*From the Places of the Union and Bad Daimon
The following post recounts raw and dark emotional experiences that might feel too heavy or intense for some readers. Please proceed at your own discretion.
The place of isolation can become the place of revelation.— Steven Furtick
The walls of our darkened room are spinning. Faint patterns and small otherworldly-looking creatures are sprawled across the ceiling and I stare, trying to remember where (or sometimes who) I am. The visual sensation is often similar to pressing your fingers onto your closed eyelids which produces black and white vibrating patterns of dots. At best, my exhaustion has carried me to a state of trance-like awareness. At worst, I’m just delirious.
L’s breathy moans and outreached arms call for me above the sound of ocean waves playing from the white noise machine, and I prop onto my knees to pick him up to switch sides of the bed with him, offering him the other breast. On a good night we do this three to four times. There are about three good nights for every five hard nights which demand that I rise from the dead from as little as eight times to as much as every thirty minutes (or less). The worst nights have been answering the cries at every 10 minutes.Read More