Psyche Out

Dumbfounded. Shocked. Surprised. Stupified. Stupified. Stupified. Stupified.

Need I say more? That basically sums up my past week. That, and a sudden case of the jinx. Like maybe I talk too much about my life? Maybe I need to go crawl in a corner and suffer in silence. Maybe then I wont suffer? Right? It could happen!

So my old self tries to tell myself. But after a week of that, I realized that my old self fits like a garbage bag. I spent the week wondering if I could/should have insisted/persisted more strongly to search the vials, questioning the competence of the embryologists, and coming to the certain conclusion that I could have found something in those vials, if only I had done the looking. If only! If only I had gone to medical school, I’m sure I could have elbowed my way into a looksy at our genetic parts. I should have elbowed my way anyway!

Then I started thinking that maybe I should look into going to medical school anyway. What, it’s only about two years of prerequisites to sit for the mcat, and then at least another EIGHT YEARS of serious debt before I can elbow my way into the doctor’s backrooms. I’ll only be 43 by then. And then, I can save the world through healing, just like I always wanted.

I just shoulda, shoulda, shoulda gone to medical school. And then, maybe, maybe, maybe this catastrophe would have been averted. I could have averted it. I could have saved myself. If only ...

I reread the end of my last entry: Am i bad person? Am i being punished? Is God mad at me? Can you tell I’m a product of a divorce? Whenever anything suddenly goes in the least expected but worst way, I scramble to figure out how I could have prevented it so IT WILL NEVER HAPPEN AGAIN. On some level, I internalized my parents’ divorce as a reflection on me and ever since then have been scrambling to cross all my t’s and dot all my I’s so that, in a way, my parents don’t get mad at me again and do another drastic horrible thing to my life.

And my reaction to last Sunday was, initially, more of the same, only now I’ve subplanted my parents with God. But it’s all the same, internally; I did something wrong that angered the powers that be and I now must do whatever I can to correct that so it never happens again. When in reality, you know what, sometimes you just don’t get what you want. (GASP!) And it’s really NOT a reflection of me. (GASP, GASP!) It’s just a reflection of life. It hurts like hell but it doesn’t simultaneously mean you’re going there. (REALLY!?) It doesn’t. (PHEW.)

It just hurts, is all. Pure, unadulterated pain. (OUCH) Covering it up with an old garbage bag wont help it or make it go away. (BUT IF FEEL SO RIGHT TO TRY). I can still feel the pain nonetheless. And trying to cover it with a big black bag or hiding in a corner only gives you a false hope that you can control your life or the pain you suffer.

But you cant. And it's good to know that. And since pain does not equal damnation to eternal hell, you discover that at some point, it plateaus, levels off, and eventually recedes (SO THE NEXT WAVE CAN HIT, HAHA, SUCKER). And, yes, the next wave may bring more pain, but it may also bring happiness.

But you will never know, if you go off to hide from it.