AMBIENT THOUGHT – EPISODE Eighty Nine: Relaxing Your Grip…

The following and all of the other episodes to come are snapshots of what goes on in my head, now and in the past. There are times none of this will make sense. There will be times when I might get lucky and the blog I post will be well constructed and will flow like a mountain stream to an awaiting lake below. Other times it will seem like the ramblings of a madman and you’ll ask yourself, “What the……?”
You should probably get use to the latter.

EPISODE EIGHTY NINE:  Relaxing Your Grip…


I’ve talked about this before. It’s something that plagues me from time to time. And I don’t think I’ll ever be rid of the feeling.
And even thought I have talked about it before, I feel I need to bring it up again.

Letting go…

Letting go of sadness. Letting go of guilt. Letting go of worry.

Especially the guilt. I can have a pretty good day. Nothing bad has happened and I’m feeling pretty good. Then like a bolt from the heavens above, I will think of something I did in my past that I failed at or I screwed up or I’ll think of some past pain that I have done to someone or to myself. Then the great day I was having is gone in a flash and I’m left debating and struggling  with whatever problem it had been. It’s usually something I did long ago and I have paid for over and over.
I make myself pay for it over and over.

There are things that I did when I was a child that still enter my mind and wonder what I was thinking. It may have been something that was done to me, through no fault of my own, and I dwell on it and wonder why it happened. Why was it done to me?

Here’s a moment that happened to me when I was, I’m guessing, about six years old. My mother took me to the grocery store. It was an I.G.A. (International Grocery Association) store that was right around the block from our house. That’s where we went most of the time. It was also where I went to get candy when I got old enough to ride my bike there.
Anyway, my mom is shopping and I’m wanting to look at the comics on the comicbook spin rack.
But I had a growing problem.
I had to pee….real bad.

I tell my mom who told me to hold it and we’d be gone in a few minutes. A few minutes came and went and my bladder was reaching critical mass. I told her again. She told me to find the bathroom. I had no idea where it was. I suppose she didn’t want to leave her cart of groceries to help me find it.
I walked away in search of the bathroom but before I got too much into my search, I spotted that spin rack of comics.
I stopped to look.
The bladder was over full. Pressure was beyond what a six year old bladder should be.
I squatted down to look at the comics at the bottom and hoping to stop the pressure from building.
Nope. That didn’t happen. I had made it worse.
The flood had begun.

As I squatted there in the floor, at the comic book spin rack, right in front of the entrance to the store, and while I was wearing khaki shorts, KHAKI SHORTS, I peed myself. And not just my shorts but the floor under me.
I stayed squatted in the floor, pretending like nothing was going on as a light yellow pool of urine formed around my feet. I closed my eyes and prayed that it would stop.
It finally did after a good solid minute.

I stood up and tried to walk away with nobody looking at me. I tired to turn away from people if I passed them. Of course, the wet stain was on the seat of my shorts as much at it was on the front. I found my mom and started to cry. She saw what had happened and asked me why I didn’t go to the bathroom.
I just cried.

So, with wet shorts, she and I went through to the register. I can’t remember if the cashier noticed what I had done because I wouldn’t look at anybody. But on our way out, I saw the manager was mopping up the very large pee pool that I had left.

Poor guy.

So, I think about that moment in my life from time to time and it still haunts me. The embarrassment that I felt that day is still gnawing me. And just like that moment of guilt, I still bring up all of the others that I created or was done to me.

I know. I was six. I was toilet trained like most six year old’s….but… I was six!

Should have my mom believed I was in dire need? Um, yes. Should she have left her basket for a couple of minutes and helped me find a bathroom? Yes, of course. Should I have stopped at the comics rack? Uhhh…no.

But I was six.

And still with that good excuse in my mind, I still feel guilty for it. Thirty-nine years later I can still cringe at the thought of squatting down and feeling the warm sensation running down my thighs to the floor below. I left my dignity floating in that yellowish water.

I still have no idea why I want to keep thinking of these things, these past incidents that causes me embarrassment or things I did wrong knowing I was doing wrong. These things I have paid for over and over again. And I know that I have. On these ‘loans’ I have taken, I have paid way more interest than I should have.

Yet, I’m still paying.

I have let some things go. Elsa would be proud. I have finally left some things on the road behind me like a cast off weight. One less thing in the ‘guilt pack’.

Then other things are still being paid on. Maybe they are there to help me think smarter in certain situations. Maybe I would handle them wrong if a particular bad thing didn’t happen to me or I did on my own.

Maybe. I’m not sure. Maybe these things needed to happen to teach me something. It’s like getting a gift and it’s in a horrible box that’s made of guilt and you can’t throw the box away. You just hang on to it for some stupid reason.

I hope one day I can shed these useless guilt containers, break them down and haul them off. Maybe burn them.

I hope.

I did learn, though, that I never go anywhere without using the bathroom first and know where they are when I get to wherever I’m going.

And the comics be damn…until I’ve emptied myself.

-Loyd Elmore
November 10th, 2017


I’ve decided to keep a blog about how I’m dealing with depression. I’m going to consider this a form of therapy. It might not help anybody else but it might help me.

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