Some days it happens out of the clear blue sky. Yesterday it took me off guard.I knew my mood was not optimal, but a series of disappointments and distances had left me primed for it.
All it took was that one piece of bad news, and in my mind, my world fell apart. The funny thing is, I think if I’d allowed myself that sink a week or two ago, this one wouldn’t have hit so hard. I’d been packing down my doubts, my fears, my frustrations, my anger. I hadn’t been letting myself really feel what I needed to feel, and the emotions were coming to a full boil.
What I needed was a safe place. I sat at my desk wiping away tears and longing for someone to tell me it would be okay. I already had the logic down and the self abuse was in full rant. “You got yourself into this. You deserve this. You’ll never get to where you’re going.”
All the while the other part of my brain was working overtime to convince me that it would be okay. I’ll get there. It’s just setback. My brain can be my worst enemy. There are times when the more time I have alone with it, the more twisted up inside I get. I’d had too much alone time with my thoughts and my feelings, and they were eating me up.
I needed a safe place to breakdown.
Like a driver on a deserted road, I was scared to stop. I didn’t know the country or who or what might find me in that broken down place. There are those who will never understand, and there are those who know that stretch of highway all too well. They’ve been there. They’ve broken down there. They’ve ridden the tires of their psyche down to the rim trying to avoid stopping there – looking for a safe place to breakdown.
Sometimes, in desperation, you stop at what seems to be an abandoned shack only to find friendly, sympathetic faces. Sometimes the place you stop seems inviting enough. The warmth of a yellow porch light gives a place a deceptively inviting feel. And you seek your safe place in that glow, but you are greeted with cold, hard, callous faces who broke down there themselves. They settled there and built themselves not a home, but a fortress guarded by snarling dogs, and biting words.
I found my safe place yesterday. It took me an hour to slow down enough to stop the vehicle of my mind and let the repair begin. Like any repair, you have to take it apart a bit in order to build it back correctly. Strangely, I changed mechanics midway through the repair. You see, there was one bolt I couldn’t loosen. I needed the strength of that safe place to pry it free. Once that bolt was loose, I realized. I was the mechanic, and no matter how much I wanted someone else to fix it, I had to be the one to do the repairs. I had to disassemble it.
I had to disassemble it. I needed replace the worn out parts. I had to be the one to let the tears flush the impurities. I had to find the hope that would provide the necessary lubrication, and the will to fuel it.