Hi … how are you? Cordial enough. Polite enough. But are people really asking me … how AM I … really? Like most everything else in this life … is it just another desensitized, sanitized question? Homogenized & pasteurized to the point it will not infect or effect? Do I dare tell them? Are they ready to hear how I’m doing. Should I hold this in. Just nod my head say “I’m fine, thanks” … and be on my way? I realize I will tell those people who “need” to know, but even then I’m not quite sure what to tell them. Or how much to tell them.
Well hey … you know … I just found out I have this incredulously incurable disease. That will always “harsh someone’s high” .. or in this case, harsh their “Hi … how are you?” Not my intent. Or maybe it is. Maybe it’s my way of “misguiding my anger” like some heat seeking missile exploding in someone’s face with a coy … “Oh ..I’m doing really swell. I just found out I have an incurable disease.” BOOM!
It’s only a week and I feel guilty that I have to harsh everyone’s reality with my own. If I didn’t feel bad enough, I now have to filter what I say even more. It was bad enough I had to try to hide my depression. Now I have to hide I’m ill for the sake of others? I think not.
I realize like anything else, people have to come to things in their own time. They can only deal with so much, in their own time. I too … you guessed it … will come to this & understand its true meaning and significance in my own time. BUT IT”S NOT MY TIME YET. Okay? On some level I also have to do a sound check on my emotional levels …. I’m on steroids. So is what I’m feeling being amplified? Am I harshing my own high?
Told you it was a rant. : )
Today was a roller-coaster. I woke up feeling okay, for the first time in a while. Went to the chiro-cracktor Dr K. One of the few times I can be “manipulated” by someone and enjoy it. Talking to him about what has been going on helped too, somewhat. I can feel his concern. It’s palpable, it’s genuine. He’s a healer. But at the same time I keep hearing the same words coming out of my mouth. While they are coming out I’m trying to filter out the anger & cynicism. That’s a full time job now! But somebody has to do it. I think that telling the story over & over again just makes me have to relive this thing invading my body over & over. I give it more credence, more validity. The telling is owning it. I don’t want to own it. I want it to go away. It. Won’t. Ever.
So … Hi how are you? These days that’s a loaded question.