“What is it?”
She didn’t hear me coming in. Absorbed in her thoughts, inventing a world of her own, indulging her wild imagination, she is not able to discern the real world from the one she is creating within herself. The panic in her eyes is unsettling, yet she cannot move. Paralyzed by her own fear, she grips the edge of the bed, as if she were aboard a turbulent boat, bracing herself for the inevitable tumble into untamed waters. She has been facing that window for hours. I left the room at nine this morning. It is now midday . Her eyes closed and her pale skin exposed to the light, she let herself become a statue, immobile. The train of thoughts running through her mind is too exhausting. Ordering her body to move would be too much. The doctor explained it to me after an intense episode where I thought I was going to lose her. She had transformed into another human being after sitting by herself for hours, staring at a wall.
Now that I am present, she cannot return to this state. Her capacity to dive within herself and stiffen to the lower depths of her soul can only be triggered by silence and loneliness. In the warmth of the room, brightened by the sun, I woke her up from her nightmares and free her from her demons.
“Nothing, sweetheart. It’s just me.”
Eyes closed, Demons – Western Motel by Edward Hopper
“What is it?”