Betty Is A Bombshell

I’ve been told it isn’t good to pick favorites - but this is my favorite creation of the story so far. Continuing on the naked vulnerability path - Betty came to me while trying to explain the build up to a panic attack to a friend who asked if I know when they’re coming. “Can you tell if you’re going to lose it? Do you have time to prepare?” she asked.

After the attacks started happening at school towards the end of high school, I didn’t shy away from talking about it when asked. Classmates would see me start to tremble in my seat, and observe as I left the room clenching my fists. They only came about during a couple classes, and there was an unspoken respect afforded to me from the teachers and students who would watch me leave and return 20, 30, or even 59 minutes later with red cheeks and sunken shoulders. We unanimously, silently, agreed it was better I go deal with it, in the rest room, walking on the track, or in the white noise of the kiln room, than letting the tremors and tears fall in the back of the classroom.

“You know on the 4th of July when you’re lighting fireworks, and the time between lighting the fuse and the big show? The big breath while you wait for the fuse to burn through?” I asked - and she nodded allowing me to continue: “I can tell when I am not at all combustible - when even if something is uncomfortable - its not the kind of discomfort that concerns me… And I can tell when its possible - when a discussion transitions into something I haven’t settled in my heart, when I start to notice too many things happening around me and can’t grab onto just one - I can hear the clock ticking, and see the light flickering, and smell someones pretzels, and feel the hum of the air conditioner through the floor… When I’m there, I know that I’m combustible, but it takes a spark…

When I get that hyper aware, I know that it takes only a loud noise, or a fast change of light, or being asked if I’m okay. But when that thing happens - I don’t really have the time to reverse. Just boom - the fuse can’t be put out because the show has already started.” She sat for a minute before asking “has it gotten any better?”

“It has” I said with a smile - “Being able to walk away, or drive away, or leave the party early - freedom… has made it better, I can avoid the things that set me off now that I’ve paid attention to what they are - and sometimes I confront them” as I explained I that am terrified of dogs barking.

“I was on a run, tired of avoiding the most convenient path back to my house because of the dog in the yard, so I ran to the dog, and stood across the street and just let it bark at me. I could feel my heart rate increasing, and my ears start to ring - so I just told the dog what I wanted to hear: ‘you’re fine, you have a family, no one is bothering you, the sky looks really nice today.” The dog didn’t stop barking, but saying it over an over again, aloud, silenced the ringing, calmed the pounding of my chest, and now when dogs bark I just talk to them like they’re me - just wanting to be heard”

As Betty’s headless body populated the canvas, I wondered what, if anything, is my head? It is always so full, and loud, and excited. It is on the verge of breaking through, and breaking down. It is powerful - and so came the memory of a Grouplove song “Betty’s a Bombshell” about two youngsters on a guitar mused holiday.

While normally a ‘bombshell’ is indicative of an irresistible, buxom beauty - Grouplove wrote Betty a promise:

“And it's okay // All the suffering obliterates our speed // But don't you wait // For the faster you let go you will receive // What you need…” they sing to her.

Cocooning her in bright red reverberating lines between chambers of black, I gave Betty (and myself) the space to be combustible because it is part of us. But like Grouplove told us, the faster we let the pent up pressure go, the closer we are to feeling the sun touch our skin, and feeling even momentary bliss. As time wears on, although the combustible moments come and go, the content times come increasingly often because I make time to seek out bliss instead of expect and accept inflammation.

I have unsubscribed from World News email updates, and stopped watching TV. I have started listening to music I like, and stopped finding myself in places that play music I do not. I have made a point of waking up for the sunrise, and sitting on rooftops to watch it set. And when I feel the tremors coming, I find a quiet place, and let them come until they’ve run their course - aware that they will eventually stop.