Protecting Myself.

I always try to end with a bit of optimism. I have a desire to share something uplifting with you, dear reader. I end up lifting myself through these words as well. Funny how that happens. It has been a long, full week of classes, work, stresses. I have a responsibility to make this life work, to make my endeavors work. I will not be brought down by any disability. I cannot afford to waste my life because a few synapses are out of place. Okay, more than a few, but still, no excuse. I need to be both easier and harder on myself. I must try to be optimistic, to ease my warring mind, to tackle the anxiety and the fears. TO teach myself how to survive a busy schedule without losing my mind. It’s an interesting expression, losing ones mind. Thoughts must be shelved and filed away in an orderly fashion, lest we lose control of them, lest they flow to their whim and leave us amid a current of rapid flow from which we cannot reach the shore again. I have swam long and hard to reach the shore I’m standing on, and I cannot afford to lose ground. I picture both an ocean and an office in my head. Perhaps the ocean needs a different place, the gut. Yes, when the passions of the gut rise into the mind, there is trouble. The office floods and we lose all those important documents, all that order. Order, order, I need order. I need a container for myself. I am a container for myself. I have to take care of this container. I have to take care of myself. No one else will. No one else but me. This is something of a revelation. We grow up, most of us, being taken care of, to a certain degree. Or maybe that was all an illusion and we’ve always had to take care of ourselves, ourselves. Feedings, burpings aside, learning to tie shoes and ride bikes aside, there’s something else going on, there are decisions we make, in what to say, how to be, we do what we can to protect ourselves. I need to protect myself. From chaos. From internal chaos. I learn a lot through writing. I hope it’s valuable to others too. I need to do the dishes and sweep the floor and do laundry so I have enough clean underwear. These are all part of it. Of sanity. 

About Undecided Pseudonym

A woman who remembers enjoying writing.
This entry was posted in Archive, Non-Fiction and tagged . Bookmark the permalink.