Walks helped. When he put his mind to it. When the stillness of laying on the ground made it feel like he was crawling out of his skin. When turning inwards was too painful to bear and his own thoughts and sensations made him want to scream.

It was at those times, these times, that physical activity and focusing attention outward helped more.

So, he was walking along the fields next to the Cosumnes River. Jogging really and bare foot to boot. It hurt (and given the fact he couldn’t create callouses it always would), but it kept his mind off… other things. Every time his mind started to ask questions like what was his plan or what did this mean or how would this play out, he’d step on a stone or winter dried shoot and the pain would draw him back.

Yet even with all that, it was barely enough. The thoughts kept coming, one after the other. Faster and faster. He picked up his pace. Tried to focus his attention on the distracting agony of his soles. Feel the wind on his dead numb skin, taste the air on his stale tongue, anything than the pain his mind could conjure with a thought.

He closed his eyes and ran full bore. Not caring what pebbles or thorns pierced his feet. Blood trickling drop by drop onto the ground from raw skin. He just wanted to forget. Just for a moment.

He tripped. For a second blood pounded in his ears, air rushed across bare skyward facing soles, and thoughts were swept away in a flurry of the sensation of falling. Descending. Weightless.

Then everything was still.

2 successes