Miss Mandie

To say I had a near-death experience two nights ago is a tad melodramatic and entirely inaccurate. But for a few moments, I wasn’t sure.

It all started with the nose piercing I recently got. It came out when I clumsily swiped it during the ritual clean before bed. Not thinking anything of it, I tried to put it back in.

I felt a little woozy.

I put my head between my legs to steady myself. Then once I felt okay, I resumed the task of getting the stud back into my nose.

I don’t really know what happened after that.

I remember a collection of really random thoughts running through my head.

I was on the floor.

I had no idea where I was, who I was, or what was going on.

Eventually I could utter “I’m not feeling too well”.

Moments later, as I lay motionless on the floor, pieces of my life creeping back into my consciousness, I realised there was no-one to hear me.

I was utterly and completely alone.

How many days would it take for someone to find me? Would I die here on the floor alone?

My heart feels ripped out of my chest as I imagine this might have been the same thought to run through my dad’s mind when he died from a heart attack alone in his house. Agony.

Eventually I realised I had fainted.

It had happened before. Blood tests have caused it. Too much sun and pot and alcohol at a music festival have done it. Apparently low blood pressure and a lack of iron make it relatively easy for it to happen.

As I tried to sit up, the effect of the episode was enough for me to feel really ill. I had gained enough lucidity though to realise I didn’t want to vomit directly on the kitchen floor, so I scrambled to the nearest cupboard to pull out a bowl.

And as I sat on the kitchen floor, vomiting into the bowl, I was so acutely aware of how very alone I was in my little forest home.

Now before you start to feel too sorry for me, I was eventually able to call one of my fellow forest dwellers. I told her what had happened and that I was going to bed to recover, and asked could she please call me in the morning to make sure I had lived through the night. Of course she offered to come over and of course being the strong and independent woman that I am, I declined.

So what now?

Physically I still feel a little ‘not-completely-right-but-it’s-nothing-really-to-worry-about”.

Emotionally, I am in shock.

The memory of me lying on the wooden floor boards and recalling that moment of realisation that there was no-one around to hear my whimpers, still brings tears to my eyes.

It’s one of humanity’s greatest fears isn’t it? Aloneness. That separation we feel as individuals in human bodies and our eternal search to fill that void so we don’t feel so empty and alone and separate.

I have always been so fiercely independent. I don’t need anybody! I can do it all by myself. I can cope. I can do anything.

This dogmatic determination to prove to the world I can stand on my own two feet has seen me survive over a year in relative isolation in The Forest.

This determination has come crumbling down these past couple of days.

I really need you.

You my friend. You my family member. You my reader. You my colleague.

I need you all.

And I don’t just need to connect with you. I need to lean on you. To feel vulnerable. To have you wrap your arms around me and tell me it’s going to be okay. That things are going to work out. That it’s okay not to have all the answers.

This is new to me; this open display of what my mind thinks is weakness. I’ve fought my whole life not to appear weak. But to what end?

So I have rearranged my plans for this weekend and asked for help. I am packing my bags and heading to friends in the city. Friends who have always said I can call them when I need them. Friends who won’t judge me as weak, or stupid, or silly.

Friends who I am so lucky to call my friends.

I just don’t want to be alone for the moment. So I don’t have to make my own cups of tea. Or drive myself to my blood tests. Or sit alone on the couch while I recover.

I have realised its okay to reach out. To say what I need. To let others know of my tears.

This doesn’t make me weak, it makes me human. This adds to the total richness of my life experience to connect with those around me in this new way. To be the one to receive help, rather than the one dishing it out.

So who do you need to reach out to? Perhaps you need to ask for help yourself. Or perhaps someone close to you needs it but isn’t able to say the words themselves.

Don’t delay. Pop over for a visit. Make the phone call. Send the email. Update facebook or twitter. Reach out. Let’s connect. Let’s share our humanness and help each other through our journeys.

We’re in this together. I see that so clearly now.