Notes on Neurosis

Just a quick post about my neurosis for the day, as my anxiety only ended moments ago and I thought I’d share with you how my neurotic mind works.

Nearly all day the bottom of my right foot has been incredibly sore.  Alternating between aching and throbbing, I spent a good part of the day obsessing about what could possibly be wrong with me.

Was it some foot ailment?  Did I have falling arches or plantar faceitis (not that I know what either of those mean, I just know that they are painful foot ailments)?  Was it a pulled muscle?  Could you even pull a muscle on the bottom of your foot?

Or was it something worse?  The bottom of your foot is related to a lot of nerves in your body, as well as having many pressure points that relieve stress and other emotional ailments.  Did the pain on the bottom of my foot mean that I had something metaphysically wrong with me?  Was my chi out of whack?  Did it signify that there was a problem deep within me that I didn’t even know about?!?!?

After considering whether or not to call a friend who is an Eastern medicine practitioner, I thought I’d wait it out.  My foot felt better when it was properly supported.  I probably just need better insoles (or to not walk around barefoot all the time).  No need to alert anyone.

I was willing to leave it at that, just grin and bear it, waiting it out, when in the hazy blue light of the tv I saw something on the ground.  It was a kind of square shadow.  Weird.

That’s when I remembered: two nights ago, in the middle of the night, half asleep, I had stepped on one of my son’s blocks that frequently dot the floor like hard little land mines.  At last I had an answer!  It was a block shaped bruise on the bottom of my foot, deep and painful.

Just one more sacrifice to the mothering gods!

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Release

It’s been like breathing under water this last year. There were moments of panic, feeling the air leave my lungs and frantically looking for something to fill me with oxygen, if just for a few moments more. I would grope desperately for this or that, thinking this would be finally be the thing that saved me. At last I had found a way out of this underwater hell. I would finally be able to breath again; the panic would subside and I would find my way to the surface.

But every new idea I grasped would elate me for minutes, maybe days, before dissolving in my fingers. More ideas swirled just beyond my finger tips, glimmering in the water, offering the hope that this next one would lead the way to salvation. Yet, the glimmers proved only to reflected light without light itself; ideas that reflected my desires, without actually meeting them.

It may appear that this last desire, to return to school and become a librarian, is just one more desperate grasp in the dark. Yet that is not the case. This glimmer I reached for and found not an air bubble in my hand, but instead I found my hand bursting through the surface, reaching higher into the air. I found not a few minutes of air, but at last a release into the wide open air. Finally, I find I can breath again.

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