SENTIMENTS OF A BRUISED PSYCHE

Function. I know, not exactly a fun or quippy answer, but it’s the truth. As far back as I can remember I don’t think I’ve ever been able to function or go through life “normally” or how it appears that everyone else does, what makes them so special? Why do they get to breeze through life and I have to struggle through the every day? Did I burn down an orphanage in a past life? What did I do to deserve all the strife that I’ve experienced in not even three decades?

These are things I’ve asked myself countless times over the past twenty years, or maybe even longer, if not for most of my childhood feeling like a scene out of Silent Hill… the fog, not the scary monsters. At least, I don’t remember any scary monsters. Fictional ones any way.

Now, obviously the above statements are slightly dramatic, but who could blame me? Anyone who has experienced more hardships or struggles than the average person will know exactly why I pose questions like these, because after a long enough string of one misfortune after another being thrown at you constantly, all you can do is think to yourself “Really? More of this?!“, and you really do begin to feel hopeless, like the Universe or God or whoever is revelling in your suffering and getting pleasure out of it.

These were questions I asked a lot as a child to no one in particular, except maybe God, back when I still believed in Him. I must admit it was nice being young and having a benevolent being to blame all the bad stuff on as opposed to just… realising that life is simply harder for some people, but at the same time it failed to bring me any comfort because why would God do this? Did He hate me? Did I do something unrepentant and unforgivable as a nine year old? I may have moved away from mainstream religion a long time ago, but that inherent feeling of wrongness and antipathy still festers deep. It lingers like a papercut that just will not heal.

I manage to ignore it well enough most of the time, I may even have a few blissful moments of peace where I forget all about it… but then it hits me. That familiar wincing sting. My finger brushes against my clothes the wrong way. I use some hand sanitiser… And it all comes rushing back. I cannot ignore it any longer, it settles into the back of my mind and stays there, like an unwelcome house guest who just will not leave. Why won’t you leave?!

And then, eventually, the sting fades. My finger stops throbbing. I forget about my unwelcome house guest and I go about my day like normal. I laugh at something a friend says. My cat snuggles up to me and they smell like dust and sunshine. I hear a song that reminds me of my first kiss, and I laugh to myself at how awkward and lovingly innocent it was.

All of these little moments that hit me throughout my day, or my week. The ones that, even briefly, make me smile. And for the first time in a while I remember what it feels like to be happy to be alive, to be grateful that I am alive. Despite everything, I am still here, and I am smiling.

Those, my friends, those are the moments we must cherish. However brief they may be, we need to cling onto those moments of peace. Of forgetting. Of joy.

This is how we survive.

I would love to hear from those who stumble across this, what are these moments for you? Are they memories? Or maybe a certain movie? A hobby?

It is so important that we spread joy when given the opportunity. We could all do with an excuse to smile more, to relish in the goodness of life and the world. To put a band-aid over the papercut.

– E.C.R