You often hear odd stories about how some people are born with a neurological condition where their nerves prevent them from feeling pain. Of course I lack the underlying biology of how this works, but it is common knowledge that these individuals tend to live shorter lives. Why so?
From a physical standpoint, without those bodily signs of danger, a person can more easily bleed out, make poor choices, or seek help too late. For most, pain is a bad time. But it serves an essential function to survive and navigate this world.
Now does a parallel drawn to the psyche hold water?
For example, why does my memory bookmark distressing times more than euphoric ones?
If a moment characterized by failure is a drop of blood in the puddle that is my headspace, dilution to restore clarity is a damn near impossible task.
The opacity gained by the water clouds my vision. I no longer see the world in the same way that I used to.
Of the few important conversations that I’ve had with medical staff, this one comes to mind. In group therapy, we discussed how trauma is sometimes an overreaction to a singular event. A cat walks across the stove and burns itself on the pot lid. From that point on, the same cat avoids all pots. But perhaps most pots are great places to slip into and sleep. There is crisis but also great opportunity avoided. The new “tint” of reality you now experience guides your behavior so that you don’t hurt in the same manner again.
It’s not a topic that I can express lightly. I’ve had friends say “you don’t know what it’s like to be depressed, or to feel trauma, or to be in an abusive relationship.”
And you know what, compared to some other more severe cases, that is true. But that’s not a productive mindset. Unless you are butt slapping each other to your utmost power for alpha dominance… pain is not a badge. It’s not something to brag about and compare with others to.
When I go about my day, either through YouTube ads or the radio, the digestible narrative to follow my heart manifests every minute to an annoying degree. It is not inspiring but instead very painful to hear this. I have self-mediated through two relationships (one still somehow ongoing), not just because I want to move on from my past but because I feel a greater emotional urgency to love as much and as hard as I can in this world for people who need it. This is a very stupid servitude-fueled version of love… but it brings me greater purpose than my hours of obsession and mania that bind me to my bed while I chase an image of someone who could care less. If I follow the tempest that is my emotional ennui, I become a slave to factors I cannot control.
This temporary one year period of stability required a complete change in mindset, where I began to self-regulate instead of seeking therapy or relief from others.
In my immaturity, my high school math teacher kept me afloat through all four years. I visited his office room, sobbing, when he ripped out “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver from the library copy to leave for me. One of life’s greater pleasures, even more than eating condensed milk by the spoonful, is tacit understanding. Being misunderstood was certainly a phase… but he prevented me from casting myself as an outsider for good.
I don’t repress anymore. I do my best to experience the depths of the human experience without judgment. And when I begin to see myself with patience and forgiveness, the world creaks open to reveal new opportunities and affection.