Where am I and what am I doing? I can’t seem to hold onto the world around me. I need something to grasp and lock onto. What that might be I don’t know, all I know is that it is not there. My heart is racing and my mind flutters. Endless thoughts of nothing and everything rush through the vortex between my ears. Focus is lost except on the fact that I want to focus.

I urge myself to slow down. I tamp emotions. Breathe, I might say, or stop it all together. It works sometimes. Mostly I fret I’m not doing it right. How do other’s seem so tied into what they are doing? Where is the now, the present? I can’t feel it nor do I see it.

The past is drawn from a deep well of hurt, love, sadness and laughter. He likes to remind me of things long forgotten or hidden. He issues guilt and remorse as if to a convicted felon. Did I really do that? Was I really that way? Yes, he says, but have you changed? Reflectively I state that, no, no I haven’t changed. How can I change when I don’t feel as though I am allowed to? The past makes us who we are and he just won’t let that go.

The future is something entirely different but shares the same weight. She persuades me into thinking it will all end. Not my life, not my world, but the lives and worlds of people around me. Something bad is about to happen. I sense it. I know it. Constantly she will run through the outcomes. All of them seem to have the same ending. It doesn’t look good. Like a broken record, she is stuck on repeat, the same line being delivered every second.

Wait, back to the present. What and I doing again? I forgot. Here is my phone, distraction. Distraction from what? The moment of now? Myself? My focus? Focus. Where am I? Don’t I have something to do? Homework, that’s what people do this time of day, but I graduated years ago. Television, but there is nothing on. Hobby, I don’t have one. Go outside, I don’t have energy. When did I get the ability to make up excuses?

This is happening right now. What do I feel so guilty about? Am I a bad person for not doing what I promised myself I would? He comes back to yet again tell me of misgivings and inadequacies of the past. I absorb them into my ego. That is me. That is who I am. Hold on, she says, what are you going to to about it now? Remembering him, I tell her that I can’t do anything. She agrees and continues to worry.

Lost my place again. Are these words that I am reading or that I am writing. Am I awake or sleeping? One foot, the other foot, back to the same. Walking calms the nerves for now. For now, she says. Yes, for now, but it won’t last. My focus? You are talking to me aren’t you? Where are your feet? They have stopped moving.

Don’t forget about me, he screams in a whisper. I am still here. Yes, I know you are still here and she will always be there. Both of you keep me still. Well, maybe not still. Stuck. I’m stuck. Is this writer’s block? I’m not a writer. My thoughts are buzzing around but nothing sticks. What were we talking about again?

Focus. Focus on what exactly? Isn’t that what I am doing? I’m thinking, reacting and reflecting. No, that’s not it. Why not? Because what are you doing right now. Talking to you. Who? Me I suppose. Am I crazy? I don’t think so, just don’t tell anyone that you are doing it. Well maybe then you can help me focus. Focus on what? On me, he says. On me, she says. On me.

Who was that we think to ourselves? On who? On me. Who are you? The present, I say. What is the present? What the future and past forget to think of. The present is this moment. And this one. It is what is happening around you, right now. Right now? Well right now, then again right now. It is who you are and what you are doing right now. I’m not sure what you are talking about.

Close your eyes. That’s all, just close them? Close them and listen. Listen to what? Just listen and pay attention. What do you hear. My brain. What about in this room, what do you hear? I list off everything. Good, now what do you smell? What do you feel? Can you taste? Open your eyes. With curiosity, what do you see?

The present I reply.

Until later this week where I will explore thanksgiving at a personal level for a male with bulimia. Thanks once again for reading. Be kind.

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