I pulled up the editor on these blog pages, and found a comment I had not seen before. In reality, I found a couple. I’m so lazy with looking to the response of my words. Some may feel it’s with pretense I say, I write to get it out, not to have it read. But, honestly, I cannot have the responsibility nor consequence of my words. I don’t want to know anything more than the noise is no longer shuffling around in my brain.
I had just finished reading a book I picked up in a library at least five years ago. It chronicles a writer struggling with getting out of his ‘block’. His friends Clyde and Fox force him into living in non-fiction, when he feels guilt about neglecting the fiction he has committed his life to.
I was once told that I live in fiction. I was once told that the fiction in my head filters my reality resulting in this hyperbolic, hypersensitive, state of chaos, from which I thrive. And being as it is that we are what we eat….
So, of course the names Fox and Clyde are in my brain. And in reality, I sat in my car this morning, waiting to unlock my door so that I could see a fist fight to my right amongst school kids. With an alarming but monotonous beep, a dump truck backed into the street, with the blacktop granules he would soon use to fill the street. A parking authority officer fought the validity of a ticket with a driver who missed the cut-off to vacate the school zone. Chaos. It’s the same same chaos I had just finished reading to a degree. And then again, in the same thought, I realize, it may be nothing at all like it. The chaos in which these characters participated was premeditated. It was fictitious. Unless the writer wrote reality? (Because sometimes we do that) So, I sat wondering if, like the book, the noise was caused with intent, or a byproduct of living. With a smirk, I call my days, ‘adventures with esther,’ because I can’t admit to the chaos and noise, both inside and out; and I certainly can’t admit that I have any control over it.
Today I logged in to update my blog pages. I need to write something about suicide and the question posed in my brain is a pretty hard one to unravel. I’m going to get to that because I have a need for that. And in recent weeks, I’ve explored need versus want. Despite my historical opinion, it really has become apparent that want is greater than need. In that vein, along with the trepidation I have of writing something I’m not certain I am ready to reveal, I poked around previous words and found a comment. I found a comment, coincidentally labeled with the name of Clyde. Clyde said my words inspire nausea. And I’m sitting here with a lump in my throat and a knot in my belly feeling sick over it myself. Again, I think I needed to see this effect of my words on another (or affect as it is). Perhaps the important part of the fight in my periphery and the alarm to fix something torn apart and the discussion of right and wrong - perhaps the important part is the words. I have a need to heave the noise from my head. But I have an overwhelming want to get something important written. I feel like I just spew words and fear they will be gibberish that no one will understand, but still feel the need to get them out so there is room in my head for the breath to keep the mechanics of my body moving.
This person who presumably has no idea of my motivation said I evoke such emotion that they want to throw up. Without confidence of the importance, I’m pondering if the moment my coffee cup is empty and my laptop is open should be pushed into the want or need column. After all, he did say he wanted to throw up after reading me.
AND THEN I FOUND THIS -
I found, in my files labeled offline blog posts, I found the following:
Resilience is the ability to recover from difficulty.
One of my doctors mentioned the word to me today. He said I need to be mindful of my resiliency. After expressing confusion with a furrow of my brow, he specified what he meant.
“You know a thing has a flexibility and will bend,” he said moving the arm of his glasses to show me. “But if there is a rigidity, this will break.”
Of course. It’s simple and clear. Have I said this? Have I thought this? I don’t know. But a light bulb did shine this morning for me.
We were discussing coming to more visits. More analysis. I’m probably going to accommodate his request, as it behooves me to take his advice en route to healing. But today, I expressed hesitation and put off for one more week to the commitment of further morning meetings.
But if I was in a movie, there would have been a freeze-frame. He would have remained on his chair staring at me with the glasses he just used as a visual aide between his thumb and forefinger. I completely went through an inner monologue comprehending my reception of the words he laid before me.
“I want to discuss your resiliency,” he said.
My resiliency? Do I have that? Negative. I have a brittleness that will break if one stretches me too much.
A smile curled around my lips and I rolled my eyes. He was talking about my avoidance of situations. My inability to return after that avoidance. Referring only to my health, he leaned closer and said, “Everybody hears these things that are too heavy and overwhelming to handle. They take a breath and maybe step away for a moment before moving forward. You cannot run away and not come back. You cannot live with this sense of abandonment and disengaging with relationships.”
It is, without a doubt, an unfinished thought. Although, I could have very well posted this in a moment of who the fuck cares, nobody reads this anyway. And if I did, I can’t remember; but, it’s timely for me this morning, so it will be here again.
I have these people in my life who may not understand their importance.
I say, with every experience comes pleasure or knowledge. It is the rare instance that I am given both at the same time, so I savor those moments. It occurs to me this week, that I take pleasure in knowledge and grow intellectually with pleasures. It also occurred this week that I lost hope of experiencing this ever again. I reflect on those who I push away and who have pushed me away. We all have our reasons. And if I’m pushed away, I’m not going to hold onto guilt for pushing someone else. (if this is my story, then that is their’s…) But then this resiliency popped up. And I stirred vomit in the belly of a reader. So struggling with a scene in which I have forgotten all the things that I think I need to remember to get an effect I want - well, I’m hopeful about the progression. And I’m hopeful that this introspection on desire and my new perspective on the importance of wanting something so much more than needing something will manifest itself in the right kind of noise I can sort through for meaning. And I’m hopeful that all the anonymous characters for whom I’m in the periphery, can sort through my chaos to find the importance to move them forward.