✅ My Sister's Problem

29. Resistance

I had no shoes on now, and the kitchen tiles were a little cold underfoot. The room was long and thin, so once the chairs were pushed under the table I could pace up and down if I needed activity to help me stay awake. I leaned the other bag of laundry against the chairs as well, so finding somewhere to sit down would be an exercise that needed conscious thought, not something I could do without realising. There was no way I would be able to nod off now, no matter how much conditioning I'd taken in with my earlier careless attempts. The noise from the washing machine as it geared up the spin cycle, cutlery ratting with the vibrations and all kinds of utensils periodically declaring their desire to escape, and a cup of hot coffee between my hands were the final safeguards. I knew it was probably overkill; but I wanted to be absolutely sure I could resist the suggestions today, so that I could start understanding how to use it to prank someone else.

There was a rustling sound on the background of the file, like it had been recorded walking through the woods. It was relaxing, I remembered that. But I couldn't actually hear it when I set my phone down on the kitchen counter, because it was covered up by the noise of the washing machine. I could hear that the wind chimes were there, but I couldn't make out any detail. And already my eyes wanted to close, remembering how good it had felt to relax completely and listen to someone else giving the instructions. It was so much easier if I didn't have to make any choices, I should just let myself sleep.

"No," I whispered, took a mouthful of almost-too-hot coffee and started to walk towards the other end of the room. "No, I know how good it feels to relax, but I'm not going to do it."

It helped. Talking to myself occasionally really helped me to keep my focus, although I tried to minimise it so that I could still hear what the guy was saying. But the longer it went on, the easier it got to imagine the things he was describing without doing them, and maybe even to understand how this kind of language could be so persuasive.

It reminded me of a stupid game somebody had heard of when we were kids. You had to try not to imagine a pink elephant, and admit you'd lost if one popped up in your mind. But when somebody says not to think about something, the image pops up in your mind's eye right away, clarifying the thing you're not going to see. The guy on the recording started talking about how this is going to help you to relax, and how good it feels to relax, and it's almost impossible not to imagine it. Then he asks you to imagine yourself dreaming, and that's easy as well. As soon as he describes a dream, the images he mentions are right there in your mind's eye. And then he's asking you to imagine the little girl imagining those things, and how the dream makes her feel. Describing perfectly the consequences of imagining the things he'd said to imagine.

It was complex and multi-layered, a dream within a dream. He didn't do any of the usual meditation stuff like telling you how to breathe, or to empty your mind. Maybe that was to lull you into a false sense of security, and let the instructions catch the listener off guard when it went from describing an imaginary scene to describing the things you were going to do. And it could have been confusing as well, going into a dream and then out again so many times that you might lose track of all the different dream-selfs and which one was dreaming which dream.

I didn't try to keep track of them. I think I understood this time. He asked me to imagine myself as a child, when dreams were so much more real and more vivid, and I could imagine that. And then he asked me to imagine that child was dreaming about a walk in the woods; describing the whistling of wind in the trees, and the sounds of a river nearby, and the smells of the woodland as evidence of how vivid the child's dream was, and how young and innocent she was. I could see one of the tricks there; that the sounds he was describing were actually there in the background. And then he asked me to imagine that childlike self inside the dream. He didn't actually say that she was lying there, sleeping, inside the dream that was in her imagination. He didn't need to, I could see it so naturally. He was trying to confuse me about which parts were in the dream; which parts were real.

When he talked about how safe the girl felt, and how easily she could relax, I could certainly imagine that. I knew how great it felt to be treated like a child, and I could dream about how it would feel to actually think like a child again. When he asked me to envision the child relaxing completely, letting everything happen to her as she dreamed, I knew just how wonderfully freeing that would feel. To let go, and let someone else make the choices. If I had just been listening to his descriptions and imagining them, I think that could easily have led me to start doing what he said, as well as just visualising it. It was all a trick.

I set my empty cup down on the table as I passed. I was still walking, enough to keep me awake, and the whole room was vibrating as the washing machine did its final spin. That recording was giving instructions now, a seamless segue from simply describing a dream, and for the first time I was awake enough to actually pay attention to what those instructions were. He told me that any time I listened to this recording again, the wind chimes would remind me how good it felt to relax. That I would automatically start to zone out, returning to a deep and dreaming state while I listened, so that it would be easier to feel the things I wanted to feel on subsequent times he guided me. Well, I could assume that had happened, and that was why the second time I'd not remembered a word. And he told me to relax, to feel myself drifting into sleep, but as I looked around the kitchen I could promise myself that wouldn't happen. And he talked about how liberating it was to feel like a child; how a little kid does as they're told, and doesn't overthink things. How not being able to choose means there's no kind of responsibility. I could imagine that so well, and I wanted it so much, but I knew it wouldn't happen today. And then he was finishing up, with one final countdown. Telling me that I didn't need to imagine all those dreams anymore, and I could escape from the confusion. To a space in my mind where I could feel like a child, let go of all my responsibilities, and just drop off to sleep feeling all the things we'd talked about.

I was fighting to keep my eyes open then. It was so easy to imagine how it would feel to just let go and relax. To feel all the things I was going to feel when I heard those wind chimes in the future, jingling along in the background like a nursery music box. He asked me to describe really comfortable things, and let them lull me into sleep. Imaginary cotton sheets, soft and warm, didn't make me sleep. The calming music in the background didn't make me sleep. I forced my eyes open fully and kept on pacing. The chimes falling into a music-box lullaby calmed me down, but they didn't send me to sleep. Imagining Mr Muggins cuddled up close beside me, ready to defend me from nightmares, didn't send me to sleep. The childlike thoughts, with no duties or responsibilities, didn't put me to sleep, though I could imagine how they could help. The relief of knowing I could just relax, the tension in my muscles dissolving and pressure fading from my awareness, wasn't enough to send me to sleep when I didn't want to. Even the comforting warmth of my shorts clinging to my skin only helped me to relax, it didn't carry me off into dreamland.

"Good night, little one," the recording ended, and the chimes faded away. I grinned in triumph. I had done it! I was a big girl, and I was still awake, and I listened to all of the clever man's big words without falling asleep. I even understood some of them!

The feeling of joy made me feel like I was walking on air; dancing and skipping around the kitchen now rather than walking. It lasted until I was startled by a knock at the back door and I looked around guiltily, realising how childish I was acting. Too infantile to claim I had resisted the effects of those words, especially when I looked down and realised that I was standing in a puddle.