Home, at night. Poppy playing in her bath. I feel a whirring fan in my chest start to slow, ease off, fall silent. I can hear something other than the blood rushing in my in my ears, the screaming fear. There’s such peace here, in the quiet house at the end of the day. I move about, cleaning and sorting, ear finely tuned to the sound of play, coming past the bath every few moments to check on her. Behind the sounds of laughter and splashing is a silence that speaks to me like nothing else in my world.
I am reminded of living alone for the first time at 23. So lonely and so afraid of solitude, when I would return to my caravan I would find not terror, but peace. The silence would sing to me, vibrate with a kind of resonance. Each time I returned I would find only relief that the nightmare was not real. Being alone was not more lonely, only more peaceful.
Rose is out of the ED and back in the psych facility again. It seems these terrible bouts of vomiting and high blood pressure are part of her current breakdown. No physical cause could be found. It’s an intense stress response if that’s what it is.
I remain deeply worried about her and about my capacity to care for her as well as Poppy. I have never cared for more than one person at a time before. Even in the worst of Star’s eating disorder treatment, I could leave Poppy with Rose knowing they were both safe and well nurtured. I often feel very afraid and overwhelmed by the task before me.
I don’t know how we will get through this. But right now, everyone is safe. The house is at peace. My tasks are simple ones, food, cleaning, cuddles, play, sleep. Nothing has been broken past healing or ruined beyond reconciliation. We are not alone.