Year 32 – Also known as the year I went mad.


It was a wakeup call. At 1250pm on the sofa of a posh café, I saw my life crashing like a horror movie. The throbbing sound of my head hitting against mental walls and my uncontrollable sobbing – the surround sound of my madness.

I could hardly compare myself to the victims of natural disasters, the poor living in subsistence conditions, and the homeless in the cold or the people living on the fringe of our community. By all accounts, I had a comfortable living. As I sat in the café, raising white flag to life, I could not forgive myself for self pity nor pride my troubles above others. As an audience to my life, I am whiny and self-centered. Yet each beating of my heart, each drawing of breath demands a reason to continue that I had exhausted. My despair was real to me, my hopes spent. It was lame but I was tired.

I would discover over the next few months memories buried so deep and defenses built up so high that I was trapped in my own self defense (more about that later). That day, I made in home and got into bed and just laid there. It was a sunny day, I had opened the windows slightly to allow for a light breeze to enter. It also brought in the street sounds. As I drift back into memories of home, I shivered and lay in bed stubbornly. I wished time stood still and all I had to do is sleep. I just want to call it a day and give it all up.

It was a rescue call. She may never know it but my friend’s call that day called me back into being. She had planned for a pancakes party and wanted me to be there. For me, feeling wanted by someone, that I was not alone in the world was enough to get me up, put on my jeans and get to her house.

That weekend, I sieved through the madness and the events months before. I had left home to be in a foreign country to be away from a home that was oppressive. I had jumped into another oppressive environment 6000 miles away at work. I knew then that while I had ran far from the place of my past, my past had found a way back into my new life. To grow, I have to face it.

That was the year I started seeing a therapist. At 32 years old, I started my internship in life.

Advertisements
This entry was posted in Age is but a Number and tagged , , . Bookmark the permalink.

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s