rubber bands.

I let out a long exhale, concentrating on my breath. Placing my hands on my belly, I felt it expand on each inhale and contract with each exhale. Slowly, I began to feel myself drifting off.

Suddenly, I found myself on another planet.

I looked around. The room I was in was made of glass. It was dark outside, and the ground was dusty. Obviously in this twilight dream I had figured out oxygen, as I breathed freely within the confines of the translucent structure. 

Sitting on the ground, I was clutching my spacesuit. Beside me I had thread and yellow tape, and as I looked at the suit, I noticed all the spots I had mended. I ran my fingers over my bumpy sewing and poor patch jobs, and that’s when I realized I was filled with fear.

I had to keep this suit perfect. After all, I was in space, and it was my only safety from the outside world. If I went outside with a tear in it, that could cost me everything.The only way to continue living was if I obsessively checked the suit for rips.

At that moment, I had a crack. A zigzag pattern expanded across the glass wall as I grabbed glue off a table and ran towards it. Still clenching my suit, I smeared the glue across the wall as best I could, but it seemed no matter how much I put on, the crack continued.

I looked down at my hands and gasped as I watched the suit disintegrate. The more tape I applied, the more it ripped. It was as if it had transformed into delicate lace, falling apart with just a touch. Every time I looked at the glass, the crack had grown. My terror grew as I worked tirelessly between mending my suit and keeping the wall from breaking.

I was frantic now as I realized there was nothing else I could do.

All I could do was watch. 

BAM!

My eyes shot open.

The room was quiet. 

I was back on earth, under the comforter. 

Though my disintegrating suit and imploding room didn’t seem so far away. In fact, I realized they were still here.

I had become obsessive about my health over these past ten months. So worried about every new symptom, I stopped leaving the house for fear I wouldn’t feel well while away from the safety of home. Communications with friends lessened as I feared I had nothing to contribute, mostly because all I thought about was how unwell I felt. 

I began to convince myself that I was only safe at home. That if I just stayed here, I would be okay. I started to imagine myself in bubble wrap. As long as I didn’t go anywhere or do anything, I would be okay.

How long did I think I could keep this up for? Was I going to stay at home until I was ninety? At some point was there going to be a banner that fell out of the sky that read “You did it! You kept yourself safe until you were too old to walk!” Was I going to completely write the rest of the world off in order to feel protected?

I’m still not sure what’s going on with me, but I do know that I’ve created a safe cocoon for myself. Sure, everyone wants to feel comfort on their bad days, but I had taken it to an extreme. I had created an environment where my symptoms were magnified the second I left that cocoon, and because of that, I stopped experiencing the world. 

The worst thing I can think of is reaching old age and realizing I had left my life unlived. 

So, my spacesuit is gone. The crack in the wall has run its course. 

It’s time to see the world.