I’ve been busy and traveling and unfortunately neglecting my journal for a couple of weeks. The old narrator is back. The voice in there that tells me how bad everything is. I just noticed it yesterday as I was having a massage on the beach. I know, first world struggles, right?
The narrator was telling me how I could get an aneurism from the massage. Then it moved onto outlandish theories about earthquakes and tsunamis which it tried to convince me were not so outlandish here on the Indonesian island of Lombok. This morning there were tremors so yes, it’s not inconceivable, but I probably didn’t need to think about it. What will be, will be.
I call this kind of ruminating Fearful Imaginings. I don’t know if I coined that term or not but it fits. The inner narrator can come up with all kinds of head-fuckery but imagining all the worst-case scenarios has got to be the worst of it. (I think there’s a game called Worst Case Scenarios?) actually I think the worst is the inner voice that tells us how rubbish we are but imagining how the plane will crash, how the weather will turn, whatever the worst is..Is just so annoying and weird!
And at its worst when for some sick, strange reason we imagine the worst happening to those we love. Why on earth do we do that? It feels like mental illness but I don’t think it is. It feels so damaging, picturing our loved ones in an accident or worse, especially for those of us who believe that we create our lives through our words and thoughts.
so I’m back to my journal tomorrow (and my Rhodiola) because I can’t stand pushing down the scary thoughts anymore. It’s boring. If shit is going to go down worrying about it before hand isn’t going to help. And it spoils the view.