Truth Hurts, Sometimes

Quote of the day: “Live your life from your heart. Share from your heart. And your story will touch and heal people's souls.” —Melody Beattie; author, journalist

I was telling my friend Linda yesterday that I had attempted to craft my daily blog entry, but I just couldn’t do it. I had nothing…zip, zilch, nada. Well, nothing positive. I felt a slight recovery from Monday’s holiday hangover, but not enough to get me going. My energy has been so low and I feel so fatigued that I couldn’t even begin to put a sentence together.

So last night, after teaching my dance and drum classes, which made me feel spectacular, I began to ask myself why it is all well and good to blog when I am feeling hopeful and positive, but not when I am sad, angry, fatigued and depressed? If the whole purpose of this experiment is to document the process of following one’s faith and destiny, then wouldn’t it make sense to include ALL of the journey, not just the feel-good stretches?

Over the past few months of blogging I have included some low moments, so it wouldn’t seem out of the ordinary for me to do so. But this feeling is different. I’ve been wanting to escape…to softly and silently drift away…to disappear.

When you feel like disappearing, the last thing you want to do is give voice to it. That would actually be the antithesis of disappearing for me because giving voice to my feeling helps me to be present. When I want to disappear, I’m looking to avoid the present.

My short-lived life has taught me that “this too shall pass.” That what I really need to do is rest and retreat, spiritually, but who am I to need rest. I’m not fighting a war, or raising children, or saving lives. So, again, who am I to need rest?

I can berate myself all I want, but it won’t help. I don’t feel any closer to pulling myself up by my boot straps merely because I’ve attempted to shame myself into doing so. In fact, it makes me feel even more like a loser.

Where are the people who simply struggle with the tasks of everyday life? Where are the people who just can’t put the clothes they wear that day away, or the basket of clean laundry in their rightful place, or the dishes in the dish drain in the cupboard, or the piles of random papers and mail on their dining room table where they should be, or the 10,000 pairs of shoes in front of the front door in their respective closets? Am I the only one? Am I the only one who cannot stay on top of her life administrative tasks?

They never end these tasks. You wash the dishes from dinner only to find them dirty again the next day. You hang up your pile of clothes only to remove them and be burdened once again with their placement. They never, ever, end.

Depressed? Yes. Does it hurt? Yes. I hate those “Cymbalta” depression commercials on TV because they make me feel bad just watching them. If you’ve ever struggled with depression, you know how bad it sucks. And, medication sometimes is and isn’t the best solution. I know for me, it’s not.

I haven’t even touched on the shame, guilt and anxiety I am feeling about all the work that needs to be done for our dance studio that I can’t even begin to do. I feel like it’s slipping away from me and that’s scaring me.

I have in fact already disappeared. I am here in body, but not in spirit. I am off floating around somewhere in the ether. If anyone who reads this is a viewer of the TV show “LOST,” I have left the alternate reality and am dangling in the timeline on the island.

I’ll leave it at that.