Nothin’ but a Ragdoll

Posted on March 15, 2009

6


Because I worry.

It’s like even after I take time to quiet the chattering inside my own head, I still have a fist gripping my stomach and fingers creeping up the back of my neck to tell me something isn’t right. Or that I’m not perfect enough to sit down just yet.

Worry has it’s purpose–if for nothing else but to motivate. But my mind has escalated to the point where worry has fed on my peace of mind and my thoughts are now laced with guilt.

Guilt has been an exterior motivator in my life for so long from multiple sources growing up that my mind has trained itself to go into overdrive and it slowly gnaws at me until I have nothing left to offer but a ragdoll heart.

The logic goes like this: In order to protect myself from further nagging, guilting, anger, or awkward conversations, if I can worry ahead of time before the conversation even happens, then maybe I’ll altogether prevent or avoid what might invariably happen, and we can all go on living happy lives.

It’s a feeling that if there is even one person in my life who has a different opinion or has different preferences or just flat out thinks I’m wrong, I have no equilibrium in my life. I’m left crippled by my own doing. Because, as I’ve been told before: “the holy life is the life that everyone else is happy with.”

My emotional logic is still in [this is so messed up] knots.

If I intend to be anything but play-dough for everyone else to put their hands around and squish into the shape of their own liking, I will never be able to live this life. Instead of learning to operate with a functioning spine, the worry throws me into the cupboard with all the other chipped plates and I am out of balance.

The choices I make in life should make me a little bit stronger each day, like learning to walk or use rollerblades for the first time. With each step or each time I pull out the skates my ankles grow stronger out of practice and dilligent use. But instead, as of now my ankle is twisted and I’m still hanging on desperately to the crutches beneath my shoulders when I don’t have to be.

Because I worry.

worry

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