freedom therapy brighton

Something just wasn’t right. She had woken up feeling not quite herself, although she couldn’t quite put her finger on it.

She dragged on her clothes and went down for breakfast. As she descended, she had the sensation that she was going up. This was a decidedly unnerving experience, but not all together unpleasant. As usual, she decided to take the last flight down the banister and up she went, touching down as if suspended from a large helium balloon.

She wandered through to the kitchen. Her mother was brewing coffee and her father was tucking into his porridge. They all greeted each other and the letters floated through the air around them.

“Umm, visual as well as auditory”, she thought. “That hasn’t happened before. Oh well, it all helps.”

She finished up her muesli, the raisons, screaming: “Ouch”, in tiny voices with every bite and the nuts shouting: “Quiet!” in the gruff way you’d expect and headed out into the garden. She took a deep breath, tasting the autumn air. It seemed to go on forever, filling her lungs to capacity and beyond. Time seemed to stop, just for a moment.

Libby came bounding up eager to play. She picked up a ball and threw it. It bounced off the fence and shot across the garden, rebounding off the opposite fence and shooting off in another direction, the dog in hot pursuit.

On a normal day, the ball would have dropped to the ground, Libby would have retrieved it, brought it back and spent five minutes, dropping it and grabbing it, teasing her as she bent down to pick it up.

This morning the dog was chasing a ball that appeared to be in perpetual motion, thus leaving her to hop onto the fence, navigate along it like a tightrope, and drop off the other end, tied to another balloon.

She cut through the meadow and down to the river. The wildebeest were grazing all around and a crocodile appeared to be crying.

“Why are you crying”, she asked.

“You should know better, little Maia”, it replied. “Things may not always be what they seem.”