The Dark and The Light of Me

As I lay awake last night, I made several attempts, over and over for half the night it seemed, to quiet the voice that wanted to eat. I tossed and I turned and I searched in vain for a comfortable position. I took deep breaths, and settled in the warmth of  my bed again and again as I waited for the urge to leave. I quoted back to myself the mantras of a food addict, and reminded myself of little science facts to overcome the building compulsion to get out of bed and stuff something in my face.

Eventually I lost, and sat in bed eating Triscuits. No sugar, no flour, but eating none the less. Shameful, I think. And immediately I take a breath, and remember to be kind. To be compassionate to myself. And while it has become easier all the time to forgive myself, at the same time there is a deeper, subtle frustration building that this is taking so long. This healing, this journey, this everything.

I'm right back in the car listening to the man on the radio explaining that he had wasted his life trying to analyze it. And I am that man. Most of the time I know it doesn't really matter how I spend my time, and I think that particular feeling is at the core of things, at the core of everything. No matter how I work to convince myself that I am worthy, the dark seed that lies at my root is that I failed my son, and that there is no coming back from that. That certainty is my rock bottom. It is my anchor to failure. 

I may believe that we are all connected, and that the energy I put out into the world matters,  but that doesn't negate the reality of how I feel.  I know that these are parts with different personalities and beliefs and convictions, but they are both me, and living in this state of contradictory beliefs is slowly grinding me down, giving my core sharp brittle edges that are hard to smooth over with platitudes and parts work.

I will not let the panic I feel rising  win. I will drop my shoulders and keep breathing. I will command my thoughts with positivity and lean into the routine of the day hoping that sanity will soon follow.

My left analytical brain who tells the stories, and my right emotional brain who yearns to belong to the light - surely they will drive me mad. But I have read enough stories in my life to know that the light will win, one way or another, and maybe with bodies lying bloody and mangled in the road, but the light will win.