“You can’t depend on your eyes when your imagination is out of focus.” ~Mark Twain
It started with a clogged kitchen drain. Or maybe the drain was where everything else I’d been carrying finally surfaced.
Regardless, the water wasn’t moving. It was so bad that some of it backed up in the bathroom sink. Baking soda and vinegar didn’t help. Neither did copious pots of boiling water.
I felt my jaw clench, shoulders stiffen, and breath shorten. My brain, seeing a break in my supposedly impenetrable shield, saw this as a perfect opportunity to create a disaster movie screenplay on the spot. It was titled Scenario Z.
It practically wrote itself.
“I can’t afford the tools to unclog the sink.”
“The landlord isn’t answering his texts.”
“I can’t pay for a plumber right now.”
“I’ll have to wash the dishes in the bathtub for weeks.”
Of course, none of this happened.
It Wasn’t About the Sink
This little movie wasn’t about the sink at all. It was a reaction to several events occurring at once.
One week after moving into an apartment, my project contract ended unexpectedly. Then, two of my adult children came to stay with me, adding weight to my already heavy shoulders. As my bank account dwindled, my job applications drew nothing but crickets, and the faith I’d carefully woven for myself started to fray.
One unexpected expense felt like it could topple the fragile balance I’d managed to build. It’s why Scenario Z was quickly greenlit for release. My brain decided to create a montage of suffering before I had a moment to breathe and focus on the problem.
Interrupting the Process
I briefly fell in step with my brain’s story. My head buzzing, I snapped at one of my kids. It was then that I decided I had enough. I apologized to my child, left the sinks to do what they wanted, and went to bed.
While the apology didn’t unclog the sink, it reminded me of what actually needed the first repair. My son wasn’t the problem. My fear had simply found the nearest person.
Owning the mistake didn’t solve the plumbing issue, but it kept a plumbing problem from becoming a damaged relationship.
When I woke up, after my brain replayed the feature presentation of forthcoming disasters, I took action and looked at the situation from a wider angle.
First, I checked the bathroom sink to see if there was a problem. From there, I timed how long it took the kitchen sink to fill up and drain. Once I knew that, I tried a few online suggestions.
Eventually, I pieced together a temporary solution. There was still a blockage, but the sink drained better.
I had narrowed the problem from catastrophic to annoying. In turn, I stopped it from affecting the people around me.
Meanwhile, my brain shoved Scenario Z inside its filing cabinet, overflowing with older disaster screenplays, ready to pull it out again at a moment’s notice.
My problem didn’t change overnight—my relationship to it had.
Why My Brain Did Its Thing
For me, understanding why I went down the dark path came from how I illustrated the problem.
It wasn’t: “Let me look for ways to figure this out.”
It was: “How am I going to pay for this?”
Scarcity thinking resurfaced, even though I thought I had a handle on it. Turns out, I may never get rid of this. However, now I know some tricks to keep things quiet.
I Stepped Away
Staring at the sink, your empty manuscript page, or your tiny bank balance doesn’t magically change things. On the other hand, stepping away from the scenario can give you time to consider a new angle. It’s how I figured out the next steps to clear the drain.
I Slept
Sleep gave my racing thoughts enough time to settle. By morning, things felt calmer. The problem looked the same, but I didn’t. Rest gave me enough distance to see solutions I couldn’t find the night before.
I Let My Brain Vent
No matter how hard you try, there are some moments when your brain needs to get things off its chest. Usually, this happens first thing in the morning when your body releases stress hormones to start your day. Unfortunately, these hormones also start your brain’s engines while it switches from unconsciousness to alertness.
I let mine babble without believing every word it said. Most of what I heard wasn’t reality. It resurfaced as yesterday’s unresolved frustration, asking for one more audience.
I Reframed the Problem
Don’t try the same things that didn’t work before. Take a look at the situation from another angle.
For instance, instead of gritting your teeth and screaming, “It’s not working,” rephrase the statement. Perhaps, “What exactly isn’t working?” Or, “Let me run through the steps again to see if I missed something.”
It may not give you the right solution, but it could open another path toward resolution.
I’ve realized I’ll probably keep writing Scenario Z from time to time. Stress still hands my imagination a pen. However, I know I don’t have to produce the whole movie.
Growth isn’t pretending you’ll never panic again. It’s recognizing you need to rewrite your acting contract before you step into the opening dramatic scene of Scenario Z.
It’s pausing long enough to determine the actual problem instead of assuming what it might become.
Yes, sometimes the answer is still difficult. Sometimes the worst case really does happen.
We repeatedly rehearse conversations that never happen, pay debts that never form, and mourn outcomes that never come to pass.
Scenario Z convinces us we’re preparing for reality. What we’re actually doing is quickly exhausting ourselves before reality can arrive.
Today, my catastrophic imagination is a much easier place to leave than I once believed.
About Richard Keller
Richard Keller is an author, humorist, and neurodivergent. He shares his insights about bipolar disorder, anxiety, and how to live a fulfilling life with mental illness to those with similar conditions. You can find his memoir on late-diagnosed bipolar disorder, Faith and Slipper Socks, on Amazon and at bookstores. More information on his works at the Laugh & Repair website.
