Sidestepping Triggers and Blending in When You Want to Disappear
Putting on a Happy Face for Other People’s Sake
Sometimes I walk on eggshells around myself. I don’t want to be set off, so I tiptoe.
I need to stay engaged so I don’t step on an emotional landmine. I could blow myself to smithereens, taking everyone nearby with me.
I try to relax, but the only time I’m peacefully doing nothing is the twenty minutes that I meditate in the morning. The rest of the time, I have to be busy, or my thinking gets out of control.
Leary of when it’s too quiet, I need some noise all the time. Earbuds drown out my inner voice when I’m not doing something that requires maximum attention. My dad does the same thing. Oh God, am I becoming my father?
What am I afraid I’ll hear? Failures and regrets. A list of doubts longer than I care to admit.
I work hard not to crack, treading carefully. But I don’t want to be able to hear a pin drop. That would mean my internal voice would be coming in loud and clear.
It’s the fall that I fear. The rabbit hole I can end up going down when I overthink. It leads right to the dungeon, a place where depression grips even the strongest.
So I’ve gotta look out for that voice in my head. It can be vicious. I’m no match for it when it gets loud enough. It breaks me down.
“Why haven’t you done enough? What are you waiting for? Is this all there is?”
I’d rather hear a jackhammer than listen to my self-criticism. No one can insult me as well as I can.
Why is it that we’ll treat others with respect but berate ourselves? I wish I could remove myself from the situation. Be impartial.
But I know myself too well. I’m too involved. Too close to it all. I see all my flaws.
And when I’m reminded of one, I trip. Digs from other people hurt more, but the self-inflicted wounds can leave worse scars.
That’s why I’ve been lifting weights since I was twelve years old — to silence the voices in my head. Exercise gave me an outlet for my anger, joy, and sadness. I could let it all out in one big burst of energy. The voices were quiet. My body took over.
It’s the same with martial arts. On a good day, I don’t do much thinking while I’m training. If things aren’t going well or I’m a step behind, thoughts might flood in. “Am I not good enough?”
Those moments when thinking interrupts the flow of things bring joy to a screeching halt. Activity stymies depression and anxiety. Doing is the best remedy.
Being idle lets bad feelings fester. Lost in your head, you ruminate until you’re driven mad. You want to escape yourself.
But there’s no way out. You’re stuck with you, so you might as well learn to get along. The incessant arguing has got to stop. No more bickering.
I remind myself that the enemy within isn’t an enemy at all. The mirror you shine on yourself is a friend. The echo inside is a reminder of what you should or shouldn’t do.
You feel what’s good and right and what will harm you. Sometimes you do what you know will hurt. You go against your own advice, ignoring the angel on your shoulder and giving your full attention to the horned personification of evil whispering in your other ear.
And when you do give in to the negative, you’re pulled down further by the weight of your decisions. You know you’ve done yourself wrong. You can’t lie to yourself and get away with it.
I’ve been the source of other people’s discomfort too often. When I was depressed and had anger issues, I caused tension in the room. My dreary attitude could bring the mood down instantly. I was unaware of the effect I was having.
My inner dialogue would bleed out into the world, sticking to everything and slowing life down to an excruciating crawl through a minefield. I didn’t understand how I could have such a profound impact on the atmosphere. I could ruin a bright, sunny day for everyone.
But all I could feel was my discomfort. I was selfish in those moments. I didn’t consider how I was destroying other people’s good times.
I would have preferred to extricate myself from those situations, rather than continuing to be a burden. But I couldn’t live my life locked up in a box. I had to get out and experience living, no matter that I felt like dying sometimes. I had to challenge my drive to self-destruct.
Today, I’m much more aware of how my attitude shifts the atmosphere in a room. Sometimes I have to act like I’m fine so everyone else is at ease. I need to pretend that I’m okay, so no one else has to think about their problems.
Everyone has concerns in the back of their minds, but in a moment of joy, those things aren’t at the forefront of people’s thoughts. I feel like my problems are always on the tip of my tongue, but I swallow them so as not to make anyone uncomfortable.
There’s a limit to how much you can pretend before your entire life feels like a lie. You have the right to be sad sometimes, but you owe it to yourself not to be miserable all the time.
Understanding what drives me over the edge has helped me sidestep scenarios where I have to pretend too much. If I know a situation will exacerbate my internal discomfort, and I can avoid it, I will.
But there are always obligations that must be kept. In those cases, I’ll put on a happy face and hide the quaking mess underneath. I’ll step carefully to avoid cracking the shells, and I’ll quietly move along, keeping my feelings a secret from anyone who can’t handle the truth.
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