My mind has a mind of its own.
Seriously. No matter what I want it to do or think, it sticks two fingers up at me and does the opposite.
I would like to be happy. I really would love to be less stressed and anxious, to be able to relax, to chill, to be creative. But my mind has other ideas.
Forcing my mind doesn’t work. Telling it to do something only leads to stubbornness and refusal. Even sending it to sit on the naughty step has no effect because it just sits there taunting me until I let it come back.
And it’s exhausting. Fighting it, wrestling it, trying to subdue it, trying to get it to do something for me, for a change, instead of adding to the stresses and strains of life.
So, for example, I say to my mind, ” Can you please be happy today and think positive thoughts ?”, my mind will think about it for a millisecond then shrug it’s shoulders and go “nah” and start bringing up all the bad stuff that happens, the mistakes I’ve made, the bad places I’ve been in. I’m sure it gets some sort of sadistic pleasure out of it.
And I want to study. I’m aware of the passing of years. I’m getting older but my mind seems older before its (my) time. It’s atrophying, decaying, misting over and it sits in a place where it’s either bad or not constructive. It’s like living in a fog.
I am sure that somewhere in there I could find a core of light. Not a happy place per se but somewhere that the fog could be pushed away from, a place of peace and quiet amongst the nasty hubbub of rebellion and discontent, a retreat from the anxiety and stress. I don’t need a massive part, I just need enough. I need a starting point, something to grasp on to, something hat I can use as a door into my mind. A door I could open into a passageway, then perhaps a bigger passage, perhaps with other doors on either side, doors behind which I could put good stuff. I need an opening. I need hope. I don’t want or expect all, but if I could just get a foothold on the mountain of despair and black thoughts, it would be a start.
But my mind has a mind of its own. It’s immune to drugs. It rejected mindfulness. It laughs at therapists. And it sneers at my efforts to gain control.
And it’s bloody annoying.
And it’s so tiring. It’s exhausting, this constant struggle, this daily war with myself.
It takes its toll.
People say I should snap out of it. People tell me it’s a phase. People tell me it will be alright in the morning.
I can’t. It’s not. It won’t.
I’d like to punch it. I’d like to hurt it. I want to shake it and yell at it. I want to scream at it “Do as your told!!!” but my mind would just sit there and smile smugly and carry on regardless.
I want “my” mind back.
But it’s got a mind of its own!