Thursday, 1 May 2008
Worship At The Altar Of Suffering
My two years of torture are supposed to be over. I don’t understand why I am still being tortured. Albeit is a different form and to me, not as horrible as the first type, it is still torture and it is still terrible.
My knees are grumbling, my elbows are growling and my feet are screaming. There are no words for how my shoulders feel. My throbbing, complaining body reminds me everyday of what my situation is.
Camille (my sister) has severe arthritis and never complains. I have complained more in the last two years than she has complained in the last twenty. Am I lacking some core strength that she has and I don’t? It is impossible for me not to complain. Impossible.
I cannot string two sentences together without including this as one of them. My shoulders are killing me, my feet, my knees, my head. You get the drift. This is my language now. The pathetic part of me feels I need to let people know that I am suffering. Even though I find it abhorrent, I no longer know what to do without people’s pity.
For all of my worship at the altar of suffering and however done I am with it. In some ways I don’t know how to turn my mind from it. I have forgotten how to bring other elements of me back into myself. I need to remind myself of who I am. Or at the very minimum, that I am something more than that cringing body tied to the stake on the altar of suffering.
But maybe that is all I am now and that is what I have to accept.
Dealing with pain and illness is no easy feat. It is a conscious choice everyday to make the best of your life. Yes, it is easier said than done.
My family helps me so much and I am so grateful for all their care. I love you Wahid, Angelique, Nadalene and Nathan. Angelique thank you so much for my little flower (Josephine).
“Just living is not enough,” said the butterfly,
“one must have sunshine, freedom, and a little flower.”
(Hans Christian Anderson)