isolation and emotion

Some things help you relate with others. Some things make you feel far away from others. I think some of our deepest things make us feel far away from people, because we can't talk about them. It's not appropriate, or it leaves us too vulnerable, or it's just not quite like anyone we have access to.

One such question is on my mind tonight. How do you deal with the thought that you may have caused it? And by "it", I mean the death of another human being. You know somewhere in your head you didn't cause it. You know it was AML. But it doesn't stop the picture in your head. It stays with you.

I can't even say there's no denying it, because everyday, you walk around fine. You really are fine. But then, there are these flashes of what happened that day - the scene that summarizes the whole memory. It's PTSD, and we all have it. It must be the degree that diagnoses us. For me, it's seeing him lying on the bed all haphazard, lying on the bed not breathing. It's weird how you can be in two places at once. I can be in my car driving home, but then I'm not in my car, and then I am again.

I told the story once before. It's nice that someone can read it, and then forget they ever read it. But it's not like that about this. You forget, but something in you doesn't ever forget, and it pops up with no announcement. It's not everyday. But it's enough to make me ask the question.

Yesterday, I was thinking more about how our jobs isolate us from each other. I had a friend over, and I kept wanting to ask her about her job, but I couldn't think of anything to ask. "So, how's your desk been decorated lately?" No, bad question. "So, have you found some great new outfits to wear to work?" No. "Is your copy machine at work cool?" That one's really dumb. The truth is, I have no idea what interesting things there could be to talk about. So then I think about talking about my job. What I really want to talk about is some awesome pathophys or how human we are in life and sickness and death. But I know I should tone it down. I really try sometimes.  Like one time, somebody asked me about the grossest thing I ever saw. So I started telling some funny poop stories, and everybody was laughing. But then, I remembered a far grosser story about bile, and it might as well have hit the fan right there in that room, because it was all over.

Then again, our differences don't have to isolate us all of the time. Sometimes they make us better. I live with someone who is different from me, but when I talk about the things I experience that he doesn't, he helps me. I'm pretty eccentric in my emotional life. At least I think so until I talk to other women candidly. Just like everything else, it's all relative - and in this case, it's usually relative to our significant men. I live with someone who is a sort of emotional oak tree - slow to change and strong. I'm more like those flowers that come and go with the sun. I don't think our emotional temperament is something we can totally control, but we do have choices about our behaviors. I have a strong motivation to let my behaviors be governed by the truth of life in spite of what I am feeling. Sometimes Thomas helps me by reminding me about the truth of life when I can't feel it.

For now, I'm done trying to make myself feel less. I don't need to control my emotions. I just don't want them controlling me, and that's the real kicker. I want to teach my daughters someday. I want to say, "Dear one, I know you are feeling a lot," and I'll tell you: I really know, "but dear one, our emotions do not control us. We feel them, but they do not control us." It's truly something to be learned.

but i'm lois lane

I walked into a grocery store with a group of friends, and a little boy of about twelve or fourteen was standing in the door facing me directly. He held a gun pointed at me saying he'd shoot.
"Don't do that; you don't want to do that." My calm surprised me, almost as an observer, as I gently and easily walked toward him as though there was no danger between him and me.
I think I must've been between sleeping and being awake, because the dream has a couple of endings. The next thing I remember was holding his face in my hands and kissing him the way his mother or his grandma would and giving him the most tender hug you can imagine. And he started crying with shaking heaves. I remember thinking about how I didn't know him a second ago, but now I knew everything about him that was important. And that's all he wanted the whole time. I knew that he was desperately afraid. And I knew that he needed love. And I knew that he wanted to be heard and known. And I heard him, and I knew him.
The other ending was that I came toward him, and like one too brave for the moment swept away the gun, only to have the boy shot in his own foot before the gun was gotten away. And somehow, he was in the hospital with sepsis from this gunshot wound. And there was only one thing to do, because he was going to die. At this point, I was a guy. I don't know how or when that happened, but I was definitely a man. Maybe it's because subconsciously, I can't handle the idea of a girl walking alone in a city looking for a homeless guy. I walked and walked through the city, over bridges, and I asked for his dad. And I found him. He looked just like the homeless guy in The Ultimate Gift. And I told him that his son was dying and took him to his son. The nurse asked him if he was the father; there were decisions that needed to be made. And the man said, "I'm no more this boy's father than this guy is," pointing to me.

And that's all I remember. But later that day, the washing machine made a loud noise, and I remembered my dream. I hoped nobody'd been shot and that I wouldn't have to play the hero. But I was okay with having to. Afterall, I practiced this morning.

In other news, I wish I could take that man up there out for a beer and a nice meal. And I wish I could just switch to a man for certain occasions like in my dream. Then I definitely wouldn't get married. I could be my own protector like Superman. Don't mess with Clark Kent; that's all I have to say.