Psychotic? The voices disagree.

I admit it.  I was in a bad mood; a really bad mood.  I don't remember why.  I'm sure I was right though. When I tell myself the story of what happened, I usually am right.  However I got here, I was stuck. 

I took some deep breaths and a lap around the house and even got another coffee -- the miracle elixir -- but nothing.  I couldn't get out of my funk.  I was stuck in a mood.

One author noted that a mood is a temporary psychosis.  Think about it:  I've left myself and had a psychotic break, stuck in a state of otherness.  Psychotic?  Seems harsh.

But what I experienced that morning was a state of emotional being I could not shake.  I really was in another mind.  I didn't like it and I can assure you the kids didn't either.  Unsure of their role in the cause of the psychosis, they began cleaning the house, picking up their things and washing dishes fresh from the dishwasher. 

Psychotic? The voices disagree. 

Then it was time to meet the old lady from the online ad to pickup the thing for the backyard.  I loaded up the kids and off we went. Quietly and orderly. And afraid.

As the kids worked diligently in her yard, I listened to the lonely tell her story.  She'd been seen by me and saw the vitality of the young working with vim and vigor.  As we wrapped up the agreed upon task, I asked her if there was anything else she needed while we were there.  She'd been seen and helped.  We moved the bookshelf in exchange for a peek at the secret closet she hoped to fill with the laughter of grandchildren some day.  Seen, helped and heard.

As we pulled back into the driveway at home, I felt like I was supposed to still be angry, but I wasn't.  I was angry when I left but something happened.  I was supposed to be angry I guess, even if I couldn't attribute why.  Clearly, 'supposed to be angry' is insane -- that is, out of a right mind -- but that's what I felt.

Instead, my anger had been replaced with someone else's need.  My heart could not hold anger and the story of the lonely at the same time and chose to see Miss Mary instead. 

My mind didn't choose what my heart decided.  Acting, in service, to the lonely moved my body, mind and heart out of itself, reintegrating it so that I could go back home whole.  There was some damage from the morning to repair, but at least I could do so wholly. 

I don't know if this is a formula: bad mood? Serve others = good mood.  I don't think so. Maybe. I do know that by getting out of myself, however reluctantly, I became more of myself. 

Thanks Miss Mary.  Need anything else?