Hijacked by my mania, I leave the cerebral at the door and call forth what my body is telling me. I play with my bracelet and imagine seashells boats dolphins, talismans that ward off the big hairy spiders. Feeling conspicuous and exposed, I step onto the masking tape and focus forward. I don’t rehash the whys and wherefores of my prison bars. “Now, close your eyes and walk backwards. What do you notice? Don’t try to figure it out. Find a way out. The body trumps the mind.” Luxuriating in the absence of background buzz, I navigate faux obstacles and bookmark safe sensations. If a big hairy spider invades now, my tower of conch shells detects danger. My therapist cheers, “You turned a corner,” then throws confetti.