It’s not just uncomfortable. It’s also the awareness that the anxiety was irrational and unneeded.
But I felt the deep pit in my stomach anyway. I felt its dark grip—not ever overwhelming, always manageable—on my body, spreading and taking hold of all actions I wanted to take. Like a spider seeping its venom and paralyzing all the nerves that controlled muscles. I could see and hear, but inside, I felt trapped.
In my dream, like many real-life situations, I was in a public space. Surrounded by people I wanted to impress. And whatever the event was, an opportunity suddenly open for my input. Was it make a valid suggestion? Was it to ask a question? I don’t remember.
What I do remember is the dark spider paralyzing those muscles to stand up and speak. A bright light wanted to say something, to shout and release the ideas. But it was trapped. And in my body, to appease the dark spider, I soothed the dark spider by telling myself that it wasn’t important anyway. And the bright light grew softer and softer. Until it was dimmed into nothingness, leaving a small piece of regret behind.