I had a stupid morning. A stupid morning is a specific kind of bad or sad morning. A stupid morning is a combination of the two, but for stupid reasons. My reason dajour was this: It took me almost two hours to re-string my guitar.
I was putting light gauge strings on a Fender Stratocaster. I used to do this as quick as a roadiie at a rock concert, about twenty minutes give-or-take, including the time it takes to takes to get the new strings out of the package. Light gauge strings are super thin, and a Strat has a few sets of tiny holes to get the strings through. On this stupid morning, I couldn’t feel the strings and when I could, I couldn’t get them through the holes. It took about two hours and a lot of "fucks,” and “Goddmnits” to finish the job. I finally had to call my wife in to help me do something I’ve been doing since I was eighteen.
She didn’t see, but after an hour or so I began to cry. I couldn’t believe how low I'd sunk physically, to not be able to sting a guitar. If I’d reached the age where I couldn’t perform simple tasks, then perhaps my musician days were finally, really over.
And there, right there is what made it a stupid morning. The voices in my head. They were lying like they always do, and I was listening. I should have known better but I didn’t. I was too busy being stupid.
I don’t believe the notion that we have to accept a new normal when It comes to mental states or life’s circumstances. Every day brings a new normal. There are always opportunities to make yourself better and change the norms. That’s what recovery is all about.
Having said that though, what you do have to accept are certain immutable facts. Air exists and we need to breathe it whether we believe in it or not, or we die. Gravity is a real thing as you’ll soon discover if you jump off a roof believing you can fly. Some snakes are poisonous, and they will kill you dead even if you believe God will protect you. There are certain immutable physical facts that you just can’t ignore.
I am diabetic. That’s a fact. I have done some irreversible damage to my body. That is also a fact. I can’t feel my feet anymore. It’s called diabetic neuropathy and it’s a real thing that affects your extremities, so my fingers aren’t as sensitive as they once were. Whether I wanted to accept it or not, I was simply not going to feel guitar strings, especially not the lower ones that are thin as needles.
I only have one eye thanks to diabetic retinopathy. That means seeing the tiny holes on a Strat is going to be difficult even with my glasses. This is compounded by the fact that I can no longer gauge distance.
I could cry and curse all I wanted, but my physical limitations are just facts. I forgot the serenity prayer, the part that says I needed the serenity to accept the things I cannot change, the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference. That stupid morning, I forgot the wisdom part.
I called my wife for help. She chastised me for not calling her sooner, which I should have done as soon as I realized I had a problem. Apparently, she is wiser than I am. No surprise there.
If anything, my new normal is that I sometimes need help. I need to accept that and therein lay serenity, courage, and wisdom. If I can remember that I can tell the voices to shut the hell up.
I’m bipolar, so I’m going to have some sad mornings, even some bad ones. That’s another fact I can’t avoid. But I can damn sure take steps to mitigate the stupid mornings. That much I can do. I’ll just call my wife. Leson learned.