I’ve been meditating lately. Sometimes during my sessions, a particularly vivid image and storyline leads me to unexpected insights into my present emotional state. This story-poem came from one of those recent sessions. I want to preface this post by saying that I’m worried that it may at times be misinterpreted as being about suicide. I did not write this post with any suicidal thoughts or intentions; instead, it’s about choosing life, choosing to curiously explore and observe my anxiety, and realizing the power I have to choose the role that my anxiety plays in my life. Although I’m not always in a mental state to act on the choices I have, knowing that I have choices is a great comfort. If you or someone you know is thinking about suicide, please tell someone immediately. You can contact the National Suicide Prevention Lifeline at 1-800-273-8255.
A mouse runs on a treadmill.
Frantic. Trying to keep up.
“Run! Faster! Don’t stop or…”
Or what?
He must keep running.
Faster, faster, until he’s barely holding on.
The invisible taskmaster keeps upping the speed.
The whirr of the treadmill makes it sound like it’ll implode at any minute.
The mouse runs faster.
Sprints for his life.
To stop is certain death.
He must keep going.
To stay alive.
This is a life-or-death situation.
“Please, just let me stop. My legs, my body is so tired.”
But the mouse doesn’t have time to think because he must keep going.
He must concentrate on the band slipping away underneath him. If he stops to think his feet will get tangled and the whole juggling act will come tumbling down.
He must keep going.
Until the treadmill slows.
But it won’t.
It just keeps going.
Faster and faster until he’s sure he can’t hold on. He’ll slip off the back and it’ll be done.
He doesn’t want that.
He wants to live!
Run!
Run!
Faster!
Fasterfasterfaster.
He never falls off,
Always keeps up.
But it’s no consolation.
He must concentrate on now. Get through this second and the next and the next.
Why is someone doing this to him?
Why does he have to keep runningrunningrunning?
That frantic feeling.
When all I can do is go, go, go.
The fear propels me.
Fear of not keeping up.
Knowledge that I am keeping up, but fear that it’ll all come crashing down at any moment.
If I stop, the machine will spit me off the back and I will have failed.
I’ll have to watch everyone else sprint past me while I…
Helpless. Admit that I’m not as good. That I can’t do it.
And then I realize.
There is no taskmaster turning up the speed,
Pushingpushingpushing.
I am the taskmaster.
I am the one who can control the speed.
Comfort.
Relief.
I can step off whenever I want.
I choose to slow down.
To step off.
Even when the treadmill continues at its frantic pace,
I have the power to choose.
I choose life.
I choose mindfulness.
I choose love over fear.
I love that little mouse,
Propelled by fear, unaware that he too has a choice.
Tell him this: You choose.
You do not have to go along with the game,
The fear that propels you.
Choose to slow down or step off the out-of-control treadmill.
You have a choice.
That is the most power I have felt in a long time.