What She Needs

40. Dancing With The Devil

Dancing With The Devil- Demi Lovato

Trigger warning- Self Harm scene and talk of suicidal feelings. DO NOT read this if you are feeling vulnerable today. I need you to keep yourself safe. Promise me that. 

Meredith Grey

Slowly, I feel myself start to come around. Syncope can be explained by science, I know that, but unconsciousness is such an intangible experience, that I find it hard to put into words.
Because it's a trauma response, physiological not medical, it feels different to fainting from at head injury for example. I know when it's happening and I can feel myself melting. Like a droplet of water sliding down a condensated glass until it reaches a pool. Just gravity pulling me and my brain down to a safe zone.

I never know how long the blackouts last. For me, it's sweet relief from the peak of a panic attack, but for Addison, it must feel like years where I'm lying limp in her lap, my breathing exceptionally shallow and my eyes fluttering and rolling every now and then as my soul digs itself out of its protective shell.

"Meredith?"

"Meri? Sweetheart?" Addie croons.

"Huh?"

"Hi darling." She smiles softly. "You passed out again."

"How long?" I mumble, trying to push myself up on my sisters lap. She holds me still though until my vision is clear as ice.

"About five minutes I think. Quite a long one.... you weren't unconscious the whole time, I think there were a couple of moments when you went to Thatcher, but I kept talking to you, so you wouldn't get dragged into a flashback." She explains, holding her bottle of water to my lips so I can replenish my dry mouth.

"I'm sorry."

"You have nothing to be sorry for Meredith. You can't help it."

"I could try harder to stay awake I just....."

I cut myself off before I say something depressing.

"I'm okay. I'm ready to go home now though." I nod.

I'm not okay in all honesty. I'm extremely triggered and longing to claw at my flesh, but Addison's presence means that isn't an option for me. I don't want her to be disappointed. And deep in my heart, I don't want to give in either. I really am feeling better. Yes, my anxiety is ruling my life right now, but that's the PTSD. My depression has lifted marginally, I'm eating, and I'm months clean from cutting. I'm proud of myself. So why am I suddenly falling of the edge of this cliff again? It's not like I don't know that the landing will be painful.

The thing about the syncope is that it's addictive. Not the interrupted faded consciousness I just had, but the true 'dead to the world' syncope. That's like sugar.
Being able to turn myself off, and have a break from being alive essentially. It's bliss. And I know that if I told Dr Garcia that, she'd chuck me back in psych.

No, that's not fair. She never 'chucked' me in psych. Throughout everything, she advocated for my best interests. I gave her no choice but to hospitalise me. So if I told her that I relish the time I leave my body, over the time I spend conscious, I'd feel like I'd be letting her down. Because I'm not suicidal. Of course I'm not! I just welcome the peace that comes with passing out.

"Can we go home via the attending's lounge? I'm sure it'll be empty by now. I'd rather not leave a half drunk coffee for someone else to clean up." Addison asks, helping me to my feet. My legs are still a little weak from the emotional exhaustion, so she tries to pick me up.