Addicted to Harmony

They say when you give up one addiction, you might find another. We are a society of addicts. At least, that’s what my mother says.

I want to live happily every after, even though I know I can’t. Yet that still motivates me. The other day I walked past a store and saw a sign that said something to the effect of: “It’s time to improve your life. Buy this and be happy.” I didn’t take it seriously, but it set off some thoughts. Imagine if much of this society was happy with itself, self-confident and didn’t feel the need to try to prove itself, impress others, or pretend to be something it’s not (due to feelings of inferiority).

Oh my goodness, the economy would be even worse! I don’t even want to think about how many businesses and products would go down the drain if they couldn’t feed on our insecurity. So I think it’s definitely better if I don’t progress to the point of only buying what I need or just like (if I can afford it).

That’s just a left-over tangent from my wanderings. So today I admit that I am powerless over harmony. I want it. Day and night. Even though I know it’s not good for me, makes me do stupid things, and sometimes even harmful things like stay too long in the wrong relationship or say “yes” instead of the more appropriate answer.

This past summer I took to the balcony, seeking refuge with a glass or two of wine and cigarettes. That went on for a few months, but I didn’t find harmony. I just numbed out somewhat, which isn’t so bad sometimes. By the end of summer, I had a funny feeling that it wasn’t such a good idea — at least, not on a daily basis! So I stopped. No, not completely, but cut back considerably. My head is much clearer these days.

But last night I headed out there again. The sky was clear, the moon nearly full — irresistably attractive. Then I came inside and watched “Stepmom” with Julia Roberts and Susan Sarandon. Thank God I watched it in the privacy of my living room! The tragedy got to me.

Afterwards I went outside and sat for a bit — without numbing utensils — and felt incredibly sad. You know all those songs about lost hopes and dreams? Now I can guess where they came from.

Then it was strange. I closed my eyes tight and saw total blackness, imagined being transported to somewhere else — beyond this life? To my own movie? I heard the familiar neighborhood sounds, but the perfect pitch darkness was impressive. It would not have surprised me if I could never open my eyes again, or if I saw new surroundings when I did open them. Nevertheless, I was indeed able to open them, and it all looked the same. So I went back inside and went to bed.

Perhaps that is how a harmony addict hits bottom: by sitting in total darkness and simply feeling that utter pain in her heart, laying her hand upon her heaving chest as the tears silently roll down her cheeks and knowing: I am powerless. Lucky as I may be, I am a miniscule speck on an old blue-and-white-striped lawn chair, staring at the clear dark sky.

The revelation came today: one day at a time, I can live without the pursuit of utter harmony. I can just be.

Thoughts on another good book

I’ve been quiet the past few days because I realized I need to take it easy. It’s been two weeks since the accident and I’ve made good progress. Two days ago I felt so great that I decided I could drive the car, since I really didn’t want to be a nuisance and ask someone to drive me. Well, one quick movement and it seems like I pulled something, so it hurts more than before. Some people never learn!! I turned over my car key and told my husband to hide it until further notice. I cannot be trusted.

After that brief explanation about my recent absence, I want to share some thoughts I had last night while reading yet another wonderful novel from Paulo Coelho: By the River Piedra I sat down and wept. There is a passage in which a story is told about being one’s true self and letting go of the “other” inside us — the one who tells us to play it safe, don’t make waves, be grateful for what we have, and to ignore our dreams. It is an inspirational story within a story.

That got me thinking about who I am, and about that imposter who tries to be me and wastes my life through its attempts to preserve the status quo and maintain peace on the stovefront at all costs. By the way, I would say I’m writing this particularly for fellow sufferers, who sometimes harbor doubts regarding their normalcy. Those who aren’t eating or otherwise disordered, who have no problems, who consider themselves to be normal — they are lucky. Luckily for all the rest of us, there are writers who understand our predicament and spin stories which help us feel understood. Of course, I might be the only former bulimic who thinks she’s weird. I’ve decided to take the risk and assume that there are more of you out there — whether in recovery, recovered, or still in the throes of the symptom — who also don’t fit in with the “norm” as we assume it.

It occurred to me while reading this book that I felt touched and affected the same as millions of other readers. Imagine that! It encourages me to be myself and speak my mind, feel the feelings and trust them. Unless it had a totally different effect on me than on everyone else and we all like it for different reasons, I dare to assume that certain thoughts and feelings are shared by millions of people.

I just wonder where all those people are? Do any of them live in my neighborhood?

I wish

Here’s a little poem about wanting to be free of the doubts and expectations I think everyone else has on me. All I can say is, authenticity is the way to go!!!

I wish

I wish I could be normal
I wish I could be free
I wish I could pursue in peace
my own insanity.

It’s not that I would hurt you
It’s not that I’d be mean
I’d simply be the way I am
no different than I seem.

I’m not like everybody else
and yet the more I hear
neither is anybody else
that for sure is clear.