Beating Down the Walls

Some days are harder than others. It is true that even in this new life of positive thinking and conscious living that I have feelings of sadness, defeat, and often fear. What I have come to know is that feelings of any kind are just our signals. They tell us when something is Right for us. They tell us when something needs to change. And most importantly, I know that they must be felt--not ignored or avoided--so that they may flow through me instead of weighing me down and rendering me useless, overwhelmed, or exhausted.

I cry much more now than I ever used to, and it's a wonderful kind of release: in an instant tears can express any anger, anxiety, or sadness that I feel (as well as positive emotions like gratitude and love). In high school, there was a period of time in which I physically could not cry--the anger and repressed sadness too heavy to let out in tears. At 16 years old, my frustration at the darkness of the world around me took hold. I was bitter, angry, and tough. No tears would come, but hurling words and punching mailboxes and walls became a typical behavior for a time. My knuckles would bruise--and similar to the odd satisfaction I was also receiving from scarring my own skin by scratching it with a paring knife--relief would come and I would know I was alive.

It's hard for some people to get a sense of how physical pain can relieve emotional pain. I don't even know I fully understand it. For me, in the few instances in which I cut my skin--carving angular designs into my leg and once even, on my left breast--there was a deep sadness inside that I was not able to express in words or tears. I wanted so badly to feel something other than the dark, roaring turmoil in the depths of my gut, but I was often speechless and afraid to let others know that it even existed within me. And as the burning sensation in my skin progressed with each small stroke of the blade, I felt that somehow I breathed easier.

But the relief was always short-lived. I wasn't actually acknowledging and releasing the negative emotions built up inside me. Luckily, even as a teenager I learned some better coping skills because I had a great network of supportive friends and parents who still showed me love when I pushed hard against them. I remember one night in particular, in a fit of rage after a high school football game I got out of my car in the church parking lot that was across from the field--not even bothering to shut the door--and began wailing on a tin shed. I have no recollection of what made me so angry at the time, but as I heaved one blow after another and my knuckles began to bleed, my best friend came out of the car to stop me. She held my arm, she talked me down, and that small intervention brought me out of the spiraling madness inside my own head.

Sometimes, all we need is someone else there to open our eyes to what we are doing to ourselves. Someone that is there watching us, accepting us, and loving us despite our anger and pain--or even because of it. Someone who can pull us out of our own way. This is why friendships and love--in its truest sense--are imperative. Others help us see who we are: the good, the bad, and the sometimes ugly, and they can help us take down our own walls from the inside--brick by brick--instead of trying the beat down the walls outside of us.

And for that, I am truly grateful.