So hard I have been trying to just stay in the moment, and let life work itself out. The thing is, though, that it is through my obsessions and fixations that I find my calm – and though I may be able to hold off the impulse for a few days at a time, it never really lasts longer than that.
I have to give in, or risk falling apart, and that is where I am right now.
The activities… they don’t satisfy me like they used to. I can no longer make myself believe that I have any power to make these changes in my life; that I could start again, try again, have a do over of my life. Yet I still need the activities in order to avoid becoming worse.
It is a cycle, and pray and work as I do to overcome it, eventually I have to give in. Like an addiction – to cigarettes (I am not a smoker), alcohol (I am not a drinker), gambling (I never even liked putting money in arcade games), drugs (don’t do those, either) – I give in, because it is too hard not to.
Perhaps on the surface, though not understood, my own addictions don’t seem as harmful as the ones I have listed. At the same time, they leave me with a sense of dissatisfaction, or frustration in my life. Or perhaps it is that feeling I am trying to overcome. I don’t know, but though it satisfies the need in the moment, and helps keep me from fully breaking down, I don’t think they are helpful, either.
So I have been looking at my clipboard and paper, and fighting the urge to design houses (I need to find contentment where I am), or write letters to God (complete with answers), or daydream of miracles (time travel, magic… anything to overcome this powerlessness I feel.) And I am failing… I haven’t quite given in, but I can feel the need growing stronger.
And will that hurt anyone? Maybe. Where does dissatisfaction lead but to hurt the ones that you love, as you seek outside to fulfill your needs… not that I go outside – more I turn inside. In turning inside, creating my own worlds in my mind, do I block out, and turn away from those close to me?
Or maybe it is a creativity inside of me that is looking for an outlet – and I only need to channel it into more suitable activities… writing stories, painting pictures (I am not a great painter… I have never really tried), sculpting clay, building doll houses… anything that will fulfill this ache in me in a more positive way.
Yet I don’t. It is both easier, and cheaper, to continue on in the habits I have formed over the years… well, maybe writing isn’t that expensive, but I am afraid of the criticism. So I go to my activities that I have kept private all of my life… and in fact, I burn them once I have completed them for fear that others will find them and judge me.
Not healthy, I suppose, but I must do something.
Perhaps someday, I will find a way to break this cycle.
For today, however, my clipboard is on the floor calling to me – and I may just have to answer the call. I hope they will understand.