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My Outlet, The Written Word of Life |
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Sometimes things that you want to know, and that you are the better for knowing, can hurt or shock you. The dark flip-sides of life, the things most people hide just below the surface, influencing their daily workings from behind the curtains, all have a sting for those who try to uncover their secrets. Our masks of normalcy all have a very real underside. Some say it’s better to know things as soon as possible, not have them discovered when it would be bad, but most often it happens that the black spots on the record tend to only show up grudgingly if at all. On the other hand of this, there are the people who, at the cost of these stings, try to let others get things off their chest. These sponges for troubles, these people with inherent “others feel better first” attitudes, they, consciously or not, fight tooth and nail to relieve people of their troubles, let them spill out around the mask, steal their pain and quash it, hold the weight of the world and worlds past for a while, lifting the weight of all the secrets so the helped can rest and shoulder it when they’re ready.
We all take a piece of the load with us when we do this, a reminder that lives fluctuate violently, and that we are needed. I suppose it is fate that such a rare name gave rise to such a rare person. We are an endangered species, far and few between, but our services are much appreciated by those who take the time to look. It is often the case that we gather a shell about us, steel ourselves against the onslaught of horrors, both others’ and our own. However, if you chip away at it enough, you will get through, whether by cruelty or by love. Myself, I tire of hearing the same old insults, now so offhand, these slurs based upon actions ill-thought. These blows, while for the most part deflect off, grate against me when they come, frustration and impotency threatening to overwhelm me. That “stupid” or the eating joke, that “a*****e,” based upon perceived events, can not just grate, they hurt. You have no idea how infuriating it is to be blown off because of something I’m not. To be offhandedly insulted because I screwed up once or twice. Mistakes. Happen. And when all the good things I try to do are utterly disregarded. When I become part of the scenery because nobody deigns to talk to me about anything. It’s crushing. Ripping. Tearing at my insides like some beast, making me want to scream out “Look at me! I am not who I’m made out to be! For God’s sake somebody at least acknowledge I’m there!” But I don’t. I leave my troubles to let themselves out when I’m not around people who have their own things to work out. I am one person, and I know my calling. I am unique, but in my unparalleledness I am quiet. And no matter how strong it gets, other people come first. I’m fine. Always have been. Breathing difficult? No, not me. The shoulders heaving isn’t anything important. How was your day? That’s just how it was. Is. And yet I always have that other part of me that cries out, “Please, help me, save me, hold me tight!” Alone. I am alone in a sea of people who have troubles, and I have to try and help them. Shake off the waves of torment. But I can handle that. I always will. But the labors of this Hercules are never done, and I do appreciate the odd appreciation.
I may let this be read. I may not. But if it is, I think this last message is the most important. Find who you are, not just your identity, but your calling, your archetype, the web of things that mesh together to create you, and live it. But prune it, care for it, manipulate the fabric of yourself to create an image you can live with. You can’t change yourself, no more than an artist can change the clay he has. But he can shape it, color it, make it worth looking at, forge it, and then reveal it to be the masterpiece you are.
-Mark
 Val Ritz · Mon Nov 23, 2009 @ 04:28am · 0 Comments |
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