I have a fantastic life. Truly. I recognize it. I have a great and stable job during a tough economic climate. I have two boisterous, happy, healthy boys. I have a comfortable home. I have a reliable vehicle. I have food in the pantry. I have a closet full of clothes. I have loving friends. I have incredible sisters.
And yet. Something is all knotted up inside of me, and I find it hard to breathe. It’s not self-pity, as far as I can tell. I don’t want to wallow in anything. I’m not feeling down on myself. I don’t think I’m chastising myself. I’m acknowledging and taking ownership of my mistakes and shortcomings in managing relationships, but not beating myself up over not being able to fit a square peg in a round hole. I like myself. I see good in myself. I recognize that my existence contributes positively to this world, in that I love and give of myself to others, and I do good work for my employer. I try not to burden anybody (Gadget, of course, doesn’t share that particular view).
And yet. Something inside me feels like it needs to howl at the moon or run a marathon or break something big or cry my eyes out (more than I already have). It’s like I’m stuck in this strange visceral state and I need a kick start to snap me out of it. Only I don’t know what kind of kick is needed.
On an intellectual level, I know everything is fine. Gadget can play his silly games, but it’s all smoke and mirrors and won’t amount to anything. And yes, there has been a great deal of change and stress in my life this year and last, but all of that is past tense, and the here and now is full of goodness. So why can’t I breathe?
aunty evil Says:
