A Sea of Emotion

Years ago, I described writing poetry to my friend, Hollie, as immersing yourself in a sea of emotion. Once consumed by the undertow of an emotion you can either let it carry you through to the end of the current [hopefully you don’t run out of air] or you can thrash about and drown yourself in it. I could describe my recent emotional panic as the latter. Trying to kill the emotion before it could kill me.

It was a terrifying experience; I don’t recommend it. The sane thing to do would have been to holler for a life preserver; but my pride kept me from going easy on myself. I even cried out to God to rip the emotions out of my chest. And do you know what He did? He showed me what they stemmed from so I could get over myself. Can you believe that? I ask for a life raft and he tells me I can swim if I’d just calm down.

He was right of course, but I didn't have to like it. It took me several days to climb back up into the boat, shaking my head at my own ridiculous reaction to pain and fear (the fear being nothing more than my own creation). How silly we are sometimes. The whole world seems backwards to us, all the while they’re yelling at us, “Just stand up. You’re in two feet of water.” And then we scowl at them later for their willingness to let us drown.

If you’re sinking, try to stand up. If that doesn't work, demand a life preserver. When they deny you that, ask God to fork it over already because no one else is. And if He happens to tell you to swim, you just might find that you’re the only one who’s going to drag your ass out of the swamp. You’ll resent them for a little while. But if you can manage it, you’ll be stronger than an ogre and as free as the eagles.

If you're curious about my recent journey into the depths of my soul, you can read about it here: aseaofemotion.blogspot.com. It's not pretty.

Let Writing Sift Your Soul

Why does it seem like this phase last the longest? That in between feeling. In between jobs, in between growing up, in between lives. It’s a dreadful feeling. You’re apprehensive. You’re on edge. You’re terrified of what is to come and yet you urge it on just to get it over with. It’s suspense.

Suspense in the movies and in books enriches the experience. I try to tell myself that. Remind myself that the length of time is just an illusion. It’s much shorter than it feels. Like the seconds ticking by just before school's out or quitting time at work. Time always seems to stand still.

Yet it feels inescapable. How do we deal with it?

As I feel the anxiety rise up in my throat, I take a deep breath. Breathe. Just breathe, I tell myself. It’s not that bad. Only it is. I’m unemployed, my husband’s contract might run out in two weeks, and my mother-in-law (my other housemate) could be fired any day. I’ll have to run away to Tennessee and file bankruptcy, but still be in debt because of student loans. We won’t even be able to support ourselves further south because it’s only a couple hundred dollars cheaper than Connecticut. But those couple hundred dollars are a couple hundred dollars and its cold up here and I’m just terrified that I’ll actually have to do something I love now that I’ve finally taken the leap and jumped off the 9-5 employment bridge.

That about sums it up. I read somewhere that this is one way to get over your fears. To paint the picture of the worst possible scenario. And then look at it and decide if it really is that bad. To be honest, my picture isn’t much different than my life right now. In fact, some of it sounds better.

I did this once when I was thirteen. I was moving across town and felt like I was losing the only friends I had. I was on my bike for the last time, riding a forbidden two streets away down a busy road. The thought of jerking the handle bars out into oncoming traffic crossed my mind. And I wanted to. But something strange happened. The handle bars wouldn’t move. It was as if someone had their hands over mine in a vice grip and wouldn’t let me turn them.

This gave me one more moment to finish the thought before the cars passed by. It wouldn’t kill me. I would end up severely injured instead and in the hospital. My mom would hate me. I’d be grounded. They’d think I did it for attention. I’d never be allowed to ride again. I’d have my freedom taken away. All these thoughts ran through my head at once.

And so I continued on. Instead, I decided a better punishment would be to make myself live through it. Live through the loneliness, the isolation, the fears; and it was terrible. I cried myself to sleep every night. I wrote poetry that sounded like suicide notes. It was a good thing no one ever saw them back then. They wouldn’t have understood the vow I’d made to myself to live through the pain.

Turns out, it was worth it. Life is full of pain and joy. Freedom and cages. It’s our decisions that influence the path of our lives. It’s worth the adventure, the journey. It’s worth it all for one breathe of joy.

So write. Write down your fears, the terrors that plague you. Get them out. Don’t let them eat you up inside. You’re not alone. Let your writing sift your soul. Don't be afraid of what's inside. Because you're not the only one.