Beginners Mind Part II
I wrote yesterday's post, Beginner's Mind, in about 10 minutes. I should have been driving Twig to Pre-School but the past couple of days have been extra, extra difficult to manage. I hit publish with a very cursory review of the words, only to ensure that basic sentence structure was correct and that the concepts weren't too confused.
A friend read the post and called to talk. During the work day and in-between meetings I sobbed on the phone to her: there is nothing in particular that's bothering me, it's everything. The entire family is in a bit of a crisis. On many occasions I can practice 'right mind'. But other times it's not so easy. We didn't get to talk for very long and the call was ended rather abruptly, considering the degree of emotion and the topic at hand.
It is disconcerting, this heavy pain, confusion, and isolation that I describe.
When I had a few moments alone before bed, I re-read the post.
Since then, I've been wondering:
Do my words, either written or spoken lead you to believe that the edge has become so close to me - that one day writing the blog or talking on the phone through the tears won't release enough of the pressure - that I will act in ways to ensure that things fall apart, broken, irreparable?
Do my words make me like my dead bi-polar father who refused to treat his disease? Am I refusing to see that I have a problem? If so, why? Because I don't want to be like my clinically depressed mother, who in my opinion, took (or takes?) antidepressants to manage deplorable situations?
Am I even slightly like my father and/or mother? I've always thought not. Maybe I'm wrong.
Am I depressed? Periodically, yes. Consistently and severely or intermittently and mildly? I don't know. Some degree of depression is normal right?
Do I need some form of formal treatment? Or am I just overly dramatic?
A friend read the post and called to talk. During the work day and in-between meetings I sobbed on the phone to her: there is nothing in particular that's bothering me, it's everything. The entire family is in a bit of a crisis. On many occasions I can practice 'right mind'. But other times it's not so easy. We didn't get to talk for very long and the call was ended rather abruptly, considering the degree of emotion and the topic at hand.
It is disconcerting, this heavy pain, confusion, and isolation that I describe.
When I had a few moments alone before bed, I re-read the post.
Since then, I've been wondering:
Do my words, either written or spoken lead you to believe that the edge has become so close to me - that one day writing the blog or talking on the phone through the tears won't release enough of the pressure - that I will act in ways to ensure that things fall apart, broken, irreparable?
Do my words make me like my dead bi-polar father who refused to treat his disease? Am I refusing to see that I have a problem? If so, why? Because I don't want to be like my clinically depressed mother, who in my opinion, took (or takes?) antidepressants to manage deplorable situations?
Am I even slightly like my father and/or mother? I've always thought not. Maybe I'm wrong.
Am I depressed? Periodically, yes. Consistently and severely or intermittently and mildly? I don't know. Some degree of depression is normal right?
Do I need some form of formal treatment? Or am I just overly dramatic?
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1 comment:
Oh Wonelle,
Make no mistake. You are like no one I have met in your family, except that I see you as sort of a sister of mine in a way. And I see you other sisters that way, too.
If talking and writing help move the weight, then that may be enough. I don't see you doing anything dangerous. When something is written, I have to ask what may be layered beneath it.
I find our cultures' lack of tolerance for moodiness and sadness sad itself. Winter is what makes spring so special, the contrast of cold and frigid to the warm and open. So I know there will be down days, and bummer days.
I do worry when it has been a bummer for a while, say more than two weeks. Then I think it may be more than just a little blip.
Can't believe how many things we have in common! Dead bipolar fathers and medicated absent from their own lives mothers.
I would urge you to have some form of treatment, even if it takes the form of meditation or an art class. Just be good to yourself, like you would be to a good friend. TLC.
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