Mindfulness

I suffer from anxiety.

It sucks.

It is completely misunderstood. Many think it is the same as being scared to go up on stage and talk in front of people or taking a test or any of those things that we get scared about from time to time.

It's not. I mean, that shit can affect me completely, but it is not that. Not really. It is much more extreme and abstract and fucking annoying.

I hate it. I hate having to deal with it and not dealing with it and letting it get worse and making it go away and thinking all is right with the world and then suddenly getting bitten on the arse by it, but this time it is bigger and badder.

Hate it.

Badder is a word. It should be. Is it badda? Bader? Who the fuck cares.

Anyway, yeah, hate it. Messes up a day. Heart races, chest tighten, pain in stomach, head spins, get very warm all of a sudden, can't speak properly, legs go funny... its stupid, but it is not. It is horrible.

Last year I discovered mindfulness. A series of techniques that allows you to train your brain to have a better relationship with these feelings that take over your body. Not getting rod of them, but allowing you to understand through meditation, breath exercises and awareness that these feelings are just that, feelings. They cannot hurt you and they should not be used as a way to prepare yourself for the future, unless of course you are psychic, in which case you don't need to be reading this at all.

So I practiced it and I got better. I got better. Stupid to even think that. There is no cure. I stopped practicing it and got myself into a mess again. Change of routine threw me out of whack, completely and utterly. I did not get better. It did not go away. This is who I am.

I am practicing again. Mediating three times a day. It helps. It helps with creativity as well. I had a project I was developing and it wasn't going the way I wanted, it had been though many iterations and just stunk. It was wrong and it was a mess. This past week I have cracked it, freeing up a part of my brain that was being swallowed by self doubt, worry and anxiety I have managed to come out the other side of an annoying 'block'.

Mindfulness is cool.

Namaste.

I AM BEAR

So at the age of thirty I decided to make a change. I wasn't happy. I mean is anyone? Really happy? I mean, just sit back and ask yourself, really take a good long look at everything you have in front of you, what you did today, yesterday, last week, what you ate, what you watch on TV... ask yourself, are you happy? Don't lie! You know that you aren't. None of us. Not really. We pretend, we delude, we deceive, inveigle and obfuscate on a daily basis it becomes second nature to us, like taking a piss.

So... yeah, not happy. Life seems to have passed me by. I know, I know I am only thirty, but I just expected so much more right now. To be honest I kinda thought, job and girlfriend, friends and band were the be all and end all of all creation. But they aren't. I am not ungrateful. I am not some mental case. I am happy to have a job, a roof over my head a girl who seems to love me for who I am. I guess I just don't understand why. Why does she love me? Why am I doing this fucking job I am doing? Why? I don't know.

The band. Would have thought that might have made a difference. And it does. When I am smashing the shit out of that drum kit and we are creating something awesome I can get lost in it all and forget all the things that trouble me. But it is fleeting. It feels fleeting. It doesn't feel tangible. I guess I know that when we are done, those good feelings will be gone.

You are probably thinking, why the hell should I even carry on reading this. This guy is a misery. I am not. I promise. I am just a little fed up with what I have and who I am. To be honest, again, I don't really know who I am anymore. I feel like I have lost touch with myself, the only time I feel alive is when I am drumming, is when I am in the...

OK. Something else I need to mention. It is a little weird. Believe me it is not lost on me, but... well I can't explain it. I just feel like me again when I am in it and I am drumming in it. I experimented the other day an kept it on after drumming and well... I walked home in it and felt awesome. I have a bear suit. Like a proper looking one, like from Gentle Ben, not a teddy bear type thing, but a real grizzly bear type thing. We did this gig once where they wanted animals performing... it was money, we are a bit shit and will take whatever looks like a gig as an opportunity to play our music... anyway, I kept the suit. It's not some sexy thing, I don't get my rocks off when I am in it... I just feel... like me again.

I AM BEAR

currently writing this comedy drama...

thinking comic or half hour TV show...

LOST...

So yeah, I seem to be lost again.

Stuck in the middle of where I am and where I want to be. Impatient for something that may not happen. Waiting for the moment where all I am doing will pay off, all the while I am trying not to get lost.

Well... I am. I seemed to have failed that... you know, the trying not to get lost again thing.

My thumb on my left had keeps twitching involuntarily. Weird.

Lost? Where? What happened? Well, nothing. Not really. Still working, still writing, still living with the love of my life and some animals that look after us. There is no great adventure. There is only my head... which is where I am lost. Again.

Thing is, I think it would generally be easier if I was lost in a wood or some vast desert or snow barren continent after waking up with no memory of who I am or how I got there. At least there would be a purpose. Some kind of plot that would propel me forward. Who am I? How did I get here? The need to survive. There would be drama, action, adventure. There would be something to get your teeth into, some substance, substance that I hope can be found in the stories I tell... But this 'adventure' or non adventure I find myself lost in... there is no substance, there is no tangible drama or meaty plot to get your teeth into. It's all so fucking abstract and not in an awesome David Lynch way with dancing dwarfs and damn fine coffee. The coffee is shit! It's just fragments of anxiety that rush through my like wind, a breeze, sometimes gusting, nearly knocking me off my feet.

Procrastination. That's what I fucking have. Thoughts. Bubbles upon bubbles of thoughts swell up inside my head and burst through my mouth as soon as I open it up. And these bubbles are coloured with worry, doubt... and not about anything important. All the important thoughts are stored safely away in boxes at the back of my head, behind all the bull crap that produces all these worry bubbles. Despite the amount that escapes my head there is always more, always fucking more.

I have found ways to get out of my head and find my footing on the planet. There are some good ways. The best being allowing my fingers to find letters and create words that produce interesting copy, stories, dialogue... This is what is important, this is what I need to be doing, this is what you all need to be doing.

What. You. Want. To.

If I was lost in the Arctic I would probably freeze to death in my current situation. Instead of the audience asking these questions of what is he doing there, how did he lose his memory, it would be me. Paralysed by the worry these questions produce when trying to work out the answers instead of just moving forward, looking for others, looking for a secret arctic base, finding a way to some kind of warmth. If I just stop worrying, over analysing and over thinking and make my feet move forward, one in front of the other... I would find my way, I would survive, I would make progress and get somewhere, get to where I want to.

Where. I. Want. To... be. Right here. Writing here for whoever finds it and wants to join me on a journey. Cheese. Totally. Canadian Mature is my favourite.

#amwriting #Iamwriting #writing