Rollercoasters
Buckle up for the drops
I was always the kid that loved rollercoasters. As soon as those chaotic death toys were introduced to me I said, sign me up. The high, the crash, the high again. I immediately saw the appeal. I wanted to feel it all. So much so that I worked the system, sneaking onto rides before my time. I had a strategy - straightening my posture, wearing shoes with a boost, assembling my hair in a mushroom-style bun that gave me at least an extra inch. I knew how to the play the game and my illusion rarely failed me.
Also, I had older cousins. And I wasn’t about to be left out. No matter how potentially damaging the experience. Every time I confidently followed the footsteps of the big kids, one of the supervising adults would look at me with a grimace. Are you sure, sweetie? I wouldn’t react. Oh, you’re talking to me? Couldn’t be. Because I’m not scared.
But of course I was scared. That’s the point, you dummies. I sought the fear and all it’s accompaniments. On the outside, I never let them see me sweat. But on the inside? A mess of anxiety. And I liked it. My legs wobbling as I took my seat, my heart racing during the first climb, my stomach dropping before we even reached the top. And the fall? Absolute silence. Not a single thought in my head. What a fucking relief that was.
I have a mind that works overdrive. Often, I cherish it. But it took me a long time to learn how to work with it, instead of for it. I remember the first time a therapist told me that my thoughts and feelings weren’t facts. Come again? That can’t possibly apply to me. But now I have a pretty good grip on when my mind is heading down spiral lane, so I take a detour. Sometimes, though, I chose not to. Sometimes, I press on the gas. Sometimes I don’t want to choose growth. Sometimes I don’t want to rewrite harmful patterns. Because sometimes, I want the comfort of the crash. The inconsolable sobs. The catastrophizing. The release.
It’s been a self soothing ritual for as long as I can remember. As a kid, I cried myself to sleep regularly. A tried and true trick to settle the big emotions that came every time I went to or left the Netherlands. Emotions I didn’t quite understand yet. But I believe now that my comfort in a state of pain is why I was able to show up so instinctively when my dad got sick. It felt familiar. As did the decision to split my time between the US and Amsterdam, flying back and forth every two months amidst a generation-defining global pandemic. Crying myself to sleep in various hotel beds. Repeating over and over on the phone how badly I wanted to stop feeling this pain. It was a ride I chose to take, over and over. It was a ride I learned to believe I loved.
Which brings us to last week. Last week was one of those moments where I was simply fed up with choosing the path of emotional peace. I needed to feel. I needed a fucking cry. Because after weeks of cozy contentment, in crept the unease of knowing it had been over a month since I shed a tear. Frankly, life had been really, really nice. Aligned in a way I had always wanted. Exciting and calm at the same time. Well, that doesn’t seem right! Let’s go after that drop, shall we?
Ladies and Gentleman! Step right up! I give you… Merel’s 24-hr emotional rollercoaster!!!!
Phase 1 - The entry: 9pm - 12pm
Anxiety and overthinking abound! It’s about that time to go over that thing you probably shouldn’t say but feel like you absolutely have to say over and over in your head. Most riders will consult 1-2 trusted sources at this time.
Phase 2 - The climb: 12pm - 1am
Time to do that thing that will without a doubt cause you emotional pain! Hit send then try to metaphorically run away from your phone so you don’t have to face your actions! But surprise! You can’t! You can only inch closer to the inevitable!
Phase 3 - The drop: 8am-10pm
Now, what makes this ride so special is that our drop feels like it’s never going to end! A few seconds? Boring! We can ensure at least six hours of disruptive waterworks and intrusive wallowing! 12-14 hours if you’re one of the really lucky ones.
Phase 4 - The clarity: 8am the following day
Finally, after a full day of emotional overwhelm and a devastation that feels connected to every pain you’ve ever felt up, you’ll wake up and realize it wasn’t even that deep. Perhaps it could have been avoided, even. But oh well! Too late now! You may even feel completely insane by this emotional 180. But don’t worry, you’ll get used to it. So will your friends.
This most recent emotional rollercoaster brought back a memory from seven years ago, when my nephews came to visit me in NYC. It was a perfect summer day, so off to Coney Island we went. One of my nephews, who was seven at the time, operates in a freakishly similar fashion to me. Forethought? Uninteresting. Patience? Doesn’t seem like something that concerns me. I had a feeling he was going to be my guy for the rides.
For anyone who hasn’t been, Coney Island is a far cry from Six Flags. The most famous rollercoaster, the Cyclone, is old, rickety, and laughable to a girl who used to forge her height to sneak on the Screaming Eagle. After analyzing our options, we decided the most intimidating ride was a drop tower. I suggested we go for it, and we stepped right up.
The four of us took our places and strapped ourselves in, my brother and I anchoring each side. As we rose to the top, I glanced over to each of the boys to gauge their level of fear, seeking signs to validate that I hadn’t encouraged something a little too much for them. To my relief, I saw no panic in their eyes. Just your average anticipation. We reached the top, waited with baited breathe, and took one last look at each other before soaring down in screams. At the bottom? They were all smiles. Look at that! I didn’t cause my nephews irreparable trauma! My cool aunt reign continues!
Then, to my surprise, almost immediately upon exiting the ride, my nephew looks at me and yells AGAIN! I look at my brother, trying to gauge if this kid is for real. He bows out with a nod, knowing his limits. I, however, meet the little guy where he’s at. Let’s do it, kid. Just me, my little twin and our love for self imposed discomfort against the world! On our climb up, nothing changed. My nephew looked at me eagerly, I looked back with a knowing grin. But on the way down, complete silence. No screams. No smiles. The kid went ghost. And as soon as we hit the platform, he burst into tears, running to his dad to be consoled.
And you know what? It all made perfect sense to me. Of course he needed to take it a little too far. Of course one time wasn’t enough. Wait, where was my absolute freak out? I understood it more than he knew. Some of us just need to go there. And not because we’re reckless. Or out of control. But because we want to hit that button. The button that let’s us feel it all. And that, my friends, is why the ride continues.
xoxox
Merel