Thursday, August 03, 2017

Blue poles

I’ve had a few rubbery moments of acute distress and I’ve noticed a new Mikey-response to overwhelming grief and that’s my need to hug something. The first time it happened—I was worried I’d made a mistake in an important career-defining email (I had)—I found myself hugging the wall between the corridor and the bathroom. I was hanging onto it because I was so overwhelmed in that moment I felt like I’d fall off a mountain and hugging the wall between corridor and room would prevent it.

On an angry cry tricycle ride it happened again—the impulse to hug something when in acute distress—and I nearly hopped off the bike to embrace a pine tree trunk. But I fought it and kept riding and cry-yelling up the bike path.

Last night it was inflicted on the new stand-up punching bag which has a circumference similar to a skinny human. I hugged long and held it tight as grief ate my feet, tripping me to vertigo.

I realised it was a reverse Temple Grandin hug machine—her machine hugs you—and I was seeking a physical anchor against the impact of deep grief for when energy is sucked from your limbs or when you’re so overwhelmed it throws off your sense of balance and you collapse.

Well, whatever gets you through the moment I suppose. And if it's hugging random pole-like vertical bodies to avoid becoming a grief puddle then I say grip on. 

I look forward to the variety of things I may future hug when limb-robbing grief comes calling.

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