Chronicle chronic

She starts crying. Deeply. Painfully. Shuddering sobs which grip her whole body. Her t-shirt soaks in her tears, clings onto her body, reveals the small little tummy roll, shows off her nipples. She sweats but doesn't even notice it; drips out of her hair, under her arms, between her legs. The clock silently ticks by.
17 minutes when she can't cry any more. She rolls into a ball, as if she is an embryo, tucks her elbows in beside her, crosses her feet. She has a very bad headache; she ignores it. Her eyes are very sore; she keeps them closed. She concentrates on her breathing, and it takes her quite a few minutes to get her ordinary deep breath back. She has to get her pulse down, she thinks.
30 minutes when she opens her eyes. She knows she has to think about this. So often it happens. Something probably really small got her pulse up. Most times nothing else will happen, she can get it down, be "normal". But if the second thing happens while she holds her breath after the first one, she can't stop it. She has to identify whatever gets her down, what is ruining her. Maybe later, when she's okay.
35 minutes when she takes a deep breath and sits up and puts a cushion up against the wall beside her bed, sits back against it and crosses her legs. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply and slowly in, exhaling it slowly, breathing in again. Mindfulness, she thinks. She imagines scenery, the house, the family, driving anywhere, restaurants, swimming, surf, a long, long way to the other island. She is feeling better.
43 minutes when her pulse is down. She knows that now. Not "normal", but a lot lower than it had been 43 minutes ago. She breathes in through her nose and out through her mouth, slowly, her eyes still closed, and she feels rather better.
49 minutes when she sits forward and she stretches, her arms waving gently out from her body, her t-shirt dried mostly. Her eyes still closed, and she starts the meditation with her wrists onto her knees, the gian mudra for her fingers. No more crying, now.
At 60 minutes she will be "normal".
Until the next time...

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