Sometimes I wish I couldn’t feel pain. There are ways to numb it, of course. Sometimes I wish I could resort to them. It takes a separate kind of freedom and strength, I suppose. I’ve never thought of being alone as a curse. I’ve felt alone at the most profoundest of times- moments when I am seething under the unfettered agony of long-lost hopes and dreams that weren’t even mine to begin with. Why, then, must I suffer for a mystical soul I have no way of contacting through the passage of time? Why, then, must I feel this need to fiercely guard the best parts of me from a world I know for a fact would tear it apart, rip them from side to side and dangle them in front of me? Why must I feel, sometimes for all of humanity, at other times for individuals who don’t even need it either because they are way beyond my reach or because they never existed or simply because they are better equipped to deal with their pain than I am to deal with theirs?
At other times I wonder, if I didn’t have these rushes of happiness followed by subdued moments of pain- who would I be? Could I appreciate life better when I smell spring air for the first time every February and feel something flutter out of redundancy from within me? Would I understand people, situations- humanity as a whole, if I couldn’t feel things the way I do? If, in a crowded room or in the midst of a loud sea of voices, each one trying to subdue the other in a bid to entertain, I can feel stranded, suffocated, choked- does that make me lonely? It does.And yet what would I be if I wasn’t a product of this incessant voice every day- one which is either so optimistic that it wants to drench itself in every hue of the world in just a few hours or so pessimistic it wants to crawl under the darkest, vilest hole in the universe and just curse, curse, curse away every tiny pore of every cruel act of life?
It is strangely saddening to accept, with a humbleness, the hardhearted approach this world takes every time an act of kindness or of love tries to rear it’s head. When I cry for something I never even had to begin with, when I feel a sort of serendipity which is entirely of my own making-unguided, unpromised and so easily withdrawn that my insides could burst- I bear it all with a grin and a smile now whereas earlier such things led me down a path of self-destruction. The more I understand, the more helpless I feel in a sea of noise, of voices which do not wish to be identified but only jeer and call names from the comfortable cover of night, of human beings who will not spare a single, stranded thought for the fact that they are not the only one caught in the murkiness of life. I know of people who hide under the most intricate of setups- everyone does, some more so than others, but what of me? I want to throw of the covers and cling to the truth. I want to cling to honesty and love until my fingernails spurt blood, my throat turns hoarse and my limbs are nearly torn apart. I want to, but I do not have the strength.
So I swing like a pendulum, absorbing everything I can, writing whatever will ooze out of the corners where the truth sticks like treacle and I have to dig out its coalescing mass with a spoon that hurts no one else but me. Because people will be cruel. They will thrash and suffer and make you suffer with them but they won’t take the easy way out. Something holds them back from the truth. Something holds them back from freedom.
I don’t even remember the objective with which I had started to write out this confession. I think I have reached a point where it doesn’t matter anymore, where in fact, I feel as though putting these thoughts out into the universe might do someone a good turn. If one person could read this blabber of jumbled thoughts and appreciate through them the fire through which my soul sometimes burns for no damning reason except the fact that evil exists in the world, perhaps one day for one person would pass in lesser agony than all others. And hence I titled this post ‘Atonement’ because all I want sometimes is to burn- burn until the entire heat of the world is gone and all anyone can ever think of anymore is love. As unhappy as it may sound, sometimes I wish I could take in all the hurt of everyone who has ever suffered and replace it with something bigger and brighter. I cannot, of course, and I will not force upon myself the impossible attempt of such a lost act but those moments at 3 am when it’s all you want from life- that, and perhaps a little dose of something that will lilt you into giddy sleep- it’s all I can do to keep myself from wishing for something of this sort. A miracle- when you do not believe in God, is impossible to wish for but nothing short of that can save the noise inside me.
And yet through this exhausting alternation between unbending optimism and sickening depths of despair, I feel an utter abandon inside of me- it creates a barrier between me and the rest of the world and very few people ever fully penetrate through it or even try- but this utter abandon, this sense of helpless longing for things I cannot even understand, let alone explain- this is what defines me. It’s what creates all the words that come out of me. So without pain, without despair and hurt I am incomplete and this axiomatic irony leads me towards a sense of justice like a rudder I sometimes wish I didn’t have. I want life without chains, I want my freedom without hovering in this space between nothingness and overwhelming love. I want no labels, no definitions, no judgement. Only endlessness.