Tell me, dear reader, do you also have moments where you want to break away from the physical body you’ve been so generously provided with?
Like your soul’s just crumbling inside you, your physical form surprising retaining it's shape, thinking it's Elasti-Girl or something. But of course you can't tell anyone. It's not so much that you don't want to, it's just.. You can't. You don't have the necessary vocabulary. Voicing this stuff is a job for orators like Barack Obama.
Because I do, I have those moments, I have more of them than I have the courage to even admit.
And it doesn't have to be anything earth-shattering either, even the littlest things manage to send me spinning off into the void.
Even though my case might be a little extreme, I’m going to make a generalization based solely on the fact that you’re a human too, that your anxiety will more or less be in multiples of my own.
This anxiety, how do I describe it..
It just..
You know..
.. Let's just say I finally understand what ‘soul-crushing’ means. Not one of the best feelings. You’ll want to write this one away. Do NOT take it when someone offers you it. Definitely, definitely something you’ll want to leave to your grandkids in your will, just so it's not with you anymore. Do whatever, except keep it with you.
Only if it was that easy.
The thing is, somebody recently told me that feelings can't be exchanged or disposed off just like that. That feelings are not physical objects you can choose to take, or not take. Their exact words were “Stop eating directly from the bowl and feelings are not objects you can throw away”. I know. Weird, right? I mean, why would they tell me not to eat from the bowl?
Right, sorry, the feelings part is weird too.
To be honest, just shutting up and not struggling is in fact sort of liberating, don't you think? “Fine, Sadness, I’ll let you inhabit my physical form for a while. But I’ll want it before dinner.”
I’ll elaborate. I think we get so confused by the idea that we are supposed to be ‘strong’, that we vehemently refuse to accept any part of us that is otherwise. We simply cannot let go, cannot cry it out. Because crying? Crying is for the weak, the pitiful. The mere idea of it represents emasculation on a grand scale. It’s the ultimate put-off for people. “She’s too sensitive.” Because I’m sure us being a human like that interferes with their personal lives, the poor souls. Not surprisingly, we adapt : we put on our happy faces, skirting the all-encompassing darkness it's time we address. No sir, we’d rather spend a million years struggling before we confide in another human being that we’re lost. That we might be in need of somebody’s help. Because that’s weakness, isn't it?
Anything even remotely close to ‘liberation’ in this context of sadness and infinite misery understandably seems out of place. Thankfully, I don't have to take responsibility for anybody else, since so far I’m the only person that I know with this skewed worldview. You see, I think this struggle, however hateful it might seem, makes us who we are. Shrouded in this struggle, is the path that we are meant to find for ourselves. This path will lead us to who we are meant to be, it will teach us that we can keep ourselves hoisted up just fine.
Also coupled with this is my fantasy that what follow these struggles are endings nothing short of incredible. We just have to hold on in the meanwhile. Pass the time, maybe go for a walk in the park, if the park is really, really far. All I mean is, wait. Maybe it’ll get better. Maybe when you return, it’s going to be sitting there. Your own magic box of happy endings.
P. S. - All this was just a farce. I just wanted to tell you about how I was upset the other day.
Source : my blog at mariamsafoora.wordpress.com
