Losing it

Another throw back to something that I wrote a long time ago now, but I think it speaks volumes so I'm going to share it anyway...

Losing it

It’s a funny game, this. It’s about losing everything, literally. But the thing is, at the time, you don’t feel like you’re losing. Well, that’s not strictly true. You constantly feel like you’re losing, like you’ve lost, but it’s like a half-hearted attempt to claw back something, anything, of what you thought belonged to you. But it’s not there. Not where you left it.

To the outside world it’s clear you’re losing it. The weight, that is. But inside, it’s a perfect metaphor for how you feel. ‘Losing it’ isn’t about the weight. It’s about losing grasp in and of a world that terrifies and overwhelms. How careless: To ‘lose it’ (like losing a map) when you already feel lost? 

I need to record this now, because when I feel elated, I forget all of this. And the thing is, I need to not forget this awful, crushing feeling. The feeling of losing it. The feeling of how helpless I feel. How desperate. How utterly loathsome I find myself. Not because I want to stay there, but because when I feel ok, the temptation is to run away, and pretend that everything is ok. When underneath it’s not. There’s so much that’s not right. And I’m SO good at the pretending everything’s ok. The superficial stuff, but I can’t connect with how I feel, when it’s all superficial. I can feed back to others what they hope to see from me, but then that’s all I know – how to appear ‘good’/’well’/’up’. 

I don’t want to pull myself down when I’m up, but I need to remember this: That I need to deal with this pain. This awfulness. This abstract LOATHING of myself. And the fact that it doesn’t go away. That I need to deal with the difficulties of being, to deal with the agony of living (because sometimes that is how it feels.) And when I am ‘up’ I forget that I need to deal with it, not sweep it away. Because one day I will wake up and it will be something that I don’t have to deal with, but that will be because it’s done, dealt with, understood, helped and cured. Not just brushed away for a day, or a week, or a month.

I want to run away. Hide under a big stone so no one, not even me, can find me. But in the absence of being able to do that, I need to confront me. Face all of this HEAD on. Stop running. Stop pretending. Stop treading water.  Or to use another analogy, to stop wading in the shallows hoping I’m somehow going to convince everyone I’ve learned to swim, but actually plunge into the deep, murky waters and flail, feel like I’m drowning, but respond to help and instruction and come out a stronger swimmer able to deal with the rip tides and currents that run deep. 

So, there’s a lot to lose. But I’m already losing most of it anyway. So, turn it on its head and there’s a lot to find. Find me, find purpose, find life. Perhaps it’s only through losing it all completely that I can find it all again. And it’s this that I need to hold on to. In the bad times, but also, probably more importantly, a reminder to myself in the good times too.