"Another night has come and gone, can't imagine what else could go wrong; sometimes I'd like to hide away somewhere and lock the door, a single battle lost but not the war; 'Cause tomorrow's another day and I'm thirsty anyway, so bring on the rain..." [-Jo Dee Messina]
Wednesday: Cloudy skies and a storm brewing...
I took the Red line to Heuston Station, leaving Tallaght behind. Something inside of me feels sad, and I can't identify it, so it sits inside of me just behind my smile. Heuston Station is busy and it's all making me dizzy and people are a blur and without warning, the world flips upside down and inside out and I know what's happening in an instant and I can't stop it, I just have to let it happen. It's a bad one. And I am afraid to move but I know that to not move will be a very bad thing and so I find a corner and wait.
I've often said to people that you do not get to control the triggers. Sometimes you will not even know what the trigger is. This moment is that- I don't know what triggered that part of my brain- PTSD and anxiety is a strange and terrible beast- I am standing against a wall going through my operating manual. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. Deep breath in. Deep breath out. What do you see? Focus. I see a woman in a tweed suit, holding a newspaper, drinking a coffee. What do you hear? Focus. I hear the walkie talkie of the station worker standing near me. What do you feel? Focus. I feel the wall, cold, rough. What do you taste? Focus. Mint, I have mint gum. What do you smell? Focus. I'm next to a coffee cart, espresso. Breathe. In. Out. In. Out. I have lost time, I don't know how many minutes have passed. My heart rate has returned to normal, though my hands are still trembling. I need air. I NEED air and I leave the station at the nearest exit, desperately searching for the taxi que. I see the road that leads out of the station. I am standing there trying to think and then a taxi passes. And another. And another. And another. All of them empty. And I am so disoriented that I can't figure out where they keep coming from. I see another one coming but from the opposite side of the road, the one that leads in and they pull to the side and drop their passenger and all of sudden my brain screams, jump in now!! And I sort of fling my body into the street just enough to startle the driver who hasn't quite moved yet. He stops and takes my luggage and laughs and says "Misses the que for outgoing is just up and around but yer man will get you where you're going, so where to?" And I let out a nervous sort of half-laugh and tell him,"Maldron Hotel, Parnell Square, please." He makes small talk but I can't concentrate and he has thick Dublin accent so eventually we drive in companionable silence. I reach the hotel and I am emotionally spent. And so I quickly scan my itinerary, it's half two which is Dubliner for 2:30p, so something's gotta give- my heart sinks. Well, pick one Jillian and so I pick The Little Museum of Dublin and off I go...
I arrive just in time for the 3p tour and I meet my tour guide June and I love her instantly. She is full of life, brimming with contagious joy, warmth, humor, and kindness. And I just want to stand next her and soak it all in and so I do- as we move through the tour, I make sure to stand near her- and somehow her energy renews me, her light and lightness refresh me and I feel so much better. After the tour, I stop and thank her and ask if I might take a photo of us and she graciously concedes.
I catch the hop on/ hop off bus with no real direction when the driver announces St. Patrick's Cathedral, something pulls at me and I find myself getting off. I walk into the cathedral and pay the admission fee. It's almost half four now and they'll be closing for evening prayer soon but it seems the right place to be just the same. I wander around and take it in, breathtaking stained glass, ornate alcoves with worship stations, an alcove for prayer and meditation, a living memorial wall to those that lost their lives in World War II, but it is the Victorian aged pew boxes that I find myself glued to and so I find one and sit, starring up at the center aisle, at the alter and the cross.
I need to be quiet. And so I sit. I sit so long that I don't realize that the hall is emptying out and yet as it empties, so too does it fill. Suddenly people are being ushered into the pew boxes and I am being handed the liturgy card and I realize that St. Patrick's evening choralsong and prayer service is open to parishioners and visitors alike. The brother's of the cathedral file into the choir boxes and the bishop opens the service. The brothers sing the nightly prayer anthem and it is all acapella in this centuries old church with the most amazing acoustics- I am speechless with wonder. Their voices are echoes of heaven and I close my eyes and let myself fall into their praise. The liturgy moves on, we sing, we listen, we kneel, we pray- it is a profoundly beautiful process and I am trying to hold it all in as much as I can. I leave the cathedral, walking into the late afternoon, the clouds have grown darker and you can smell the rain coming in.
I know the city well enough by now to navigate some areas and so I head towards the Old Temple Bar. I've a ticket to a play that I had wanted to see, being the theater geek that I am. I am slightly unsettled as the Old Temple Bar can be a bit of a rowdier crowd at night and my anxiety is still floating around in my head but I really don't want to give in to that and so I find the theater and wait it out. The theater is small, only 60 seats, the play is a one woman show about life in an Tipperary Catholic Girl's Academy- it is an emotional roller coaster, absolutely brilliant and devastating at the same time. I resonate so deeply with the themes- at it's core, the central theme, the longing to belong. It is a longing so deep in my own world, in a year where I have often felt lost at sea, always trying to find an anchor...
I walk away from the theater with a gnawing melancholy, soft, and sad. The rain begins to fall and I decide to not retrieve my umbrella for the sheer fact that when in Dublin, do as the Dubliners do so as not to be a walking neon sign that I am an outsider, easy prey for the night. Anxiety is rising with each drop of rain but I steady myself against the cold Dublin air and walk back to Parnell Square, mind the landmarks, they are my map. Walk across the Ha'Penny Bridge, turn right, paralleling the Liffey, make a left at The Rolling Donut, past the Supermac's, onto O'Connell Street Upper, walk straight until you see the corner church, turn left, past the Dublin Writer's Museum, past the Hugh Lane Gallery, make a right at the end of the row onto Parnell Square West, up the row to the street lamp and you have arrived.
The day has left me utterly exhausted. I am wet and cold and tired and my thoughts, a kaleidoscope of things that I cannot begin to write. And so I shower and make a cup of tea. And I turn off the lights and listen to the rain fall outside my window.
Because I am thirsty anyway, so bring on the rain...
-Jillian Nichole, a thirsty kaleidoscope...
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