Faking it. A quick guide for the literals.

You've never know real despair until you are forced to have a very candid conversation with your best friend (who is also your dog) (who is also your ONLY friend) about depression, as she she drinks bathwater off the floor after loyally following you to your second shower of the day. As you blatantly lie to her snout and tell her you are okay, when you are in fact, falling apart.

It isn't that you are in denial or embarrassed. No. You just cannot bear to have your furry counterpart bear witness to even an ounce of whatever this feeling is. It's my own fault anyway. I'm not one of those people who are unaware of the collateral damage of their actions. I am one of those who are fully conscious of everything I do as I do it. My mind has the ability to send thoughts in and out faster than the speed of light, so trust me when I tell you I have plenty of time when it comes to premeditation. And that is the very thing that causes me to come down so hard on myself. I can never say  I didn't know. I always know. I just do it anyway.

I think if I ever had to even attempt to explain to anyone just how extensive my thought processes extend, this would be a perfect example.

I have recently taken up regular meditation. It helps with so many things and I really do find that I get a lot of relief from my anxiety with  it. I am, for all intents and purposes, a natural worrier. A clear mind for meditation isn't something that comes natural to me. So to aid in that process, I started using some guided meditation videos I found on youtube.

So the way that works for me is that I lay down in my bed and press play and close my eyes, listening to whatever directions the narrator of the video gives. Sounds simple enough right?

Hmmmm...not so much.

So this new video I was using uses the Angel Gabriel as a point of focus. I'm not a particularly religious person, but I have always admired the Angel Gabriel since I was a kid. (he was just so cherubic)  So anyway, the narrator tells the listener to imagine the Angel Gabriel in front of them.

Ok here goes.

I close my eyes. Trying to imagine an angel making its way through my bedroom doorway.
Breathe....
Wait what? Hold up. An angel in my bedroom?   Has this lady taken into consideration the size of the average doorframe and the actual wingspan of an angel?

Focus.
Golden light. Long Shimmering cloak.

My mind starts to wander again.

What if he knocks something over with his wings? Where will he sit? Will he want to sit? What will my dog think? Does he like dogs? Do Angels like snacks?

The narrators soft voice prompts me to relax and breathe deep.

 Um hello has anyone noticed theres an angel in my room.

You get the point. It's a disease. Call it anxiety. Call it paranoia.Call it depression. Call it anything you want. The wheels are always turning in this egg of mine, and I have come to accept there's no way I can pretend otherwise.

Until next time...