Tuesday, October 26, 2010
I know I have said this before, that writing does not take the sadness away. Even painting does not take the sadness away. Medication does. But it hasn't made me happy - for long - either.
I still feel too raw for this world, like skin after a chemical peel. When I feel this way I want to be institutionalised. But that is escape from, not dealing with, the world. Still I yearn for hanging out in a quiet place where every one is sick like me, so that I don't feel so alone in my own sadness.
But even then, everyone's own sadness is their own. Their own splinters in their own hearts. Carrying around a heart of splinters, but shards from different glass. Will facing others' splintered hearts make my sadness go away?
Leading a normal life as I have been endeavouring to for a long time, is really, really difficult. Every hurt is amplified, every success dulled, laughter lasts but for a moment, the rest is bleary grey. I can't think my way out of these sensations that override the protocol of normalcy.
I try to be perfect because that is the only way I will be accepted. Every flaw that mars perfection, is a flaw in me and a lethal blow that is very hard for a perfectionist to accept within. I keep feeling like I failed, again, again and again. It is a never ending refrain. They say one fails forward, learning. That much is really true. They just forget to say that for someone like me, every failure - forward! - is another shard of glass staked into my heart and feels like so, really and truly. It physically hurts and recovery is extremely painful.
So I try to brave the world of normalcy. But accumulate shards of pain and sadness and failure in my heart. How long will it last before I bleed to death? Or will medical science prevent that from happening? It is no wonder so many of us with this disease die from it. One way or another, death becomes us.