I See the Moon

After nearly two years, I was able to sit on my roof deck. I'm deeply appreciative of my progress, yet still dream of so much more.

Even before I got sick, I’d wonder about people in airplanes. I live in DC, and they’re constantly overhead. Taking off and landing at nearby DCA. Distant blinking lights at cruising altitude, heading for some foreign city.

I love to travel, and no matter the day, time or occasion, a plane passing by always incites a pang of envy. I imagine myself huddled up in my window seat (always window), trying to catch some sleep on a newly-purchased neck pillow (I have about 11, because I never remember to bring them and end up getting ripped off at the airport bookshop again). I’m excited, loopy and dreamy, because I always take benzos to fly; ironically, I’m terrified of flying, even though I know air travel is statistically extremely safe.

But after years of nail biting, whiskey drinking, hyperventilating and panic-attacking my way across the Atlantic, my doctor relented and prescribed me some Ativan. Now flying has an easy, dreamlike quality to it. I actually look forward to being released, not just from the land, but from The Land of Worries. I chat with my seatmates, if they like.

Once, as our flight took off, the woman next to me yelped and grasped my arm in fear.

I looked over at her lazily. “Hey,” I smiled easily, “do you want a xanax?”

She didn’t.