“Yeah,
so this is the park. Prospect park. Jackson and I would walk the
puppies here every day in the winter!”
“Oh
that’s… nice, yeah...nice.”
“You’re
doing great, you know.”
“Yeah,
I’m ok...”
“You
know, we can go back at any point. You’re doing great.”
“Thanks…”
“Yeah,
so there’s a market here sometimes on the weekend.”
“Yeah…”
“This
part is the Brooklyn Mus--”
“I’m
sorry, I can’t do this.”
“Well, we can’t
cross the street here. Just a block from the streetlight.”
“I’m
gonna pass out.”
“Even
if you faint, I’ll catch you. You got this.”
“Yeah
I can’t do this I’m... sorry.”
“It’s
ok, we’re almost there.”
“I
can breathe? I can breathe? I can breathe. I think?”
“How’s
this street?”
“A
lot better. Ok.”
“Awesome,
you got this.”
“Thanks…
ok, yeah I can definitely breathe. Alright… Well, so do you
have any friends who live around here?”
“Yeah
a bunch! Jesse’s two blocks that way on Park Place…”
*
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Upon
reflection (literally, in the windows of Konditori coffee shop on
Washington Avenue), an epiphany strikes me. Or perhaps a cluster of
dust ejected from a passing motorbike. In any case, I unearth my
phone notes to add some thoughts, digits lathered in sweat.
Do
you know how unnatural all of this is? To walk around between tall
buildings? And eat lunch in these open, crowded plazas? That is just
opposite to all our human instincts. As a mammalian species, homo
sapiens requires the freedom to run around and coexist with other
animals and hide amid shelter. Not to be exposed in all these open
spaces, away from protection, leaves, caverns. Why do you think that
humans prefer sleeping under blankets, even in warm temperatures? And
they say I’m the one that needs recalibrating.
I
happen upon a giant gated park on St. Mark’s with blue turf, an
artificial ocean. Zero small compartments nearby; no awnings to
crouch under if my face starts feeling numb. Ah, a self-fulfilling
prophecy.
Yeah,
seriously. “This modern world is what invented SSRIs and
allowed you to take them!” Well you know what else the modern
world did? Give me the stupid panic attacks in the first place. It’s
like saying “you need to go to school to get money,” but,
in fact, you need money to go to school. Or telling someone,“social
media will support you as a victim of bullying” when social
media is the platform through which your advisee is being harassed.
Well,
this crosswalk feels a bit better.
Seriously,
why have folks voluntarily established roots here? Amidst neon lights
and hoards of people? Can you imagine? My nervous system perceives
all this stimulation and responds, “THREAT, THREAT, THREAT.”
And life’s just too short to subject myself to this.
*
* * * * * * * * * * *
“Well,
I
thought of something that might help you.”
“Yeah?”
“You
can go to
my massage therapist! I booked you a session!”
“Woah, really?
Wait, that's so nice.”
“Yeah,
she’s
been really helpful to me.”
“Thank
you so
much.”
“She’s
very special, you know.”
“What
time
will it be?”
“11 tomorrow.
I’ll have a voice lesson so I’ll be out of the house
anyways.”
*
* * * * * * * * * * * *
5
AM and my eyes jolt open. I heave, out falls a sigh.
I
Google Map the appointment distance, street view and all. An eight
minute walk. Through the crystal ball (or shall I say, rectangle) of
my computer screen, I eye some wide streets that might call for a
quasi-child-pose on the sidewalk. Like what happened on 57th the
other night. Not a ton of storefronts I can enter en route, either.
I
flip through my workbook. Exposure does not mean you won’t
feel uncomfortable; rather, you learn to tolerate the discomfort so
that it does not affect your life. Your values, not your anxiety,
takes the driver's seat.
Where
does the time go? I flop down the stairs of the apartment building.
Feet meet street.
If
I need to fold my appendages like origami into a fetal position,
maybe the small convenience shop here could serve as a safe spot?
No,
no. Remember. You do not escape. You learn to tolerate. It’s
an eight minute walk! That’s the time spent posting two measly
ads on Craigslist. Let’s do this.
To
my left: an apparent bundle of rubies, like a heart-sized whirlpool.
Craning my head upwards, I spot a fire escape that matches -- maybe
mocks? -- the flower’s vibrant shade.
*
* * * * * * * * * * *
“Hi,
it’s so lovely to meet you.”
“Oh
thank you, you too! I’ve heard you do wonders for people.”
“Well,
tell me a little about what’s going on.”
“Ever
since I was a young teenager, I get these… panic episodes, if
that’s what you want to call them.”
“How
often?”
“Well,
it depends on the period of my life. But this past year, for whatever
reason, it’s at least once a day. When I’m in crowded
places usually. Or just away from home.”
“Describe
one of these moments for me?”
“Uhh
well… like when I first got to the city on a train. Penn
station.”
“And
what happened?”
“I
just… Well, I collapsed, and felt my throat closing and I
dropped all my luggage in the station. And I started pacing then
curled over.”
“Into
a protective shell.”
“Yes,
exactly.”
“Well,
the beauty of time is, it’s all an illusion. So let’s go
back to that moment together.”
“Uhhh….
ok , yeah.”
“We’re
in that moment now, together. So tell yourself, the self sweating in
Penn station, what you want her to know. Because she never left you.
She’s still you.”
“Uhh..
I guess I would say. You can stand up. It’s ok. There is no
threat.”
“Very
good.”
“Nothing
you
are experiencing is dangerous. You can stand up tall and still
breathe even if it doesn’t feel like it, and you’ll get
to where you’re going.”
“Good.
And just let me add. Talk to your anxiety.”
“There
is no imminent danger --”
“Really,
really, talk to her. And welcome her. Let her sit
with you.
Don’t just accept her for what she is. Don’t just not
push her away. Embrace her. Welcome everything”
*
* * * * * * * * * * *
Welcome
everything. Welcome the physical symptoms and the dread. If Eastern
medicine and Western cognitive behavioral therapy overlap in one
teaching it would be that axiom: cease resisting that which you do
not desire. My weeks spent in Brooklyn have reinforced this
principle, if only anecdotally. After all, whenever I Google
“apartment prospect heights NOT shared,” the results
exclusively display roommate-requiring spaces.
*
* * * * * * * * * * * *
Down
Vanderbilt Avenue, a tree-lined midway separates street sides like
two cranial hemispheres. In that case, passersby and I serve as
neurons. In fact, we each may or may not have consciousness of one
another, yet nonetheless we collaborate, interacting to produce a
greater aggregate energy. By this analogy, what would be the nervous
system? The internet? Surely. It does seem to be a repository of, and
network for, the information that we pedestrians accumulate. Brooklyn
itself acts as the human body.
A
gaggle of cars migrates down the street; spray paint decorates brick
storefronts like sunshine and dew; lizard-color chairs bask atop the
concrete.
Who
was I to deem these surroundings “unnatural”? I can never
escape nature, after all. Beavers build dams, ants create mounds, and
likewise, I’m experiencing a human environment in the flesh
right now.
Even
these three-story cubes (windows, doors, and all) display symmetry --
practically screaming “cosmos.” The organization of
nature. I can’t say that the same orderliness governs my
physical appearance, let alone my prose.
*
* * * * * * * * * * *
Marching
back to the apartment, I pause below a kaleidoscope of glass boxes.
Grabbing my phone: Brooklyn motto. Scroll, scroll,
scroll. Ah:
“Unity Makes Strength.”
Well,
it’s true.
Unity
makes strength: neurons collectively eliciting a sympathetic nervous
system
response
in my organs.
Unity
makes strength: millions of New Yorkers constituting a powerful
consumer
market.
Unity
makes strength: a sister and therapist providing moral support as I
venture out in public.
And
unity makes strength: three million members of the homo sapiens
species, constructing a habitat between the Hudson river and Atlantic
ocean. A habitat that extends towards the heavens, emitting energy,
smoke, and light into the ether.
Unity
makes strength.
Zandi Eberstadt is an undergraduate student of Cognitive
Science Linguistics at Johns Hopkins University. Her interests
include phonology and neurolinguistics.
(Unless
you
type
the
author's name
in
the subject
line
of the message
we
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