It's hard to come from a family that wants to devour each other. In the animal kingdom, it is an acceptable practice: a form of natural selection to thin out the herd. In my family, it was done for sport. I grew up watching my family bicker, argue, and back-stab each other.
To look at me now, one would probably never suspect I was hotheaded and violent in my teens and early twenties. But, reviewing my life, it may have turned out much differently had I not had influential people in my life who taught me that tempers, being mean, and storming off don’t usually solve problems. These behaviors usually create more problems: being disrespected, avoided, and consequently feelings of isolation and hopelessness. It took many years to change my attitude and behavior, but luckily, I learned the consequences of my actions.
Two o'clock in the morning. My mind pops awake, and the thoughts of what I should have done and what I could do better (the thoughts I avoid during the day and push to the side) come barreling in at full force like a bull coming out of its cage. The thoughts spin in a cycle, as if they are on a merry-go-round going around and around, only to wave at me as they are going past, never taking the time to stop and get off so I could have a moment of rest.
Avoidance. Something I know down to my very core. The art of running.
Ah, running. I have a love/hate relationship with that, too. I run to feel a release. I run to avoid the emotions that get caught up in my daily mundane tasks of the 9-to-5 job. I run to feel a physical pain that, no matter how terribly it hurts, is often less than my emotional pain. It somehow covers up the darkening of my soul and the solidification of my heart to where my insides end up looking like a black hole. Maybe I've always been a runner, figuratively.