For whatever reason, this passage is one of my favorites from ‘Pulled.’ I’m about to write another depressing scene for my sequel, and I found myself re-reading this again to sort of get me in the mood. I thought I’d share it with you all as my weekly post. I’m lazy that way.
-From Chapter 6 of ‘Pulled’
As soon as I’m inside, I close and lock the door and lean against it, as if I’m holding it closed from an unwanted intruder.
In the dimness of my room, I still feel terribly uneasy—shaky, panicky. I need my meds. Now. Scrambling, I find my bag and start rifling inside searching for one of the bottles, but I can’t seem to find it, which only makes me panic more.
Stars begin dancing across my eyes, and my heart is already sprinting. Shit! It’s coming too fast for them to work now. I can already tell that I won’t be allowed the easy way out. I won’t be fortunate enough to simply pass out until the panic passes. No, tonight I am to be tortured.
The only thing to do now is wait for it to be over. But not here. It’s not dark enough here. Not safe enough, yet.
With trembling hands, I open my closet door and close it behind me, and the darkness welcomes me back like an old friend. As though I can’t trust the door to stay closed, I hold the handle firmly shut with one hand while the other hand wraps around my chest, trying to control the shaking that’s starting to consume me. The shaking will give way to the moaning, which will quickly turn into screams, so I pull down a few shirts from the clothes rack and cram them into my mouth to stifle the impending hysteria. As though waiting for me to be ready, my long caged tears begin to fall.
I cry out for my parents, out of humiliation, out of regret, but most of all, I cry out of wanting. A want so desperately basic and pure, and yet devastatingly unattainable: to be allowed to feel something other than the numbness. I want to remember being loved and to able to give that love back.
Curling up into a ball, I let the depression devour me, ravish me, doing absolutely nothing to stand in its way.
1 thought on “The Closet Scene”
This is also one of my favorite passages, although that is not really saying much since I have so many “favorite” moments in Pulled. I have suffered anxiety and panic in the past (though never to the soul ripping extent that Naya experiences). You have managed to present this moment, which in context, can be incredibly chaotic and confusing with a level of clarity that speaks to your ability as a writer. I look forward to what’s to come.