WBB ESSAYS
Why Me, and Why Am I Complaining?
- by Luna
I found what was missing. Gratitude. "A grateful addict wont use."
I remember all that painful introspection - all that step work - and I think, "why am I still so sick?" It's amazing how the efforts of my recovery from a state complete emotional and spiritual bankruptcy waver with the ebb and flow of it's symptoms...
*stares at screen, lights cigarette*
I picked up my mother's boredom and disdain for doing things that need to be done. Her rushing me through washing my hands in the bathroom, annoyance written plain on her face. I was such a pain. All the things that must be done - tying shoes, dressing, feeding, scolding, yelling, reprimanding, ugh, was just so tiring.
My father says that I am lucky that I did not receive the physical abuse that was common in his childhood. His generation was apparently showing signs of "getting better" in this area, he says, implying that abuse back through the generations just got worse and worse the farther back you look. naturally, I wonder what is wrong with me for being so painfully aware of the "abuse" and "neglect" that I "suffered". The rest of the world has it so much worse than I ever did, so why am I the one who is whining? What gives me that right?
I lay in bed thinking that if what he was saying were true - that it's only gotten better - then my generation and the one before are the voices of that unexpressed pain. When I was trying to understand what I was, I stumbled upon something called, "indigo children" - that explained me perfectly. Just. Didn't. Fit. In. Cannot - will not - conform; a generation specially born to shake things up, and answer the unanswered, hanging questions.
All my life feeling like a pressure cooker. There was some kind of etheric matter that was my emotion, translating to potentiality of.... what?
"Why should I be so special?"
I'm not.
The long awaited answer is not special - it is what it is - a vessel of truth, nothing more.
The contexts of me sides with this idea - the "me" that I identify with, deal with, being karma's hand (and that which karma's hand touches). What else could be but what is?
I woke up early, tasting dehydration when i first moved my tongue, replaying a dream that awoke me. I was with Brahman. I was mindful. I was grateful. I was what I remember of my early, eager recovery from the animalism that was my addiction. Upon waking, I thought that I was not doing that memory of myself justice. I am not walking in her wake with skill. I am reactional, isolating, lazy and unproductive. I am sitting in a rut remembering the look of the surrounding world and wondering at my own complacency to pull myself out.
The only way out is through.
- by Luna
