Burnt Sienna

“Your anxiety would be helped immensely by some meditation or mindfulness exercises.”

Meditation? Mindfulness? Doc, I’m pretty sure the reason I’m seeing you is because I need to get OUT of my mind, not stay in it.

I need you to understand, I spend my days examining every square inch of every interaction and moment. Each opportunity is fraught with a thousand ways it could go wrong. If someone is ten minutes late coming home from work, in my mind they’ve already wound-up dead in a gutter at least ten different ways. That’s an approximate rate of one death per minute, on a slow day.

I’ve thought about my death. Not by my own hand, just by virtue of existing in this world. I’ve cried for my imaginary funeral for cancers I don’t have, realized that no one would bother with my ransom, escaped from various strangers’ vehicles, fought off would be attackers and have decided that if it came to a zombie apocalypse, I have no transferrable skills and would likely die in the first hour.

The writers of the Final Destination franchise should exclusively hire anxious people with attention deficit disorder for their writing staff. They’d rake in big cash for the never-ending supply of sequels. If we could stay on topic long enough. Where was I? Oh yeah, mindfulness…

“Try a guided meditation.”

Ok. Breathe in…breathe out…why is her voice so whispery? It’s not calm, it’s creepy. Her breathing is so shallow…Ok, ok, I’m breathing, I’m breathing. Now I’m hungry, what should I make for dinner? That recipe for quiche looked achievable. Would the kids even eat it though? Only if I put bacon in it. Which means then I can’t eat it. What kind of weirdo is allergic to bacon, seriously? I should start cooking something soon, I’ll check the time on my phone. Oh crap, she’s still talking. It’s been 20 minutes. You’ve got to focus, stay in the moment. Now I feel guilty for not staying in the moment. Breathe in…ugh…leg cramp! Do I have to stay sitting cross legged? How does anyone just sit and make their brain quiet? I don’t think this is for me.

“Try a wind down ritual, like a hot bath.”

This seems manageable. I’ve been looking forward to trying out this bath bomb business. ‘Gold Glamour,’ what a cute name for a bath bomb. Watching it fizz is strangely gratifying. It smells faintly of citrus. I’m going to smell amazing after this. I ease myself down into the water, the heat almost repelling me back. I’ve got to push through; I’ve just got to relax. Ok, bathtubs were not made for big bodies. The room is warm though, it’s not so bad. Now what? I’m bored and hot. What is that smell? Oh god, it’s me! How has by body odour gotten worse while in scented water? Scented yellow water. It looks like urine, glittery urine. Now I know why women drink wine in the bath. It’s to stop you caring about how gross you are in your hot, human soup. I don’t think this is working. I’m just overthinking new topics while wet. I’m going to take a shower.

“Try a creative pursuit, like colouring in.”

Creative. I like the idea of being creative. I’ve got books and books filled with doodled margins from high school that can attest to that. This flower mandala is gorgeous. I think it’ll be a good one for warm colours. I should lay out all my pencils ready, maybe put some music on. Classical? No, too distracting, maybe some of that lo-fi hip hop stuff. I don’t know any bands. Spotify should have a playlist right? Bingo! Okay, we have some tunes. Is that seagulls in the background? Feels kind of beachy, I like it. Beachy yellow sand, ok, let’s start with yellow. Back and forth, back and forth.

The pencil glides smoothly across the paper. This is taking so long. All this movement and I’ve only gotten one little section half filled. I haven’t used pencils like this since I was a kid. Why is this taking so long? Great, now I’ve slipped and gone over then damned line! A five-year-old does this better. My wrist is sore, and this doesn’t look anything like I thought it would. I can feel the frustration bubbling up. I’d better take a break. Maybe it’s just this picture. Maybe I’ll do better if I use something I really like? I’ve got that Game of Thrones colouring book my aunt got me for Christmas, let’s give that a whirl instead.

A dragon. Now THAT is a picture worth colouring. We’ll make him red. Oh no, did I just assume the gender of a dragon? I really need to unlearn that habit. Lucky for me, I don’t think the dragon cares. Back and forth, back and forth…the same rage is rising. I wonder how fast a colouring book would burn if I set it on fire?

“Find something that you can stop and start as you need to. It just has to keep you focused and present in the moment.”

My therapist gave up. Lucky for me, my brain has a knack for exploring all the possibilities. Sometimes, It's a super power and other times; it's a burden.

The colouring sparked interest, but moved too slowly. How do I capture the same creativity but move at a pace that my brain is happy with? I need a more fluid medium. Maybe paint? Yeah, paint could work. If it doesn't, I can lay it out to rest in the communal grave of hobbies past. The canvas could slowly rot beside the sewing machine and beading kits. The brushes could be fashioned into crosses to act as headstones for the supply boxes. Jeez my mind is morbid.

Burnt Sienna. What a strange name for a colour. I wonder how that came about? I like the way this feels, so tactile and smooth. It's gratifying to watch the little blobs of colour smear out and blend. Much faster than pencils. How do I get that shape right? Where is the light coming from? Oh, this is wonky, it looks nothing like the reference photo. Ahh well, we'll call it an artist's interpretation. Hey, that's actually not terrible. This is...kind of fun? What time is it? Holy crap, where did three hours go?

And there is was. It was not the silence I'd expected but the focused mind I hadn't met before. For the first time in a long time my pulse slowed. My breathing settled. I was no longer conscious of all the clicks and grinds and sounds my body made. There wasn't a laundry list of things I should be doing, or a cascade of topics to explore. Only dedicated thought. Only, a duck.

Part of me wishes I hadn't settled on a hobby that involved a product that would eventually clutter my cupboards. Maybe one day, I'll be able to make something good enough to sell. But for now, I'll just keep at it. One calming duck at a time.