In my memoir, I am writing about a time in my life when I came close to losing it. What in the world does that mean, anyway? Losing it.
For those of us who have lived some or all of our lives as one of the hyper-diligent, the concept of losing control of anything is incomprehensible. As impossible as I knew it would be to do, the thought of letting go of feeling responsible for everything was oh-so-alluring for a season.
Sometimes, these many years past, on a hot, sultry summer night, I remember those nights when my family slept but I wandered the halls, scrubbed the floor, or sat on the patio, and considered what it might feel like to lose my mind.
I wondered how it was done. Did one just decide to let go of all manner of decorum? What would others think?
I was tired of keeping my finger in the dyke; I was so tempted to pull it out and let the flood come.
It was another lifetime. I was another person.