Pillow Slams, Near-Death Experiences, and Relocation

 I walked into my bedroom and stripped down to my underwear. I put on my sleep shirt, grabbed the designated living room sofa pillow and performed my very first pillow slam. A pillow slam is supposed to be an "approved," "good," "safe," coping mechanism. After the tenth or so slam, I pulled a muscle in my neck. Guess it's not so safe after all. 

On my drive home from work, I sang Olivia Rodrigo at the top of my lungs and bitched about the workday to the highway. How I found out, after nine months of working at this place, the girls I worked with had purposefully omitted an easier way to complete one aspect of our job. This gatekeeping of information and purposeful manipulation strike a part of myself within that catches fire and decimates. People like this are consumed by fear and pursue control at all cost. I was rage singing and rage driving and rage rage RAGE at the vehicles in front of me who would not move. I reflected back to this morning when I found myself stuck behind two slow vehicles in either lane. All I wanted was to get to work so I could get HOME. I'm always racing to the next thing, thinking it will be better. That it will bring relief. That somehow moving more quickly would get me unstuck. My thoughts were jolted back to the present when I noticed shards of glass and plastic bursting in my headlights' line of vision. It looked how I would imagine traveling in outer space at the speed of light would be. I glanced in the rearview to look for vehicles in an accident, and then I saw it. A deer rolled off the back of the red pick-up truck to my left. I braced myself and slowed down. I thought about how I barely missed it, how a second or two later and I would have been the main hit. The person in the truck will be okay, but if my little car had been hit, serious damage would have been done. I thought about how I have purposefully slowed down physically in my life, reminding myself of the ways I have done so. My first reaction was defense. I needed to defend the fact that I have slowed down, "and I'll tell you why!" with a list of supporting facts. I am blazing through the days, wishing the work week away, wishing the weekend were longer, hoping for sunshine, rain, snow, clouds, a bright blue sky, etc. My good friend, Emily, told me, "We are the sky, not the weather." Our mood does not have to control us. I am trying to find productive ways to handle this weather, these emotions. The pillow slams might have to wait. 

Yesterday I rescued a ladybug from the 4th floor of the hospital. She was on the Welcome table outside the visitor elevator entrance. I touched her to see if she was alive, and she barely moved her legs. I coaxed her onto my hand and we rode on the elevator, walked down the hallway, went down a flight of stairs, walked past the cafeteria and, finally, stepped outside. I tried to set her on a bush with prickly leaves and she wasn't having it. I tried a different bush, and the answer was still no. I told her she needed to make a decision because she needed to be outside, and she finally accepted the next spot I gave her. 

I think I am having more rage today, not only because of the work situation, but also because I have accepted taking medication to help with my mood disorder. I think I don't want to accept it. I don't want to have to need it. I don't want there to be something wrong with me. I think all our inadequacies are loud and this one is loudest for me because it cannot be reasoned away. It is inherently a part of my biological composition. Writing is good. Getting it out. Thinking it through. Knowing that I'm doing my best and being mindful. And that the years that brought me here were full of prickly leaves, unsuitable environments, and, even though I may be hesitant in this new part of life, I can be optimistic in knowing that this path ahead will take me exactly where I need to go. I cannot miss the path that is made for me BECAUSE it is created for me. I cannot arrive late to my own destiny.