Oh, I'm totally enlightened. But I'm having a panic attack right now, so do you mind if we talk after I don't feel like running screaming naked down the street? You're a doll.
The other day at therapy my shrink had the balls to say to me, "You're reporting today. I don't want you reporting. I want you to tell me about the cockroaches in your bed last night. Let's talk about that."
I really hated him for saying that (not really). But he was right. I report. I talk as if I tai lopez millionaire were on social media. Look at this funny ad, my skin looks so good today, I have a freak of a dog. I do it when I'm not connected to what I'm really feeling. 
I know why I can be like that. I had a very, very weird childhood. Like Addams Family weird. My mother was mentally ill. She screwed me up, and I've spent my entire life unscrewing myself (you get the idea). I've healed. I am, to overuse the word, blessed. Cue the marching band.
That's why nowadays I'm a super positive guy because the alternative wasn't working. Sure, I'm watering down years and years of yoga, meditation and psychotherapy, but the happy ending I've been searching for I'm now living. Praise Jesus!
But then there's this bug issue.
It's not that bugs were literally swarming over me, but that I have anxiety nightmares about them. I've had anxiety dreams for years. Most of the dreams are so violent they literally bolt me out of my bed and send me careening into my living room. Honestly, It's really embarrassing. Another solid reason to remain single.
What really gets my goat is that all I do every day is connect with my friggin' Higher Self. I take yoga classes and vitamins and breath, breath, breath, and yet after all this, I still have the occasional dream where I'm being suffocated by cockroaches. No wonder my application for Zen Priesthood was declined.
When I finally calm down afterwards, I feel like an idiot. Old feelings of depression come up. I was clinically depressed for years so I know how the old throw me under a bus oh my God I hate my life can I eat those Doritos depression feels. 
Me. When I used to eat my feelings. All of them.
And I do mean all of them.
I want to call a friend so they can tell me it's all going to be alright, but I know calling a friend at 3:33 a.m. isn't the smartest way to keep a thriving friendship alive. So I watch more episodes of Friends and sometimes take a teddy bear steps to be a millionaire I have in my linen closet to bed with me. Don't tell anyone.
My shrink told me next week we're going to have to talk about the bugs. I have no idea what they really represent, but I'm guessing it's something to do with my inability to practice what I preach, which is believing that everything is going to be alright.
I've studied with enough gurus (some named Skye, which is really hard for me not to make fun of) so I know that feeling anxious and depressed is the most effective way to block off what the Universe is trying to tell me. It's like putting a muzzle over a megaphone that's attached to my ear.
The past few years I've witness this wild phenomena where I ask the Universe for something, and it shows up. Literally. For years I used to think that kind of thinking was for people who dropped acid and twirled around Central Park with glow sticks in their hands. But then I realized it's how the world works so I shut my pie hole.
So if that's the case, what the hell's the deal with the bugs?
I may not be able to see the truth of it right now, but I do know that my panic dreams aren't the real me, but the old me, the younger Michael who used to have extreme anxiety disorder and suffered from depression and looked like something out of The Walking Dead. The Michael who never felt consistently loved as a boy, so he never learned to trust that things always work out.
I used to say, How could I learn to trust if my first source of trust broke my heart? I'm sick of saying that. The script is getting old. Time for a rewrite.
I've come a million miles from where I used to be. I'll work past this bug thing. The key is to stop throwing things like anxiety and depression and bugs in my path.
All this insight from a bunch of cockroaches. Who knew?
Namaste, Neurosis
http://www.huffingtonpost.com/michael-c-bryan/how-cockroaches-became-my_b_8055470.html
