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"Take a slow, deep breath. In through the nose… out through the mouth… "
The voice played from his phone speaker on the bedside table. He kept still, following the voice, while thoughts tried to clog his mind. Eyes closed, hands still, but still making the mental effort to push the images and voices away. Or at least he tried.
"Just focus on the natural flow of your breath, don't try to change it, just let it flow… in through the nose… out through the mouth…"
What the fuck is a natural flow? I know that I'm breathing, I can't just let go. He thought, feeling unable to let go of the reins that controlled the rhythm of his chest and diaphragm. He was aware of even the smallest movement his body made, and it was impossible just to stop trying to control every single thing. But alas, he tried. Just like he had tried everything already. He'll follow whatever the voice would tell him just to soothe that ache, that spear piercing through his chest straight to his heart, somehow making it beat faster. Making him breathe too quickly. Making him unable to stop anything from hurting. So he tried to breathe as naturally as possible, painfully aware of the swelling of his chest, arching itself when he inhaled, and then his spine carving itself into the mattress and his back flattening when he exhaled.
"Visualize the space from the tip of your toes to the crown of your head. See how it fills up with every breath that you take, slowly rising when you inhale, and slowly emptying when you exhale. Like mercury, flowing up and down."
Mercury. He could have laughed if it wasn't for his commitment. Mercury in his body, in the form of all the thoughts that badgered him at every moment, debilitating him, taking away every sense of control over himself, reducing him to a pool of anxiety on the floor, ready to be stepped over by whoever passed by. Mudding him, and also getting angry at their own mudded shoes after. Mercury was already there, which was the greatest irony, and he'd gladly spit it out if he could, or painfully force it out through his pores in tiny silver droplets, burning his skin as they oozed out.
And there was the pain in his chest again, throbbing faster, while he failed to visualize whatever cursed mental image the voice wanted to give him. There was the other voice he was trying so hard to keep out of the front of his mind, but it kept knocking from the sides, above and below. It's useless , it said.
You're useless, it repeated.
"Allow the forces of the universe to flow through your body, restoring your energy and releasing every blockage. Take the next breath from your ankles, and fill your body up to the crown of your head, slowly…"
Get it together , he told himself. The first breath was ragged and sloppy, but when the second came around there was a faint sensation that surrounded him when he managed to control his breathing a bit better.
Water, instead of Mercury. Water felt better.
As he kept breathing, he tried to picture water flowing from his ankles to his head. Instead of a sterile tube, he just allowed it to fill his entire body. The image wasn't easy to maintain, but it helped to quiet the voices just a little bit. Then he did the same from his knees, and then it moved up to his pelvis. By the time the recorded audio instructed him to breathe from his solar plexus, it was becoming easier, little by little. The distance was shorter every round, but he made his best effort to fill it as slowly as he could allow himself, trying not to force his breathing into it at the same time. The water felt more refreshing every time, the tingling sound crisper whenever he imagined it going past his ears. The last one was from his third eye, the space between his brows, and the water just flew like he had been doing it for his entire life, no hardship whatsoever.
He felt numb, and the voices were still there. He could hear them mumbling, but he couldn't distinguish their words. His ears were underwater, and he was floating just below the surface, seeing the sun rays reflecting and dispersing on top of him. He was on an empty space, as empty as he could allow himself to be. He knew the rest of the world was still there, just quieted down. And he wanted to enjoy that feeling a little bit longer. The small pool became a huge, glassy, quiet sea, tranquil enough to give him peace, even if it was for a moment.
And he exhaled. And he let go.
Coming back to reality was a necessity, though. Shortly, the voice instructed him to float above water again, to wiggle his fingers and his toes, to slowly open his eyes and meet the real world again. To feel his heart rate, now slower, but stronger.
But as much as he focused, he couldn't hear his heartbeat or feel his rate, he didn't know whether it had actually slowed down or not. The voice on the speaker kept talking about stress, about living in a world that never allowed anyone to stop and tackle stress down. And Zeke took his hands to the left side of his chest, closing his eyes again and focusing on his heartbeat. It took a while for him to perceive it, as if his heart was too shy to show itself. It crawled up, timidly, the drum too quiet at first to distinguish where one beat ended and the next started. Little by little, it became more noticeable, until he could feel it beating through his skin, right against his hands, and he allowed himself a sigh of relief.
The voice kept going, it was probably another meditation session, but it made better company than the usual silence in his apartment. Zeke ran his hands over his face and his fingers ramped up against his hairline, his tips tangling themselves in his fringe. And something crept up from his throat. A shiver, first. A gulp, second. A little weep next.
It felt like a plea, coming from the depths of his body. A plea to let loose whatever hid in the bottom of his depths, which was begging to be released. He couldn't see what it was, but he had already allowed himself a moment of peace. He had already forgiven and congratulated himself for that. Maybe he should let it out.
The shivers crept up his skin, making his hands clench a little tighter to his face, as his weeps became a bit louder, a bit sadder, a bit more heartfelt. Next thing he knew, he was crying his heart out, and didn't know how to stop, or even if he should stop. Sadness invaded him, but it wasn't the voices this time. There was no one telling him how useless or pathetic he was, but there was an ever increasing flow of intense, unstoppable feelings creeping up from the bottom of his chest to his eyes, and escaping through his tears and cries.
And so he cried, until there were no more tears for his eyes to expel. Until no more sounds came up his throat. Until his body simply stopped shaking and his hands fell from his face down to his pillow, and he was left alone with a thin ethereal veil floating on top of him.
The throbbing pain in his chest had finally gone away, leaving him with only the heavy weight of his own mindfulness, being aware again of the way his weight pushed down the foam below him, and how it offered enough resistance to allow him to be comfortable. Because he was, for the first time in weeks, feeling really comfortable.
Maybe, just maybe, that plea was his body expelling some of the mercury out.