If you could see me right now, stretched out on my bed, lounging on several pillows, iPad atop my thighs, what might you presume?
I appear focused. I don’t appear to be uncomfortable, physically or otherwise. If you saw me here and didn’t know anything else about me, the picture before you would seem unremarkable.
The truth? My jaw aches from clenching. My neck and upper back ache from tension. In my head, I’m screaming at the top of my lungs (what I’m screaming is a story for another time). I haven’t gotten dressed today and it’s 10pm. I keep meaning to get in the shower, but am repeatedly distracted by [insert shiny object].
I’m here physically, but mentally I’m in several different times and places. I’m exhausted, yet wired, and disappointed that I’ve no outlet for this energy.
When I pay closer attention, I realize I’m holding my breath. And, as I type these words, I’m aware of cruel mental chatter with which I’ve managed to disengage long enough to type this.
There are things I could do to redirect my attention to more positive things. I could write up a new ‘reverse bucket list’ or a list of ‘reasons I don’t completely suck.’ I could make a list of things I’m looking forward to in the coming weeks and months. And, hell, maybe I’ll end up doing one or two of the above at some point tonight. But more than anything else, I think I need to try to unclench. I need to breathe. I need to offer myself the same kindness and compassion I so readily offer others. It’s not rocket science, but it’s still one of the last things that comes to mind when I need it most.
The song on a loop in my head should have been a clue as to what’s actually going on beneath the seemingly serene surface:
“There’s an emptiness inside her and she’d do anything to fill it in, but all the colors mix together to grey, and it breaks her heart.” Dave Matthews