I closed my eyes

Particles of sand, particles of something sting my face and wind whips through my hair the most powerful wind I have ever felt--it sways me, blows straight through me through my veins, my bones. A constant, deafening whoosh inhabits my ears and I can't shake it, can't soften it.
Where is the eye of this storm?
All I know is I can barely open mine, the gusts force them shut and I swear the sand caught on my eyelashes is now mud, caked, encasing my vision. Nature does not want me to see. No matter how furious the wind gets, my feet are cemented like an unfortunate miracle. Maybe it would be better if I could move, get out of this place because this doesn't feel like a saving grace but rather imprisonment. But this is what I wanted, is it not? An internal tornado, the storm of all storms and it sweeps away all I know of myself and there are no trees to cling to, no lamp posts. Its barren out here (in here?) nothing but ground and wind, so where is my substance? And I know I can't flee. So I pry my arms from my sides, hold them straight out, either side of my body, and it feels like the force is blowing my skin right off. My fingers flexed, I extend my arms further further further, maybe I'm trying to produce wings to fly away but I know I can't so I should just try to fly anyways. Fly into the storm because I can't outrun it now. The eye should be here any time and then I'll have a second to breathe, a second to realize that its not even over and you have put yourself here so ride this out as gracefully as you can with the wind pulling you a thousand ways, like being trapped in a strong ocean current, helpless and flailing. The wind tortures me, so strong it almost tickles my ears, but will not lift me. And the scream of it's inhuman power almost sounds like laughter.