Scariest thing to lose
The scariest thing to lose is your Self.
Not
parents,
spouses,
friends,
money,
Not even the roof over your head or knowing where you will be tomorrow.
Often when we grieve for the loss of a treasured one, we are struggling to understand the loss of Self, for the ones we love and treasure give our lives meaning by reflecting the value of our Self. In our giving and receiving with love, we experience the beauty that exists in our soul - beauty that many of us don’t fathom as possible. Beauty that some of us continue to believe is impossible or inexistent.
Perhaps this is why some people with depression kill themselves. I am talking in the context of depression because depression is an illness I have experienced most of my life.
How much of your mind is shaped by your body? How much of your body is directed by your mind? Studies have shown that children who were emotionally abused exhibited abnormalities in brain development that may well predispose them to depression. I was emotionally abused, and I had depression most of my life. I fit the statistic and observation.
As I grew up, I believed more strongly and blindly that in this dance of life, I was dancing alone. I believe I will always dance alone. Since I built a wall around me to protect me from being hurt, I also kept my soul from receiving and giving love. I also kept myself from feeling joy and uncertainty and I stopped dancing altogether. I stopped participating in the dance of life that showed us what it means to be alive and who we are on the inside.
Even when I began help for my depression, during the trial and error phase with medications, I danced alone. One night I arrived at the point where I decided that not only was I going to stop dancing, I was going to leave the floor altogether.
As I gathered my thoughts to writing letters of goodbyes to those whom I had danced with, those who still wanted to dance with me, those whom I knew I can never dance again with - I faltered. I had no words adequate to describe the pain of dancing alone, and I had no words adequate to explain why I believed I gave myself freedom by leaving.
One night I lied on the carpeted floor in my little room, alone, and wondered what I’d feel like as a corpse. I had lost my Self, I believed. I had lost the little sense of purpose that I felt was necessary to be alive. I lied on the floor, supine, with my eyes closed. How cold would I be? Would I feel at all? I didn’t want to feel at all. Because I was dancing alone, I didn’t want to dance at all. I didn’t want to feel the sadness of watching others dance from my glass cage.
Somewhere in my fantasy, I heard a voice calling.
“Get Up!”
I opened my eyes.
“Get Up!” The voice called again.
The voice was mine. I was telling myself to get up. After thirty minutes of yelling “get up” to my Self, I sat up.
That night, I knew I hadn’t lost my Self. My Self wanted me to get up from the floor, sit up on my butt, stand up on my feet, and walk out of my glass cage.
My Self wanted me to dance again. My Self wanted me to embrace every dancing partner who waltzes into my life, and cherish every dance with each one of them. It doesn’t matter if the dance ended too soon, it doesn’t matter if my partner kept stepping on my toes, it doesn’t matter if I accidentally stepped on their toes. What matters was we danced, what matters was we are still dancing, what matters was my Self continued to dance so that other Selves continue to dance.
And in our Dance of Life, my Self sings my Freedom.