Bigger on the Inside (Notes on Survival & Sci-Fi)

[House lights dim. A low, familiar wheeze of something arriving... almost like a hinge remembering how to open.]

As a kid with PTSD, I kept one eye on the exit and the other on the stars.

When shame rose like static in my throat, I scanned every room for a blue door. Not just any door... the time-traveler’s POLICE BOX, the TARDIS. I wanted it to wheeze into existence behind the Dollar Tree.

Because if a time machine could appear somewhere mundane, maybe escape could too. Maybe somewhere quieter existed: gentler, truer, less punishing about the way I moved through space.

The show’s recurring joke, of course, is that the box looks unassuming on the outside. On the inside? A wild, humming ship with levers, consoles, and occasionally bookshelves.

Ever felt like your life looks bite-sized from the outside, while inside you’re carrying a whole star system? That misfit math shaped my teens.

I know I’m not the only one who felt it. That “bigger on the inside” ache. Kinda like a dark pocket universe you carry around every day. The urge to whisper, I contain multitudes, and mean it literally.

What follows are field notes from living there.

(Mandatory photo of me with Tennant goes here. Alt text: Alyssa grinning next to David Tennant 😅)