Sometimes they shock me, like lightning bolts inside my veins. I feel them pulse, the ebb and flow of constant sound sometimes slamming inside my mind. Boom. My hearts feels the percussion. Airplane screaming high above. My stomach churns, palms pressed tightly against my ears. Little refuge is found, all around me . . . sound.
Sometimes they flash brilliant colors only my eyes can see. The world inside my head, purple, yellow, green. Strike a chord, my ears register the tone, my thoughts follow the slash of neon light accompanying it.
Throaty breath, crunchy snacks, crinkling paper, and whispers send me franticly searching for silence. It hurts. A different kind of pain I haven’t words to describe. An anxious pain, an angry pain. Real. But some sounds, they send playful tickles across my skin, or feel like a soft caress; they are among my favorite sounds, curtains billowing in the wind, rippling waters along a sun kissed shore.
Soft, spongy purple earplugs long ago became my favorite accessory. Without them, the world around me sounds like war; unseen and unknowing foes attack without relent.
On the coldest night, the fan in the corner still blows, a soft blanket of white noise, my lullaby.
I love to listen, I don’t want to miss a sound, but so often I must. So often I do.
Laughter makes me smile, it’s one of my favorite sounds. That one wraps itself around my heart. Classical music, Pachelbel – I feel it like a cloud of cotton cushioning my soul. Crying moves me, it stirs something deep within. Raindrops on my window, on my roof, each falling drop a symphonic resonance of peace and renewal.
Surrounded by sounds, held captive by some, set free by others.
Written for Finding Ninee’s Finish the Sentence Friday! Check out her absolutely, awesomely, wonderfully, fabulous blog HERE!
I’m so glad you linked up with Finish the Sentence. This is wonderful and I so want to know more about needing to miss sounds because yes, that. ❤
Reblogged this on cabbagesandkings524 and commented:
A lovely description
That is a gret description of Senesthesia and living with it, wonder, joy and pain. Thank you for making it easier to imagine.
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It’s strange and sometimes wonderful . . . Not always, but sometimes.
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