THE THERAPIST I MISSED the most once told me that people suffer from one of two mental disasters. I loved the term “mental disasters,” and said it over and over again when I first heard it. These disasters were the result of profound (or maybe not even) events that happened when we were children, and they felt like a kind of invisible brand that marked us as we moved through the world. They were simple, but dictated elements of your personality, and perhaps even what you spent a lifetime running from. They were broken down into the childhood development of two feelings: I am bad or I am no one. The first is the state of depression and ego paralysis. The second is the state of depersonalization and ego loss. Both evoke primal fear.

Maybe you were told over and over again that you were bad as a child. Or maybe it was just an unspoken feeling you had when you were growing up. The other, I am no one, often took hold if you were ignored. Or felt unloved no matter what you did. The result could be needing to be seen, or wanting to be heard. No amount of being seen can satiate you when your prevailing sense of self is I am no one.

Out here in the desert, I once again had the feeling of I am no one well up inside of me. As I looked up at the jet hanging low overhead, I wanted the plane to see me. So I took a few steps and reclined on the dry mud that had cracked into near-perfect squares and stared up at the plane and the sky. “Can you see me?” I wanted to call out. But I didn’t. Because I wanted to be seen, and not seen at all. I looked for people who also wanted to be seen, who needed attention, and I felt drawn to them, even as I folded in on myself to be hidden, invisible. Those of us who felt like we were no one were constantly on the knife-edge of affirming our existence and wanting to run from it. The sound of the jet enveloped the entire desert floor. I closed my eyes and listened to it. It was the only sound that permeated the space. It was louder than anything I had ever heard before. The sun began its rise, and I could already feel the first radiance of the coming heat.

The wind had picked up, and sand skipped over the road like a fine mist. I stared out to the road leading farther into the park, and the black asphalt disappeared behind a wall of sand, which curled up into the sky like smoke. I had seen pictures of these desert sandstorms, but it was incredible to watch in person. Sometimes they were powered by hurricane-force winds.