Know what it’s like to walk through an unfamiliar house at night?
You walk in the door, groping the wall and hoping the switch appears under your fingers. Perhaps it does, maybe it doesn’t and you have to take a few tentative steps in and try a little further along the wall, or a different wall entirely. Breathing lightly, stepping lightly, and straining for any glimpse of what lies in front of you. With a constant fear that your toe will crack into the couch or an errant shoe will break your balance.
The light comes on and one area is bathed in the warm comforting glow. You move confidently for a while until the room ends and you enter the hallway.
For a short time you can just slow down and see a bit using the excess light from the previous room.
Soon nothing but darkness is ahead of you and your hand again slides across the wall praying that there is a light switch. Straining to see, hoping that there is nothing unexpected in your path, and completely afraid that there will be.
Ahhh…a breath of relief. Saved again. You can continue to the end of the hallway and turn into the final room.
Standing in the door frame an eerie square of diffuse light lies across the carpet. And you realize that yet again, the light switch has to be found.
Maneuver around the edge of a dresser, slamming your hip into the corner. Swearing under your breath and searching, searching, searching for that damn switch.
Finally. Breathe in peace. You have reached your destination.
What does this have to do with anything? This week I saw the physician for the first time who will be coordinating my medical needs (in regards to the eating disorder) here in I—. She asked how often I got on the scale. (A lot….) Then she asked me why? What did the scale give me? There must be some reason I continue to do it again and again and again. When I get up, before I get in the shower, before I go to work, after I run, before I eat, etc.
I thought about it and realized that the scale is my light switch. I step on and it lets me see where I’m at. I can walk a little further without intense anxiety. But eventually the light runs out and I’m straining to see, starting to panic, stubbing my toes. So I step on the scale. And the light comes back on. But I never reach the intended room. There is always a different hallway, a new passageway, another room to find. And I find myself looking for the light switch again and again and wondering if the experience will ever stop.
I’m not sure what it helps me see though. Does it show me a life map? Not really. A personal health map? No. It just seems to be the only thing right now that alleviates the anxiety, if only temporarily.
The elusive light switch when what I really need is a flashlight.
Or the confidence to take on the dark.
...to find art in chaos... 