Undiscovered Kryptonite

I was told a story once about a car-accident survivor who woke up in the Intensive Care Unit, only to discover her husband had died in the crash. She, herself, had a brain injury from the collision. Family and close friends took note that she was unable to grieve, and most believe this was due to her physical condition.

It is difficult to say with absolute certainty when neurological damage has occurred, but the survival instinct to heal physically first protected her from the emotional distress. However, the consequence of not grieving in a timely manner brought about other issues for the woman.

While my own condition is far less severe, both physically and emotionally, yesterday I had an experience that now allows me to understand this story better. I am still recovery from an invasive surgery to repair an inguinal hernia. There is a four-inch incision in my lower abdomen that has been healing for eleven days now, and I’m still on a ten-pound lifting restriction.

However, within the past few days, the subtle but ever-present physical pain ceased. A co-worker commented that I was finally walking upright on Friday. While I’m not fully recovered, my body now requires less dedication to complete the mending. Yet as a result, the floodgates of my emotional fitness over the break-up have broken open. Suddenly I am suffering heartache and facing mawkish demons, which I believed had been endured.

My response has not been good. I am angry and petty, and spite oozes from my skin. And whether my feelings are valid or not, I don’t like my conduct. While I’ve not crossed any line of truly uncouth behavior, I simply am uncomfortable with this unexpected state. I know this too shall pass, but in the meantime it’s unsettling to discover the labyrinth is larger than expected and that my progress was merely motion.

Worse, the emotional state has resulted in some physiological backlash. I awoke to my wound, oozing and bleeding a bit this morning. Perhaps my body is protecting me again, deterring my sin-nature by Stigmata. (Hopefully, everyone will recognize that deduction as satire.)

I have phone calls in to doctors, both physical and mental. And while I already had appointments for both, we shall see if they determine an early visit for either is needed. In the meantime, I am taking Columbus Day off from work. It’s clear I’m not the Superman I mislead myself to believe I am.

Pressure-Cooker Recipes

There have been a few people I’ve known who base their morality on happiness and convenience. We’ve all seen the long lines at the checkout and commented, “That’s just wrong!” However, we all likely know one or two rare birds who really find this unjust in their minds and believe something should be done to correct it or compensate them because of it. For them it’s not just venting in jape.

Sometimes I even use these few personal examples I know to treat myself to some Jerry Springer therapy. That’s when we look at someone worse off and feel better about ourselves. The irony of the treatment is it allows us to laugh at the person trying to clear the 20-foot chasm because they only jumped five feet before plummeting – all the while, we too fell, only having made it six.

But I’ve recently reminded myself that dark humor and irony is funny – even when it’s about me…perhaps even more so when it’s about me. So this morning’s confession is that I’ve been on both sides of the coin recently. I’ve looked down upon another because I’ve measured my failure less destructive than someone else’ failure…only to discover I’m Charlie Sheen yelling “Winning” in hopes that everyone will believe me.

On the flip side, I’ve found myself angry over petty items from the break-up. At times I have twisted my thinking so these trifling issues somehow become about right-and-wrong or damaged character. But the truth is these things are just the MacGuffin in this script, although in my case it’s not an item to possess rather a point to justify.

The thing about MacGuffins is the whole story gets wrapped around it but yet the fixation itself becomes otherwise completely inconsequential to the plot. And that’s what I’m discovering about my silly mania. When I calm myself, truly consider what it is, I’m just mad because of nuisance – but there is no right or wrong, no morality, no universal flaw about these replayed events in my head.

What would be a universal flaw is allow myself to continue in this thinking. Time will make a difference of course, but time only simmers an attitude. If I persist with my personal justification of blame, then time will allow this bile to fester within me. It is important that I fill myself with serenity over these events. Then the slow-cooking of time allows me to blossom and grow from experience.