I have a story to tell you. It’s the story of a long chapter of my life. A current and a past chapter. One that I hope will end, but it might not.

Before I begin, there is one rule, dear reader. This is my story. I’m neither looking for, nor receptive to edits or suggestions about how to change, analyze or give meaning to this story.

Let’s begin:

For the past 33 years I’ve had what are known as intrusive thoughts; thoughts that I am being mutilated, typically by being cut by glass or knives. There isn’t an auditory, visual or tactile component and there is no one doing the cutting. It’s a repetitive thought that can last 10 minutes or 10 hours or 10 months of 10 hours a day.

As you can imagine, it’s misery to the Nth degree. I know they aren’t real, but like much of life, these thoughts aren’t governed by logic.

If I take a 10,000 foot view from my red helicopter, which is in charge of expanding my perspective, and look down at myself, I can see some of the impact they have on me.

I’d like to be able to say they are responsible for my every fault and all that makes me annoying. Nope! It’s way too much fun being annoying to blame a random phenomenon. 😜

I’d like to be able to say they’ve made me more empathetic. Regrettably, that’s not true either. Life is hard, buck up and face it is more my style. I’m particularly hard on suicides. I’m aware it isn’t logical or kind, but I think they should have fought harder to live, especially the young people.

I think sometimes these thoughts have made me more cynical. ‘Though it could just be genetic. Thanks a lot, Dad.

They have influenced my choice of reincarnation animal. I should say that I hope like heck we aren’t reincarnated. This round has been plenty. More “mind” and “awareness” sound awful, which Is why I want to be a water skeeter. Cruising around the top of a lazy brook sounds like, well, Nirvana. I’d actually like to devolve. After water skeeter, I want to be a rock. I hear they can sing. (Inside joke for clan Westminster.) After rock, a grain of sand on a warm beach somewhere. Ahhhh….

The only thing that stops these thoughts is sleep. If distracting myself doesn’t work on a particular day, I take a nap or just go to bed. I’m a very well-rested individual.

They are often exhausting, making it difficult to focus at times, and leave me a tad impatient and prickly. They strike without warning or trigger, with no discernible pattern. I frequently get them in church, which is just mean.

They are part of my story. I’ve had them more than half of my life. Happily, I never think about them when they aren’t present. Those days are my mental snow days.

I have some good, solid, unflappable support to call upon when things are rough. I’m so incredibly grateful for their love and faithfulness.

So, there you have it. A part of my story, which continues to unfold in unanticipated ways. Good grief!

4/13/22