Reflections on Energy (part 1)

Recently, I have had more energy. It feels strange. I have some things to say about the strangeness, but maybe some context would help.

Sometime last year, when I was weaning off clonezepam and wired and tired, I suddenly felt like doing something different. I stumbled across a journal of writing prompts I'd received for Christmas. There is one prompt per page, which means you don't have much room for any single prompt.

Complete the Story

I decided to give it a shot. Here's the first prompt I attempted.

> It was that fleeting hour of day when the moon and sun are high and bright at the same time. Like many things in my life, these summer nights wouldn't last much longer. I sat quietly on a ___________

Maybe take a moment to think about what you might do with this writing prompt yourself.

When you're ready to compare... here's my story, which I'll title "The Hyperarousal Mage."

The Hyperarousal Mage

It was that fleeting hour of day when the moon and sun are high and bright at the same time. Like many things in my life, these summer nights wouldn't last much longer. I sat quietly on a rock while my insides roiled. Everyone was going about their days, sweaty and charged with that energy that impels people to burn up what is left of the summer before the long cold dark.

I wondered if I looked dead on the outside. All my energy was stuck inside me, turning on itself, finding no outlet but its own magnification and churn.

It's paralyzing to have this vortex inside. I outstretched my arms, slowly like everything. Energy should speed, but when it turns on itself, it feels like rigor mortis. Limbs have to work through the tension of a million opposing signals. Nerves are overwhelmed by electricity running both ways, all directions.

So, slowly then. My fingers spread. My eyes opened wider. I felt the earth beneath me, hard on my buttocks. Actually, part of the rock was cutting painfully into the back of my thigh. I hadn't noticed. The roiling was everything, and my flesh had a hard time getting messages through.

For a moment -- ah! -- lines straightened. I saw the briefest spark, like charged cloth finding a ground. And then, in an instant, back to the churn.

What I remember

I was in a bad place when I wrote this, but not as bad as before. It was getting easier to let life slide.

When I first picked up the prompt book, I thought that I wanted to write something lighthearted. Something stupid, like a small fantasy. But then I started writing and stuff came out. I clung to the fantasy thread. When you smash benzodiazepene withdrawal and hyperarousal together with fantasy, you get... a hyperarousal mage, I guess. I started thinking what it might feel like to take that agitation and externalize it somehow, like magic! An anxiety chain-lightning spell. Which led to this scene of a severely agitated person taking that inner charge and manifesting it -- briefly -- outside of them.

Going back and reading this helps me remember that, not too long ago, feeling energetic was indistinguishable from feeling manic. Before that, when I was "healthier", I pushed myself to be more and more intense all the time.

So now that I have a better-feeling energy, it brings a -- fear is too strong a word -- hesitation? -- around letting intensity grow too strong. It hurt me before, you know. It can hurt me again.

Epilogue

I kept up the writing prompts for three whole days. I like the second one, so I'll post it too. But for now, I will conserve my energy.