The strong are only strong because they don’t realize just how tenuous a grip it is that they have on their willpower, their ability to keep from cracking under the stress and just giving up. Would you be as strong if you could see just how deep that chasm is and how delicate your hold is on the crumbling edge at the top of it?
Today I am numb, apathy has washed me in its coping embrace. Today I go through the motions physically like a robot, as I try not to move mentally and further weaken my fragile hold on the last grip I have left of my sanity.
Emotional trauma is a complex and long-lasting entity that will forever change how you view the world and deal with stress. Imagine your worst experience, the time you felt the most betrayed, the most helpless, the most isolated and deprived of safety. All the unpleasant aspects of that terrible event in your life can be overwhelming and leaves a scar that can’t be seen by the human eye. It is a scar of knowledge, the knowledge that you can be injured, that you can be attacked and have things stolen from you, that you must suffer and if it happened once it can happen again. No matter how strong a person is, ask them to relive their worst experience and no one will do it willingly.
Last night I walked into my newly built house, built upon the ground of the previous house that stood there. A past house of horror that had come to represent all the worst things life has thrown at me, a house that invoked a fear and frustration as close to panic as anything has ever instilled in me. A house that literally tried to kill me and came damn close to succeeding. That house I triumphantly saw torn down and smashed in and never had I felt so relieved as I did watching it all come down. The biggest source of that fear was for the mold the house had harbored, mold that attacked my body and mind and almost ended my marriage. With the destruction of the past house, the mold went with it. The new house was supposed to represent a new start. Built and designed to resist mold and be a safe haven I could finally relax in…until last night. I walked in and immediately noticed the old symptoms rearing their heads. By the time my husband arrived I was coughing so hard I could taste blood in my mouth. He sent me home but the thought of having to deal with this invader again, it is more than I can contemplate. How much can one person take, how many times can they endure the reality that they are not safe in their own home, how much money do you have to spend to build a house that doesn’t try to kill you?
Much like the drug pusher who lures you in with quality goods, then once you’re hooked, sells you the crap left over from last months failed cook knowing you’ll buy it anyway because you are now fully under the control of chemical cravings, so acts nature. Remember when oranges tasted like oranges and not these pale imitations which look identical but taste like wasted money? I accepted the fall of the flavor-filled orange with a grace I didn’t know I possessed, but now nature has gone too far. The nature pushing entity known as Trader Joe’s introduced me to an addictive fruit called the green mango. Sold in tiny air tight bags and labeled “A Tart & Sweet Island Treat” their subtle deliciousness instantly got me hooked. It was a perfect balance between an apple and a mango, soft and light on the palette, almost impossible to stop eating. Almost as suddenly as I found them, they disappeared off the shelves, I was crushed. A bitter hissy fit ensued in the privacy of my car when told they would be out of them for months. No one else had them, they were unavailable. Then the glorious day came when they were once again adorned on the shelves of my local Joe’s. I cheer of delight rose up in my mind when I saw the familiar bag and I grabbed several in my joy at having them back. I hurried home with my prize, eager to once again taste the flavor I had been craving for so long. As soon as I tore open the plastic I sensed something was wrong. The smell that came out was slightly off, not quite what I had remembered. I told myself I was being silly, that my mind was playing tricks on me, but then I put a piece in my mouth and my elation turned to disappointment. It may technically be from a green mango, but it is no longer the tart and sweet island treat I had once loved. Like the oranges mentioned above the beautiful green mango has been altered and now tastes like dead chemicals. The vibrance it once had can no longer overcome the cane sugar and glycerine that together with “green mango’ make up the entirety of the ingredient list. It is yet another example of why I can’t have nice things…and I will be returning it to the store for a full refund…my jewish heart can not take the double beating of losing out on a delicacy that once was and the $2.59 per bag as well. Perhaps one day I will find another fruit that won’t let me down like the oranges and green mango have.