These past few days, I have seen a tsunami of horror. If I know myself, I would say that I am more likely to die in the eve of a stress tsunami – I do not know how to swim after all. I could die easily… except that I am still alive.
It is really surprising, this state I am in at present. It is as if I am disconnected from who I am, like I am in a trance, or in a psychological coma of some sort. There are a lot of concerns around me, a lot of things that needs attention – sometimes solving – but it seems I am not bothered, like all the stress would just have to wait, or just leave if it cannot wait for me. It is as if I have slipped into an impenetrable bubble, my eyes closed and my knees crossed in meditation. I am in awe of how I have behaved lately.
The normal me would have stressed and bitched out endlessly. My physical therapist should have numbed her hands in a futile quest to detoxify me of the various poisons on my world. The pain reliever bottle on my purse should have been empty for stopping my migraine attacks and I should be dying from asphyxia. But I am not. It feels like I am in a place where I am blinded with the brightest light and I cannot care less about all the troubles around me. Curiously, I have no idea why the sudden change of self.
Sometimes I wonder if something is wrong with me, or if I am in a state of denial, or have I just lost it? It is like, amidst everything, I am fine, and dealing with things one at a time, on a level where there is ample space between me and the hungry dogs, and I am just able to keep on breathing properly in the face of the unthinkable depth of the stress tsunami. It is as if someone hit a button on my head and shut off the panic button – I cannot panic now – I have noticed I am also more patient, more accepting of myself and of the things that are happening to me.
But somehow I am alienated by the calm. I feel detached from who I am because of the solitude. It is like, there is something wrong because I am not able to react as much as I can to the things around me. It sounds insane right? Here I am, collected and composed and I am complaining about it.
Maybe I am just not used to being okay. That or I am scared I am unconsciously bottling everything inside and one day all of it would spill into an ugly, ugly mess.
I miss my neurosis.