Post #111: Late night lightening lessons

GAH. 

Last night, a big storm swept through, and all day the news channels were wetting themselves with excitement over the impending atmospheric drama. Consequently, I spent the day in a state of agitated expectation, awaiting the coming fireworks show that would play out in the sky above my house. 

I really don't like thunder and lightening. They unsettle me. We get strong storms here, and the thunder is so loud the house actually shakes and quakes with every giant BOOM. I know some people love thunder storms; they throw open the windows so they can smell the electrified air, feel the wind kick up, watch every flash and strike and have their hearts beat with an elemental excitement instead of fear. I am not one of those people. 

I was alone in the house, and determined to act like a freaking adult and get on with my life. I was in bed reading-distracted, as the heavy rain began, when it happened: a totally unexpected, LOUD, house shaking body rattling clap of thunder. I literally jumped up in bed and grabbed my heart. The shock of it all was probably more frightening then the thunder itself, but my first instinct was to turn off the light, roll into a ball beneath the covers, and scan the horizon for future lightening strikes, so I could count the seconds and miles between light and sound, to gauge when the next BOOM might hit. 

I was trying to control my breathing, trying to get my heart to stop sprinting and return to a peaceful stroll, when the lightening strikes started coming closer the closer together. It looked like a giant strobe light had been installed in the neighborhood: light/dark/light/dark. I curled into myself further, already painful joints pulled closer to the body, stomach tight and nervous. 

The lightening kept coming, as did the thunder-closer and then further away, or far away and then closer. It was hard to gauge where anything was happening. I was taut, waiting for the next onslaught, but it was difficult to determine a rhythm. Better to stay ready, I thought; better to stay small and stressed so the scary things won't be so scary when they happen. 

And then, a tiny voice in my head: you can't control this. Any of this. 

You can't control this. 

You are not in control. 

The thought was like a shot of Valium. Instant calm. I unfurled. 

The more I thought it, the calmer I felt: I can't control this. Come on loud noises and bright lights! I can't control ANY OF THIS. I am not in control. 

I turned over and stopped watching the storm, and as the light show played out across the walls of my darkened room, I fell asleep. 

I woke up cold, tangled in damp sheets, only to fall back asleep and  wake up for the same reason. Night sweats. Was it the storm or the Crohn's? Hard to tell. 

Either way, I couldn't control it.