Maladaptive Daydreaming: where wild minds come to rest
This is an experiment to see if writing about a reoccurring DD will help make it go away. There is this scene that keeps replaying, like a song being stuck in my head, for months now. I am not a writer, I am an artist, so the use of words is strange for me. But we will see if this helps me move forward.
There is snow everywhere, no sound, silence, the way it is when there is deep snow. No rustle of leaves or chirping of birds. All the earth watches in silence. I can hear my heavy breathing, and the pounding of my heart. With my head down I watch my feet in fuzzy boots, breaking through the snow disturbing the flat white surface of the field as I go.
Then the silence is broken with the bellow of the bear. I look back, it’s closer, gaining ground. It’s fur ripples across the muscles as it thunders along with much longer strides then mine. I look forward, the cave, can I make it? The opening is too small for the bear, if only I can make it. My chest feels like it will burst, my leg muscles ache and are so tight, I expect to fall at any moment.
Out of the corner of my eye I see a figure. I look, it’s a man. A tall man draped in fur, running diagonally towards me, holding a spear. He yells something but I can’t understand him. I keep running, and running, I can barely breath. I hear the bear bellow again, I don’t look, just keep running, the cave is so close. I reach the cave and squeeze thru the opening. I collapse against the back wall.
The silence of the cave echoes my heart beat. It thunders in my ears, my head aches from the sound. I try to catch my breath. I strain to hear anything from outside. What happened? I wait to see if the bear’s face will appear at the cave’s opening. But instead, the man’s face appears. He has long sandy blond hair with war braids on each side of his face. He peers in with his ice blue eyes. He tries to enter but he is too broad. Then he reaches his hand thru, beckoning to me. He speaks but I can’t understand his language. I look at his hand, is he my rescuer? My miracle? Or another predator? Should I trust him?
I gently take his hand. He tries to pull me thru but I jerk my hand back. He presses his face into the opening. I reach up and touch his cheek. I look at his eyes, the windows of the soul. He has tender eyes. Maybe I can trust him. I can’t stay here. I have no food, no way to build a fire. I would not survive the night. He extends his hand again, I take it. I squeeze thru the opening and we look at each other. He turns and starts walking thru the snow. I follow him in silence.