When you were a kid, did you ever pretend it was
"Opposite Day?" Opposite Day,
primarily, existed to annoy people, and in my household, it never
lasted very long. On Opposite Day, you
did the opposite of everything that was said/asked. Yes meant No, Up meant Down, In meant Out, On
meant Off, and so on. It was a fantastic
little pretend world we created until my mother seethed through clenched teeth,
"JUST GO UPSTAIRS AND PUT ON YOUR SHOES" in that scary way that meant Opposite Day was officially over.
The past week, and particularly the past 3 days, I
feel like I'm living a string of Opposite Days.
Let me tell you -- Opposite Day was much more fun when the opposites
were limited to up/down and on/off...and when it was my mother's nerves I was
grating on.
Opposite Day today started like this: I opened my
eyes at 5:45AM and my brain said, "You're so stupid. How could you have forgotten to clean the
kitty litter box last night? Your sister
would be so mad that you're not taking good enough care of her cat."
I closed my eyes again. I took a breath. And I thought, "so this is how we're
playing again today, huh? Alright,
Brain. Give me a second. Then it's on." I took another breath as my brain began
frantically chattering about how stupid I am, about the kitty litter box, about
the email I hadn't yet responded to, the phone call I didn't return at work on
Friday, about the fact that I am not good enough, smart enough, capable
enough. Thirty seconds in, my body
started to panic -- and no wonder, right?
It's 5:45 on a Sunday, and I've already given myself enough grief to
last me until Thursday. I focus on
taking another breath, let the dog lick my cheek as I roll over, let my brain
tell me that I don't deserve a dog as wonderful as the Mo-Man, and I sit up,
exhausted.
"Okay," I say aloud. "You've got this."
"Pfffft," says my brain. "No you don't. You so don't have this. You're falling apart. You didn't even clean the kitty litter
box. You never even made that phone
call. You haven't even gotten UP yet. You're probably not even going to clean the
litter box, are you? You're not. Why bother?
If you didn't do it last night, why even bother this morning? It hardly matters."
And just to spite it, I got up, and I cleaned the
hell out of that kitty litter box.
And this is how it goes. With everything.
"Why are you going to church?" my brain
asks. "Nobody wants you to be
there, anyway. Nobody will miss you if
you aren't there. Don't go. Stay here.
Right here. Don't move. You don't have anything to wear. You look stupid. And tired.
Nobody wants to see you looking stupid and tired. Seriously, you're going to wear that? What are you even thinking?"
So I do the Opposite. I do exactly what my brain is telling me I can't/shouldn't/won't do. I get up. I get dressed. I find something I feel good in, and I get in
my car and I drive to church. Even
though my brain tells me not to talk to anyone, I find the people that I know
will hug me and I hug them, because hugging releases happy brain chemicals and god
knows I could use a few of those.
And, for a while, sometimes, I can get my brain to
be quiet. Sometimes, for a few minutes,
I get pulled into sunshine and conversation and friends, and I don't have to
work so hard to always think the opposite of what my brain is telling me. The difference, though, is this: when my
brain isn't celebrating Opposite Day, those moments fill up my cup. Even just a hug, or a smile, or a
conversation, or a walk in the sunshine will fill up my cup a bit, and I can
hold and savor and celebrate that water.
I can express gratitude for that water, and I can be so joyful that my
cup is a quarter of the way, or halfway, or completely full.
On Opposite Day, my cup
doesn't hold any water. The damn thing
is so full of holes that, as soon as the water stops pouring, it's gone and
splashed into a puddle at my feet. Friends
and hugs and puppy kisses and sunshine fill up that cup, but as soon as the sun
goes down, or the friends go home, or the dog decides to lay on the floor, the
cup is empty again and my brain convinces me it was never meant to be
full. That I was never deserving of that
full cup in the first place.
Mostly, I am so fucking stubborn that I can make
it into an Opposites Game. Your brain
tells me one thing, I do the opposite.
You tell me I can't do something?
Watch me. I'm not a competitive
person with others, but if you tell me...or if I tell me...that something can't
happen, or that I won't be able to do something? It will get done.
I realize that I am painting myself here as something
of a pinnacle of strength and determination.
I realize that anyone reading this who has these Opposite Days too, is
going to say, "you think you know, but you have no idea." It smells vaguely of the stench I associate with the "you can pull yourself up by your own bootstraps" lie.
But see, this -- this writing here -- this is part
of the Opposite Game. This is my brain
telling me "you can't cope with this, you're so stupid, what makes you
think anyone would find value in anything you have to say about this?"
And so I do the Opposite. I
write, even though what would feel good to my heart right now would be to curl
up with my head under the covers. But
it's Opposite Day, remember? And so I'm
writing instead, because curling up would mean that the monster is
winning. I've worked too hard today to
let that monster win.
Anyone who has these Opposite Days is going to call
me a liar. They're going to say,
"but see, if you can play the Opposite Game, then you really don't know
what it's like." And they may be
right. I do not know what their Opposite
Days are like. I do know that there have
been moments and nights and days and even weeks when playing the Opposite Game
for those 5 minutes before I get out of bed feels like running a
marathon. I do know that there have been
moments and nights and days and even weeks when I couldn't play the Opposite
Game. That's why I play it. That's why I know its value. That's why I work to become so damn good at it,
because those moments when I can't scare the crap out of me.
Vulnerability feels like a roller coaster drop to
me on a good day, but on Opposite Days, it feels more like sky diving without a
parachute. One of the lies my brain likes
to tell me is that it's not okay to be honest.
That I should shut down, close off, build back those walls I worked so
hard to knock down. My brain tells me to
give up this stupid "bravery" business, that I can't be brave, that I
should go back to the me who kept herself safe by closing her heart.
And this is my Opposite. One of my Opposites. This is vulnerability, and bravery, and
honesty, and opening.
So I write this because I need to hear it. And - if I need to hear it - there must be
more of us, right? There must be many of
us going through the day making bets with ourselves that start with "you're so stupid, of course you can't...", and doing the Things only
because we don't think we can. There
must be more of us -- if only because my brain tells me that I am the only one, and I am
choosing to believe the Opposite.
So if you are living Opposite Days, this is for
you. This is your evidence that there
are others of us out there living these Opposite Days, or Opposite Nights, or
Opposite Weeks. Even though we think we
can't, we're living, and we're playing this ridiculous Opposite Game alone, together.
And you...yes, I'm talking to You. You go right on playing, okay? It doesn't matter how your Opposite Time came
about, or if you feel you're just barely following the rules. You're playing. If you're reading this, you're still playing. And we're going to go right on playing until we live
into those Opposites and we get our brains back on our side.
<3