[photo credit: TBS]
I’m pretty sure I’m going through a period of disintegration.
I can be fine for a while, then slip and get stuck in weird corners of my psyche.
A few weeks ago my friend Bruce wrote something wise to me, in response to my relating something that was bothering me and I said it’s “the story of my life”:
If things/stuff like this comprise the story of your life, then it’s up to you to write a new story. It’s not ANYBODY ELSE’S RESPONSIBILITY to write your story. They only can if we let them.
He’s absolutely right.
But my problem?
And, I can’t choose which story to believe in anymore.
We must self-interpret.
I’m finding that we have to find a way of spin-doctoring the truth (which I am uncertain of in the first place).
Then I come across things like this:
Wisdom tells me I am nothing. Love tells me I am everything. Between the two my life flows.
~ Nisargadatta Maharaj
My brain short-circuits on aphorisms like that. It never used to.
I think I’m losing my mind.
I actually might be.
Left to its own devices my mind grinds through paradoxes and comes up staring at the abyss.
I get lost on concepts like this.
Yes, she who used to take calculus, biochemistry and genetics can’t tease out just what I believe.
And a great anxiety ensues as I try to figure out what it means, for me.
Last night, I went to the coffee shop to get out of my head and to be around people. By 10 o’clock, they were gone on my side of the shop (I was leaning up against a little wall and couldn’t see the others on the other side).
I have a husband and three lovely daughters.
And yet, in that moment, when I realized there was no one there, I felt a loneliness so profound it was hard to stem the flow of tears. After a while, I just couldn’t stop them.
Husband and kids or not, I can’t find anyone to spare me an hour of their time, alone. It’s hard to deal with. I wrote my friend I’m not a very good introvert, I need others to relate with. Preferably articulate and thoughtful others, but where are they now? I’m not sure. Though, from what I hear, many of our nations intelligent ones are in 12-step programs.
I heard that at a World Conference for Gifted and Talented Children last month. Sadly, I can believe it. I’m not the only one whose runaway thoughts and anxieties get the better of them. Oftentimes, our nation’s gifted and talented children are at greatest risk for disillusionment when they hit adulthood.
It’s my journey right now to be relatively isolated, no matter how hard I try or how much I want to make connections.
I would like to meet some new friends, who I can actually meet up for coffee and a philosophical chat.
Do you know what I have found during in my attempts to find female friendships, particularly those with children? Many of them would often joke about needing wine or margaritas to unwind from the stresses of their day. I thought this was just isolated to my area. Apparently not, as this CNN opinion piece by Peggy Drexler states:
“[I]n fact, there’s been a movement toward a certain acceptance — in some cases even glorification — of mothers who drink. Popular Facebook groups like “Moms Who Need Wine” and “OMG I So Need a Glass of Wine or I’m Going to Sell My Kids” have tens of thousands of fans, inspiring one winemaker to create a label of wine especially for stressed-out moms. “Put your kids to bed,” the label for MommyJuice Wines reads, “and have a glass of Mommy Juice.”
Though meant, as a concept, to relieve mothers of the pressure to be perfect, the promotion, even half-seriously, of alcohol as an escape, something deserved as a reward for a long day of parenting, has helped make evident the biggest issue of all: That many women don’t realize what problem drinking looks, or feels, like.”
I think I’d have better luck if I asked women to meet me for a ‘girl’s night out’ at the local watering hole.
Coming from an alcoholic family, married to a man who had a drinking problem, I just can’t. I’d rather not give in to the temptation to obliterate myself with booze.
I guess wine of this century is the Mother’s Little Helper (valium) of the last century.
I don’t exactly know what to make of it, or how to make myself feel better when it hurts.
There’s a lesson in here somewhere that my mind refuses to see. Hence, the breakdown.
The friend who counseled me is in Florida and he’s sailing today on that sailboat above. I’m glad for him.
He emailed me today and said, “let’s go sailing”.
I told him I already am.
The internal seas of emotions I have these days are turbulent, and not unlike sailing in really choppy waters.
Though, I would do well to keep in mind the mantra of my dearly departed friend Barb, “This too shall pass”.