Why these thoughts?

Why not others, perhaps even happy ones?

Why lie in bed, imagining unpleasant scenes? Why cling to didn’t-happen situations in which people are unkind, inconsiderate, not interested, or simply unaware? Why not imagine myself being accepted and connected and happy and serene? What is the attraction of unhappiness?

Perhaps we are like lost birds, flying through a cloud, looking for a place to land so we can feel secure. Maybe even a rocky, dry, uneven piece of land is appealing, just so we can rest. And if that is all we can see, we go straight for it. And maybe we don’t want to leave it, because all we can see otherwise is the cloud, and our fears fill in the gaps: What if there’s a storm? What if there is no other place to land? I can’t see the sunny, grassy riverbank that I long for, so I will stay here on these unpleasant rocks instead, because at least these I can see and understand.

And if that is the case, what is to be done? We can choose faith, that there will be a better place, a happier set of thoughts to rest in. We can see the cloud as a challenge to be overcome. We can let go of all attachment to land and simply accept the cloud, along with whatever else happens to be in it. We can pray and ask for the cloud to be lifted, so we can find what we are looking for.

My reading for today was to practice noticing thoughts and feelings. And so today I woke up, after frustrating and confusing dreams, in a state of emotional sadness, spinning scenes in my head of disappointment, mostly about people, and mostly women, not valuing me or my presence, not wanting to be closer to me.

Probably this is an echo from yesterday, when a meeting crush said she had met someone in recovery and was having a bit of romantic spark. Thus died my little fantasy of us falling in love. But that piece of information is like a seed that landed in fertile soil – the soil of my fear, underneath which is always the same bedrock fear, that I will be left alone while the rest of the world finds connection and meaning.

Still, the first question here remains: Why rest in that thought? Why defend it like a castle? Why the attachment to this idea that I won’t find love and joy? Is that belief, that I am unworthy of love, uninteresting and unattractive to others, my little rocky crag in the cloud that I refuse to fly away from? AA calls it self-centered fear that keeps me disconnected from God and other people, and that is certainly true.

Sometimes I think I know why, but right now I can’t remember. That little piece of understanding is lost in the cloud at the moment. I am left with thoughts and feelings which are both cold and comforting at the same time, and which I cling to. So, if nothing else, I can do what I learned to do in recovery: notice that, look at it, breathe through it, and see if it has something to teach me.