Books

I have a stack of books bedside.  When I'm in a low place I like to read them for inspiration, but interestingly enough, when I am in a relatively good place, reading them will bring me down. 

I just recently discovered this oddity.  Finishing my most recent book the other night, and still not sleepy, I decided to pick up one of the 'self help' books.  After only a few pages, I started to feel a panic attack coming on.  How could a book that brings so much comfort at times of darkness bring on a feeling of dispare when my emotional state is relatively calm? 

After much thought on the subject, I've decided the difference.  When my thoughts are in turmoil, knowing someone out there feels and acts the same way is comforting.  Grief is a very lonely place.  Even though I know there are others suffering the same fate, I can slip into my own world of solitude.  I may socialize, and talk normally, but the demons in my head cause me to isolate myself.

When my emotions are calm and things are seemingly good, the words make me feel like I am not normal.  I think they bring on many more questions than answers.  How can I be feeling happy today when I have this horrible thing in my recent past?  Obviously, losing my son is not something I will ever get over, but learning to live with the pain does happen.  Maybe reading these books keeps me from learning to deal with it in my own way, but when I slip they put me on track again. 

This is a new life full of discovery of myself.  There are things I would have never thought before, things I would have never done, writing to mention one.  It brings a quote to mind from the most recent book I read, "Sometimes the worst thing that happens to you, the thing you think you can't survive...it's the thing that makes you better than you used to be."  Funny how I can do some easy reading and extract a line that makes the most sense.