Controlled Chaos

In therapy, we learned about the PIC-U. I am sure it is an acronym but cannot remember what it stands for and, for once Google is no help.
Simply put, the PIC-U is a collection of objective measures that your life is slipping dangerously out of control.

In some cases these measures are obvious, easy to measure:
the phone is ringing with bill collectors impatiently waiting on the other end of the line.
You are drinking three drinks, or thirty, as opposed to your more customary two.
A full pack a day.
Less than 7 hours of sleep.
The deadline is approaching with little progress on your end.
Unread mail piles up. While you are burying your nose in something…
Anything you enjoy more than the harsh honesty of reality.

Others are more subtle:
“Did you hear what I just said?”
You awake with an inexplicable pain in your shoulder.
You bite your nails or pick at your face.
Your jaw is sore from clenching tight.
“Dad you forgot to put the J in the PB&J?!”
Where the fuck are the car keys?

The exercise is to take a moment and notice the objective evidence that you are at least managing your life.
If not thriving.
And to notice when your life is unbearably slipping towards chaos.

Everyone PIC-U is unique.
My mom cannot leave the house if the counters are not clean.

I know things are slipping if I return home to an unmade bed.

There is always a thread stretched between the twin towers of light and dark.

The human condition is to hold our balancing staff, that which we trust to be true,
And walk that line between the two.