I don’t know what it’s like to be buried alive but I do know what it’s like to have most of my body covered with sand.
It always seems like a fun idea, at first, but the moment that the sand starts rising above your waist you begin to sense the weight, the pressure, the heat and then pain of a growing mound of wet sand.
And you begin to panic… or, at least I did.
It is and it isn’t personal, at the exact same time. It’s not that we don’t want to relate or that we can’t – it’s that there are limitations to the amount that we can handle at any given point and at any given time and we have to watch our energy resource as if our very lives depended on it.
Otherwise we suffocate, we drown, we sink beneath the growing pressure of relational sand. It’s fascinating to think that the very thing that gives us life can also, quite literally, destroy us.
True heartache, true heart-bound pain, can lead us to do the silliest of things, moving us towards irrationality and even insanity and madness at times. It’s a relationship (or a failed one) that ultimately drove me to a suicide attempt many years ago.
I don’t blame them and I’m not angry or bitter, but, I will never, ever, forget how it escalated, so quickly, into something so dark and scary. I will not let myself be buried alive ever again.