I nearly lost myself today and crawled back into that depressing space of darkness where self-pity and doubt run rampant until emotional agony overwhelms all sense of reason. Thoughts sporadically sprint without pace.
It started with an error on my part. A sequence of bad decisions and foolish choices, mixed in with a dash of impulsiveness. Thirty-six years in the making.
One side of my brain demands for a solution. Reason! Logic! We must figure out the answer to our problem!
Obsess...obsess...obsess. All day, minute by painstaking minute I obsessed over a solution to my problem. I needed to fix it now. I needed to be done with it so I could be made clean. Pure. Sinless in the eyes of God and the world.
But that's ridiculous. How can I expect to fix in minutes what took thirty-six years to create? Impulsiveness sprints through my veins, and I demand from myself the impossible. I reflect and think, "Am I a mistake." See, logic didn't sit at the table very long. Irrational and extreme. How can I expect a legitimate solution?
A simple phone call. From my wife. That fixed to issue. I laugh now. But think about it. I allowed my emotions to rip me apart in overwhelming fashion. I clung to the most pessimistic and negative view of myself after a mere thirty minutes without a feasible solution. And in that irrational madness, I never thought I could fix the issue with a simple phone call.
How mad has solitude made us? I think of the way we walk, talk, work, and eat--alone. We are self-made and independent. Yet, the need for therapy and psychoanalysis has never been greater.
How sane can I keep it today? Depends if I allow myself the audience of family and friends.