Low on Serotonin
Ashley Houston
You breathe in the smell of unused fabric and all the unrealized potential that you have at hand. It’s just like everything else you’ve gotten into—a tool to keep your mind busy. A way to keep yourself from overthinking. The sound of the needle popping in and out of the fabric brings you back to the present—the reason you are up at three in the morning. You imagine the bag you are creating will bring someone joy. Why keep creating something no one will want? What if you can’t fix your mistakes? You want to close your eyes, but you can’t. You have to pay attention to the task at hand. The outer layer of the bag starts to take form, and you breathe. You breathe—each breath a sigh of relief. You embrace the escape that the power of creation sparks. You are no longer an aging stump of a person. You are a mature tree that blooms hope, infusing it into the threads you weave.
Suddenly, your cat jumps onto the back of your chair. The clanking of the sewing machine stops, your attention refocusing on your happiness-inducing feline friend. Much to his annoyance, you secure all fourteen pounds of his black mass in your arms. He jumps into your lap and stares at the sewing machine. He doesn’t blink. He waits for the beast to come alive again. The clanking starts, only to be interrupted by his paw sneaking its way toward the sewing needle.
You look down at the black fur ball in your lap. His eyes are little mirrors reflecting the light from the sewing machine. You start to imagine what he might be thinking. Such a bright and loud beast. If I could get a paw near the teeth of that beast, I could take those precious threads. Only I should be allowed to play with them! His claws bring you back to reality, and you feel like this is a fated break. It’s not that you are allowing your cat to give you a reason to procrastinate. It’s not, because it’s five in the morning. You turn the sewing machine off, and your cat finally looks up at you. His eyes imploring. Was it now time to play with his favorite mouse? He runs to the hallway and loudly meows. He gets impatient and dashes off into the dining room. You grab a toy mouse from his gray cat tree and toss it into the hallway. You hear nails scratching wood and see a flash of black fur as he flies by the door. You laugh. You feel tired but can’t compel yourself to crawl back into bed. No matter how comfortable it is. The echo of inner worries and insecurities won’t let you. They put you on edge until a panic attack starts to seize control of your heart. You let go of a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. You remember to breathe. You won’t be able to get up if you go to sleep now. Have a cup of coffee. Play with Zion. What harm could there be in that? You shake your head as if making a compromise with all your thoughts.
You smell coffee, but there is none. No one is awake, only you and Zion. Your heart bumps a sigh of relief. Your muscles tingle and jump to a silent melody. Your body convulses, and you pace. You pace yourself out of your room. The kitchen is dark, and you trip over the cat. You whisper his name. You can’t find him in the dark. With the snap of a switch, the kitchen is flooded with light. You jump back when you notice Zion on the counter staring at you. You laugh and rub his furry little head. You always forget to take your pills, so your serotonin levels aren’t where they should be.
Yet, whenever you see Zion, you can’t help but smile. He zaps a ray of happiness into your cracked heart. You peek into your son’s room and cover him with his throw. Zion jumps onto the bed and curls up next to him. You turn off the light and make your husband coffee in his favorite cup. The one with a happy llama on it. You close your eyes and reinforce the reality that you are not alone. You are never alone. Never. The inner demons that whisper otherwise are wrong. Armed with a strong cup of coffee and the love of your family, you can get through another day.