It isn’t the happy days that you use as a measure of your life’s greatness, but rather the gloomy days that make you see all that is much clearly. The happy state is often a cloudy vision that everything is just fine the way it is, a surreal fog. Only when you are consumed with sadness do you begin to notice the crack in the tile on the kitchen floor or the musty smell behind the closets. You realize that you’re not happy. On a happy day, chances are these things would either be unnoticeable or too small to pay attention to.
So you carry on your sour mood only to experience more of it. You keep it tucked away under your skin and use reminders to hold on to it, like the room that needs painted, the mess of dirty laundry spilling over and the time he called you useless and crazy. It’s an unavoidable misery. You notice that there is no light in the house because it can’t get in. All the windows are facing the wrong way and it’s turning into a cave. You know where the entrance is, but you don’t try to leave. Instead you pick a corner and sulk. Sitting there waiting for nothing to change.
The darkest moments are perhaps the most creative ones. A scary thought that is. The unhappy selfish side that demands it all and wants it without the wait is the one that brings satisfaction in the end.
The crazy, dysfunctional self that I read all those books to correct is actually the one I need to keep me successful. I am daily changing my perception, my mind and my emotions to create a better me. One that is more acceptable and more successful. Yet, the unbalanced one is the one I need to create that person. I need to go there every once in a while in order to understand me. I need to have the circumstances against me pressuring me to come out and create. I actually want and like that part of me. Instead of fighting it and ignoring it or trying to alter it, I must unite with it.
I need to let it take me where it knows I need to go.