Thursday, June 21, 2012

My Insecurities

I should have died long before, if there were a time for such things, when my body was more closely attached to my soul. Now, it is just a matter of time before, death rakes its last nail through my skin and peters down my soul into a jar of coffee, to drink while it makes its way to hell. Everyone dies. As biological creatures, our body is subject to entropy, decay and eventual death. Death by different and, some, entertaining means. To each his own.

There is something about the death that captures the imagination of the mystic, the realist and the scientific minds. Each one, in their own way, spends hours and days wondering about the secrets of this inexplicable and mysterious end to our lives. The realist looks at its grimness and futility. The mystic revels in its liberation and mystery. The scientist, well, that idiot is still caught in the web of trying to prolong it as far as possible. Now, why would anyone want to do that is beyond my understanding?

As far as me, I have had a close and often, strangely knit connection with death. I have been familiar with the ravages of life since my birth. I have lived, no, survived for the last 25 years like the last leaf clinging on to the surface of the tree. My parents, extremely kind of them, have been trying to prop me up like the proverbial house that gets blown off in the storm. And how many storms have I seen. Every time I had been on the verge of giving up the last breath, before someone brought me back to life. My system is now a chemically induced reaction to life. There is more medicine running through my body than food. Well, at least in a larger percentage compared to the normal 25 year old.

This proximity to sickness, decay and a regular inability to enjoy life at this age has led to a more profound impact on my consciousness. My understanding of life and its eventual damage has grown. I have questioned the use of my constant efforts to build a life with alarming regularity. I have gained a personality that is defeatist, nihilistic, completely depressing and in many ways, establishes me as the leading jerk in the genre. 

My friends hate that part in me. The humour in me has grown very cruel and often, ends up hurting people. I have now realised that constant sickness to your physique does result in some sickness to your mental and emotional self. This was easier a couple of years in the past, when my body wasn’t as bad as it has come to be today. I could, at least, go out on trips with my friends without embarrassing myself. Now, every time I step out, it has become a contest between my body and my mind over which one will give up first. More often than not, it is my body. Damn this useless thing. On second thoughts, don’t. It might do worse.

I have heard friends laugh about it, thankfully, in front of me. It makes it easier to bear, when you know they are not genuinely concerned about me. Makes it easier to not feel like the jackass, not that it proves I am not a jackass. I still am. But you get the point. They mean no harm. And yet, it hurts like hell. That I can’t be like them. I can’t eat like them, drink like them, laugh, talk and enjoy like them. Live like them, without the pain, without the embarrassment, without the constant visits to the doctor. I wish. Why? They are dumber than me, no offense. They lack half the linguistic ability I have (My only pride). They lack, even, the ability to comment sarcastically, without the other person realising its vitriol. Yet, I would gladly exchange this for one week without pain in any part of the body, the simple ability to eat food without worrying about its consequence on my bowels the next morning.

This game of waiting and watching between me and time has been on for the last 25 years. Right now, Time has the upper hand. This feels like a scene from the ‘Seventh Seal’, with me as the knight and death being my sickness, playing chess in the miserable solitude of my room. I know I will lose eventually. The question is how bad will the damage be by the end? Do I care to switch my life over? Do I wish to change? Can I change? I am not sure I care anymore. I am too tired to care. I need to puke. Excuse me.

I have been playing the game far too long in far too wrong the manner I guess. I am tired now. I need to sleep. Even forever seems like a short time. 

1 comment:

Anonymous said...

I totally get you and I also know that it will get better.

Chin up bony! :P