I press my fingers into my palms, hard. I squeeze with all the strength I have right now until it feels as if each bone might snap and collapse in on itself or simply explode and cease to work any longer.
I have been throwing myself into a self-imposed routine and telling myself self-medicating discipline will bring me back to my old self. It has been working even better than I thought. System and regimen have balanced a new normal and it keeps me focused. Keeps me mindful. Keeps me stable. I adhere to the rules I have created like breaking or bending them could cause a total system meltdown.
It started as an exercise in control, testing how much power I have over my mind to behave the way I want it to. A way to prove I am in charge of those inhabitants running through my head. It worked. Better than I thought. I threw myself too far into the structured system. I unknowingly started construction on a new room along the hallway in my head and each victory over the unplanned and uncoordinated laziness became another nail in the frame. Another sheet of drywall hung. Another coat of paint. Before long, my ‘control’ over the rampant residents became a renegade of its own.
-Gray walls, pristine furnishings and rules printed on paper stapled across the ceiling infest the confines of room 3-15-14-20-18-15-12.-
I find the slightest misstep from the path to be debilitating. A tiny waver off the plan is crushing. The discipline that was saving me is now pulling me apart. I can’t find reprieve from its forceful thumb pressing down and a mocking voice implying my worthlessness and irrelativity. I’ve started grounding to be sure I am still present and it begins with fingers forced to meet palms as if they could reach through them. Once I am sure I can feel the absoluteness of my flesh, I then ask the questions.
Where am I?
What day is it?
What is the weather?
Who are you talking to?
Are they real?
Is your slip-up that impactful?
Will this matter tomorrow?
No.
Unclench your fist and focus on living.
April 23rd, 2019
CRUSOE 