When my nephew was a little over 2, my sister and family were driving somewhere for dinner in their brand new SUV (It�s practically illegal to have children in Southern California without first purchasing an SUV). Anthony was safely strapped in his car seat in the safest location in the car (the middle-most seat) and they were traveling happily to their destination listening to some music.
Suddenly Anthony yelled out �Too much air�. They turned down the rear air controls (an SUV with front and rear air controls, another requirement). A few minutes later, again they hear �Too much air.� They turn off the rear air. A few minutes later � �Too much air�. Adjustments in the AC/fan continued, as did the cries of �Too much air�. (I say cry, it wasn�t crying or even whining or yelling or complaining, just a two year old who is speaking loudly to be sure he is heard).
After about 15 minutes of adjusting the direction of vents, the speed of the air coming from the vents, the temperature of the air coming from the vents and all things related to the air and vents in the car with no success, Anthony projectile vomits over most of the car. They pull over and begin cleaning up the mess. Anthony then proclaims �Too much air in my tummy.�
Once the car was cleaned up, the trip proceeded quietly and without incident (though with a bit of smell, cleaned up better once they were not on the side of the freeway).
For some reason, this story says a lot to me right now. And yet, I�m not sure how to actually put it in to words and make sense of it.
Sometimes there are things inside of us that bother us and we don�t really know how to explain what they are to another human being but they are making us sick. And we won�t be okay until we get it all out. We have to throw up those parts of us that are making us sick.
Sometimes, we say one thing and everyone thinks they know what we are saying, and then it�s not until later that everyone figures out what we were trying to say. We keep repeating �too much air� but what we really mean is �my stomach hurts�.
I don�t know what is inside of me that needs to come out but it�s there nonetheless. I don�t know what it is I am trying to say that is being misunderstood but I feel like a two year old saying �too much air� and then wondering why my parents keep adjusting the AC instead of helping me with my upset stomach.
I just know that I like being curled up in a ball on my bed. I like the idea of just laying in bed forever. I just know that I like the feeling of being empty and wish I could feel empty all the time. I just know that my body hurts in ways I cannot handle anymore. I know that inside my heart, it hurts even worse. I know that whenever I try to think, my brain just fills with all sorts of other thoughts that make me crazy and I hate all the thoughts in my head and I just want them to shut up. I just know that I want someone to just know, to just be inside my head and know it all and that I don�t want to talk. That I just want silence, talking takes too much energy. I just want someone to show up at the door with a box of Popsicles. I just know that I want to be held but I don�t want anyone to come near me. I want to be alone. But I�m afraid of being alone. Nothing in my head makes sense to me. There�s too much air. Too much air inside my head. I just want to throw it all up and have it feel better while someone else cleans up the mess.
