On Numbing Out and The Passing Of Time

This post was originally written March 4th, 2020

My mind is screaming "Stop! Stop!" "Everything is going too fast! Everything is taking too long!" My sense of shame and self-condemnation is amped up today. My inner critic, self-saboteur, is in full on hyper-control mode. 

That's an interesting connection, I don't think I would have made it if I wasn't watching myself write these words on this page. The numbing place, it is about control. The feeling of safety.

When I am afraid, I hide. What am I afraid of?

I've disconnected from myself. Pulled in. Hiding in an effort to find relief from the finger of accusation - the one that chants "you're not good enough. you're not good enough. you're not good enough." whenever I slow down enough to tune in. 

It stings in spite of it's familiarity. It's too much to confront it. To look at it head on leaves me vulnerable to all kinds of things I'm not sure how to face. 

So I numb. 

Feed it the lollipop of the 21st century - my phone. What a soothing sensation it is when I scroll. 

Scroll. Scroll. 
Inner scream. 

Scroll. 
Scroll.
Scroll.

Until gently I numb that thing to sleep. 

It wakes me this morning before I am ready. Bouncing on the bed, eager to remind me of my inferiority. My status beneath. It pokes my cheeks, tries to pry my eyes open. Fake whispers "Are you sleeping?? Wake up! You're not asleep! Wake up!!" 

I hand it my phone. 

Two cups of coffee later, I am ready. I take the phone away and pick up a pen. Determined to get to the bottom of this, I write until the passing of time slows to a pace that matches the heartbeat of my own rhythm. 

Write. Write.
Astonishing insight and connection. 

Write. 
Write.
Write.

I write until the numbers on the calendar no longer serve as a cruel wake up call to how much time I've lost in the numbing. 

Here in this place, is a celebration of just how much I've lived.