Someone said, “I feel a slight stirring going on inside. Saying it out-loud helps me get to the bottom of it.” I’ve heard others say, “I’m just checking in with myself.” I try staying in touch with myself before boiling over. It doesn’t always work out that way, but right now, I know something is brewing. I feel the bubbles rising, and I don’t feel at home in my body.
Yesterday at Yoga, (Where I’m supposed to be getting my “OM,” on,) I almost lost my sanity, my composure. I could’ve literally grabbed the human Rag-doll-girl next to me by the shoulders and screamed in her face. She was floppy, and fidgety like an uncomfortable teenager. The instructor said, “Roll up slowly, one vertebrae at a time.” The noodle next to me interpreted that as, fly up like stuffing, adjust hair, fan self with shirt, pull shorts down, sigh, and look around the room. Let me set the tone a little more clearly: in this Hot Yoga class, it is essential to be still. Part of the practice is to focus on being a statue unless told to move. It’s extremely difficult for me, and the smallest movement from someone or something else out of the corner of my eye can make me go ape shit. For God’s sake, without stopping to inhale, (and if I were Catholic, I would say, “Jesus, Mary and Joseph,”) we are supposed to be balancing on our damn tiptoes with our legs spread, chest up, gut in, mouth closed, quads tightened, ass squeezed, and about four other difficult directives all at once. It’s freaking hard people, very hard. And you know for me-Ms. Distracted, busy body, it’s almost impossible for me to stay focused. Why Me? Why in the world did I have to end up next to her?
I came up with a little something, but I’ll tell you in a minute. Onward.
That was yesterday’s “trial, ” well today, I found myself in a very similar situation. I went my group meeting, which was already in progress when I got there. I checked the room for a seat. I didn’t want to sandwich in between two other people just because there was an empty chair. I located a chair with only one other person sitting next to it. A few minutes later; and because I attract unnecessary movement, a twitchy-leg walked in and God help me, sat in the chair next to me. Now why on earth does this happen? Why? I plead, why? I’m not kidding you, this person’s leg was on speed, caffeine, and nicotine. I’ve never seen a leg move up and down so fast like someone was riding it for pleasure. I could have totally gotten off, had I gotten on board.
I could not for the life of me hear a word anybody was saying due to the gyrating knee to my right. I was zoned in on it with a surgeons focus. Oh but just wait, then my attention was drawn to the finger gnawing. The said, “ticker” then started munching away at the blood, and skin that was left-over from the previously eaten cuticles. I’m not joking here, every single fucking, that’s right, I said fucking, nail bed was devoured. The tips of each finger were swollen from the sucking and chewing. I couldn’t look away, that is, until the thigh started vibrating again. I mean what in the hell… I was engrossed by this person’s body’s manifestations of nerves. It was insane, really, not just this person’s habits, but my reaction to them. I felt like I was buzzing in my seat from their movements. I wanted to stand up, scream, pull my hair out in front of them, run out the door and wash my hands, all in dramatic form.
But what I really want to know is: what’s eating my Gilbert Grape? I want to know why these people almost sent me crashing into padded walls? Something must be eating at me, and detaching my bones from my insides.
Why do I feel less anchored like the flimsy girl in yoga?
Why do I have the feeling of being bounced and tossed like the runway knee?
Why is my skin raw and peeled like fingers that were eaten?
I’m seeing in other people what I’m feeling inside, and it’s making me crazy.
The words in my head are like lyrics to the songs the moving bodies were playing.
Their bodies represent the discomfort in my head.
My thoughts are as active as their uncontrollable limbs.
I’m changing. I’m shaking free, and I don’t like the awkward feelings that accompany growth.
My strong reaction and irritation to them is a reflection of my fears.
I’m afraid of failing, but I’m also capable of beheading my own success. I don’t know which pull is stronger.
I often keep myself from the things and people I love by losing faith.
Faith is trusting that every single event in life occurs for a reason.
Faith is like nature following through with whatever happens next, nothing can go wrong.
Having faith is living without fear, and I want to live a carefree life.
Fuck You Fear, Mother Fucker.
PS, I love cursing. It just feels good, even though the voices say, “It’s not lady-like or sophisticated.” Fuck them too, I’m not lady-like and I’m not sophisticated either, but I’m good with that as long as I can be me.