Sometimes when things are going too well for too long my wily mind likes to try and find things to be sad about. “Hey, remember that mistake you made five years ago?” it will chirp sadistically into my ear as it slings its heavy arm around my shoulder. “Let’s dwell on THAT.” My mind is crafty. If there’s any empty space it will fill it with an image or words that tug at my sensitive heart. If I fall for its tricks the descent picks up speed:
“You haven’t thought about THIS person in a while–let’s really miss them, shall we?
Remember that time someone said something mean and you didn’t do anything back? Let’s get upset and defensive about that.
Remember that thing you did last year that at the time seemed like the right thing to do? Well I’m here to tell you that it was WRONG, and you have failed, and life will never be OK again, and you inevitably hurt someone else even though they don’t know it.
I’m going to make you backtrack and obsess until your eyes blister with tarnished memories.
Remember that thing you lost? Remember how horrible you felt about yourself for being so careless and stupid disrespectful towards the person who gave it to you? Yeah, I thought you did. Let’s beat ourselves up over THAT.
I think things are going to get worse, don’t you? You don’t? Well, they are and you’re not ready!
Hang on, let me grab the tissues and some chocolate. Stay put…oh wait you’re not going anywhere, ha ha!”
And that was how I ended up curled up on my bed crying for two straight hours Tuesday night. Dragging myself out of bed to brush my teeth before I went to sleep seemed to be the biggest effort I could muster. I woke up to a puffy moon face and my left eye nearly swollen shut, and true to my responsible keep-up-the-facade nature I went to work and acted as if nothing had happened. Someone has to pay the mortgage and put food on the table.
Lots of seekers including myself have preached about not getting too wrapped up in dwelling on the past or trying to control the future. One person who used to read my blog would probably love to use those words against me to point out what I hypocrite I’m being. Well in case you haven’t figured it out, I’m human and I’m a work in progress just like the rest of us. At least I know when I’m faltering. That’s half the battle.
The nice thing about these dark nights of the soul is that they’re guiding posts for either something deeper that is troubling me or they’re the last pit stops before major changes. Law of attraction folks might say all that crap and sadness can happen as a release of limiting beliefs or negative feelings or resistance before a shift to a higher vibration when awesome things start to manifest. I think it’s a little bit of both. If I’m having a meltdown over something rather insignificant then it usually means there’s something much more serious below the surface that’s picking up speed.
And sometimes I just want to be sad. It’s comforting. It’s easy. It keeps me company. I wrote a guest post on another blog about the allure of rock bottom. My brother said if my version of rock bottom had a low frequency fan he’d stay there all the time. Maybe I was slowly drifting towards rock bottom again. Or maybe I just needed to hole up in my cocoon for a night and have a good cry. But if I had stayed curled up in my bed through the next day and into the next night I would have begun a rapid descent into dulled senses and even foggier thinking.
No surprise, getting the crap kicked out of me was just what I needed. The next night I went to the sparring and red and black belt classes, and my mood lifted instantly. I was back among my friends in my home away from home. I smiled easily and cracked jokes in between dodging kicks and landing punches. In the later class Grandmaster had my instructor try out a kicking combination while I dodged and blocked. He pushed us to try again and again and as we either became more tired or more daring (or a little bit of both) the mini-sparring became a little more brutal each time. The harder we worked the happier I became, each blow was a mini jolt of electricity reminding me that I was very much alive and very much in the present moment.
As I was leaving I joked that I’d have to wear long sleeves the next day to cover my bruises. Secretly though I was pleased. As it has been for the last two years taekwondo was the outlet and saving grace that helped me escape that comforting but dangerous pit of sadness and isolation. Tonight once again the sadness and regret and obsession are creeping around at my feet as I sit here home alone writing this, but I’m keeping them at bay. I glance down at the small brown welts on my forearms and the purple stain on my knee, give those creepy crawlies the side-eye and say, “I’m tougher than you think.”