skin rashes and the human condition

Today I am spacey. I dropped my keys twice, forgot how to reverse my car, walked into a wall, bumped into a lady, tried to wear red, but black and pink overruled. Spaciness is not something that I am a normal victim of, so after the lunch hour incidents I realized something that I am not really willing to admit. I am grieving. I am in denial. I am not allowing myself to feel the impact of deep-seated emotions that have too much weight and volume and mass for me to even begin dealing with. Why you might ask? Well, because denial of reality is so much easier than the pain of admission. That’s pretty vague, I know. But one must not risk poignancy at the risk of being found out…not that it’s a big secret or anything, again, avoiding reality just seems easier.

So the weight of grieving is known in my heart, but my head is not allowing it to happen. There are just some points in life where they (the heart and the head) have NO CLUE as to what common ground to meet on. I can’t sing about it. I don’t allow myself to think about it, but then I make stories up in my head and twaddle my hours away caught up in some unfounded unrealistic dreaming of words that will never be said, events that will never take place, looks that will never be exchanged. I could be a novelist if I allowed that stuff to come out, but I don’t want to be known for my bad romance stories…

So I guess I wasn’t expecting this reaction from my heart after such a long time. I’m sorry to say that my heart doesn’t let go easily. Especially not of this one. This one got under my skin and I developed this nasty rash and I called it love, and I couldn’t cure myself of it. It just stayed and grew and overtook all of me. I thought I was completely immune, impenetrable to this type of disease (as I used to call it), but alas no more, my white blood cell count must have been quite down for the last 2 years. At times they would gear up to fight it off (the rash I mean) and it would subside for a while, but then out of the blue I would walk in the vicinity of the offending party and breakout all over again. Most times your body develops a strength against a particular strain of sickness after it has overcome it…but maybe it did the opposite with me. It made me weaker and more susceptible to it. But than again, I was at the same time immune to it. But maybe it’s like this. If you break a bone, and it heals, yes it is stronger and you will probably never break that part of your bone ever again, but when the barometer drops that place aches to remind you of how foolish you were. I don’t suffer from the rash anymore, but I am aware that it changed my features, and the “scars”, if you will, will forever be with me, though they made me more beautiful by their torture.

I guess it is terrible to akin a relationship you had with a person to a devastating skin rash… but sometimes in weakness that is all one can come up with to describe how one is feeling at the moment…? I don’t know. It’s the whole, “you got under my skin” bit that made the rash part come out. I don’t know how he got there, I really don’t. But now that he is absent in body all the present places inside of me are wondering what the hell is going on. And maybe it’s like this really bad analogy…you cut down a tree, but there is still a stump, until you wrap a chain around the base of it, and get a really really big truck an hoist all of it roots out of the soil. I am sure the roots that have been there in the dirt for a really long time are like, “what is going on?? What are you doing to us? We didn’t do nothing…where is the rest of our tree?? WAAAA…” weak words for strong emotions…sorry for the jumble. This is quite a telling write…but what the hell. I might as well get it out while it’s there to get out, because Lord knows, if I don’t in the moment, it will most likely never come back to get out.

(when you read this…you are not really a rash, sometimes you are rash but I’m not allergic to that…I am not really allergic anymore, just processing)