On My Mind

I have an overactive imagination. I know this. I also know that there are times when I simply cannot stop my brain from coming up with ridiculous images and scenarios that just won't happen. I have to just let it do its thing and then chide myself after.

Or do I?

I've been reading a lot about reprogramming behavioral responses and while it sounds incredibly scary, I understand what it means for people like me who cannot stop their brain from conjuring up pictures and scenarios. I am not in any way suggesting that people should try this out for fun: this was, and still is, something I feel can be either incredibly beneficial or a fucking nightmare depending on who is administering the treatment.

Case in point: I have a consultation this afternoon with a new therapist. The doctor works out of her home and I woke up in the middle of the night with a panic attack thinking that it's all a front and she is actually going to kill me. I lay there trying to get my brain to calm the fuck down and after two hours of this nonsense, I finally gave in.

Okay brain, I said to myself. You want to wake me up and fill my head with this shit? Fine. LET'S DO THIS.

I conjured up scenes that belonged in a horror movie, complete with chainsaws and running blindly down corridors. I let my brain exhaust itself with all the potentially terrible and horrific things that could go wrong spiraling through my psyche. At the end of it all, I asked myself a question: why are you so afraid?

My brain instantly went on the defense, telling me that I'm not afraid, just being cautious. I reminded myself of the images I had just witnessed and asked if these were the thoughts of a cautious person, or one trying to justify not going to the appointment. 

And that was my 'a-ha!' moment.

After I figured out the pattern of self-sabotage, I realized that I had just spent three hours in deep conversation with myself. 

One step at a time.

Sweeping it All Away

In the midst of preparing to move, I've discovered a lot of things I didn't realize I was still holding onto. I found letters from previous lovers, divorce papers from husband number 2 (including the terrible letters he wrote me telling me how much I suck), and a ton of other things.

I sat and looked at all that stuff and I started to cry. It's emotional to see parts of your life splayed out in front of you. I sat and looked at it and when I was ready, I methodically tore each piece of paper into shreds.

Words cannot describe how amazing that felt. To be able to sit there with these pieces and process the emotions around them and then let them go. 

I found the first few extremely difficult. I wanted to give up and shove the rest into a bag and 'deal with it later' but I knew that was a lie. I wouldn't do it later, or ever. If I didn't deal with it right then, I would spend the rest of my life dragging this excess shit around me and wondering why I felt so bad.

Part of my struggle through depression was the feeling that I wasn't going to get any better. I spent a lot of time lying on my side wondering when the pain will stop and my life would start up again. When I was able to function again, I remember looking at the junk and thinking I should clear it away but it seemed too difficult.

It's a strange feeling, this new lightness. I have systematically cleared out most of the places where I've hidden my excess baggage: the old paystubs, old birthday/Valentine's/Christmas cards, things I no longer need in my life. 

I didn't need any of it and yet I held onto it out of fear: fear of change, fear of facing myself, fear of not having the security of things. I realized that I will not win anything at the end of the day for having held onto my crap. 

I am no longer looking at what to hang onto. I am looking at what to let go of.

Purging - The Before

I have an incredible amount of stuff. Stuff that I haven't looked at in years, things that I've never worn, and books that I will probably never, ever read. Why do I have all of this crap?

Oh, that's right. I thought that having 'things' meant that I was successful, that I had somehow 'made it' because because I could afford to buy all that stuff. People would walk into my place and be stunned by the sheer volume of things. I had things on top of things beside more things that had other things resting against them.

So much stuff, and none of it is making me happy.

I have been part of the 'should' tribe for a very long time. I would tell myself that I 'should' get up early and exercise before going to work, that I 'should' spend more time writing, that I 'should' get out of debt. And I haven't. 

Do you know why?

It's because I am afraid. I am afraid of losing my credibility as a comic nerd if I don't have all of them in my house. I am afraid of actually committing to an exercise regime that will work, because then I will have to keep it up and I don't want to be all crazy about it. I am afraid that if I don't keep all of the holiday and birthday cards my mom has ever given me that somehow I am a bad daughter. And, I'm afraid that if I set a budget and stick to it, that I will become 'un-fun' to be around.

When I actually write it all down and read it, I sound like an idiot. Why am I afraid of those things? Why do I insist on having things around me that aren't adding value to my life? 

Clutter aside, it's just dumb. I can't possibly read every single book nor do I have to have my own personal copy of it to enjoy it. There are these things called libraries; have you heard of them? Apparently, you can go there and they will lend you a book to read and all you have to do is read and take it back. As in, not keep it. And then, they let you take another book to read.

I am starting to pack for the move in a couple of weeks and as I stood there surveying my items, I realized that I need to make a change. I cannot keep lugging all of this crap around with me. It serves me no purpose.

Sounds like an epiphany is about to happen.

Last night, as I started to pack up my graphic novels, I came across a photo album from my previous marriage. Without thinking, I tore out the pages, shredded them, and recycled the book.

Can I tell you how that felt? I felt a little tiny release inside my heart, as if I were finally letting go of that part of my life. I didn't need to carry that around with me anymore so I released it.

I am excited to see what else I can let go of.