As much as nobody wants to hear them, I don’t want to have to tell my stories. However, the way I have managed to stay out of hospital for all but three weeks of my life (and that was 42 years in, oddly enough, save an additional night or two here and there) is to be honest about what I am experiencing.
Certainly, when it comes out as spontaneous improv comedy, it at least induces some smiles. However, I find people are generally averse to any emotional expression, buoyant or bummed.
I have always been a talker. Under “activities” in my Grade 12 yearbook, I listed: “Babbling Incessantly”. LOL
My son’s father once told me I “inflict” myself on people.
In my early adult life, I was told I was intimidating and “negative” by coworkers. I couldn’t see it. My response to the latter comment was: “I think I am as positive as humanly possible given the circumstances.” Being a retail jockey at the dawn of the American big-box invasion (a manager in the mid 90’s actually told me that the company wanted to “retrain the Canadian consumer to be more like the American consumer”), I saw a lot of what was going to be wrong with our society (Black Friday. Need I say more?). It was there, dealing with real people… I actually miss kibitzing with contractors… that I developed my improv comedy approach to life. My mixed bag of responses to idle inquiries like “How are you?” (i.e.: “I have a pulse. They say that’s good!”) were always designed to both minimize my inability to be dishonest and coax people out of autopilot. Hopefully with a thought provoking giggle.
Why am I saying all of this? I guess because I am suffering. I am alone. And, as much as I feel like I should be with people, I also know that, inevitably, I make them uncomfortable. I have to speak truth. I can’t ignore the big picture, in large part because every piece of my little picture is painted into a corner on account of it. Every corner I turn, is another brick wall.
I’ve been beating my head against one; turning to try to scale another; only to fall on my already broken back. And, even if I land on the other side, the path is the same sorts of things: tunnels lighted by oncoming freight trains; taking leaps of faith and finding the nets were just shadows from the fraying tent roof (That’s a new one! See, this is how I smile again. I find some inspiration in describing the dark muck I wade in)…
Please, someone, help me believe there is some good that comes from all this aching…
It is getting harder and harder to rationalize.
If you are still here, many thanks for your time. I do feel much better now. 🤗