Punched

When we're punched, below our waist, unexpectedly - how to take it and not bend over from pain? How to bend our brain and not see it as a punishment, but as a thing of the past? Even though it has happened minutes ago? As something that happened because it simply happened - not because of me, or because of them, or because of someone else - and, frankly, how to remove the drama and know that all it is, is just a metaphorical exercise that has nothing to do with reality - with being punched physically, bending over from real internal bleeding - how to recognize that even the mere fact of "being punched" is actually not that at all? That whenever we feel low because we feel someone took advantage of us or disrespected us or didn't value us - it's as far removed from reality as this whole mind-fucking is removed from what is actually happening to our physical body? 

I don't know. I think I'm very well trained to take a physical beating, but when it comes to emotional, I still suffer. I still can't open up and let the emotional poison go through me - I suck it up and get sick, get miserable, cook in my own unhappiness, when life keeps happening outside of my head, and it is puzzled why all of a sudden I want to crawl into a corner and bawl my eyes out, for no apparent reason. I internalize it, I cherish it, I go out on a date with it, and I feed it my stories, and it gobbles them up, and inflates, and takes over my being, until I see no exit and decide that this is the way life is, that life sucks, and that everything sucks, and that I can do nothing about it except hide and hope that somehow, magically, it will disappear, and I will somehow be happy again. I think magic happens. It doesn't. I want to rely on someone, something, some entity that will forever love me, praise me every second, grant my every wish, and look into my eyes as if I am spewing wisdom every second of my existence. Sounds familiar? Yeah, that's why people have pets. Aren't we all poor deprived babies, clothed in the adult suits, pretending to run around with our stuff together, never showing anyone how easily we can be poked and how easily we can fall apart? Holding it all till the last moment, till we can make sure that nobody is watching - and let it all out, to the unconditionally loving licks of our favorite dog or cat or into the depths of our bedroom pillow. There, out. Now we can wipe our eyes, stand up and go pretend again to the world. Be perfect. Be iron. Be bitches and assholes and claim that nothing can derail us from the path we are following in life, that nobody can bitch us out because we will tear their eyes if they try, because we will rip their throats and show them who the boss is, and because we will defend out position to death and never admit we are wrong, never step aside even a little bit, die as stubborn jerks if need be - but die right, but die respectable citizens who strived their whole life for a good family, a good house, a good career, a good reputation. Be those that never do anything wrong, be the picture of the billboards - the idyllic person, with a beautiful profile, with whitened teeth, in silk suits or designer dresses, exchanging perfectly intelligent remarks at perfectly organized cocktail parties, play the game of the show, never show anyone our true innards.

Because they're ugly. Because the real truth bites. Because we can't stand being vulnerable and humble and giving - we got burned and we learned to never ever do that again. We're smart now. We won't allow anyone running around hitting us in the belly. No, we will pick up a stick and chase the bastards till they fall, and beat the crap out of them and show them who is right. It would never even occur to us to realize that those who punch are in pain themselves. They simply have no other way of expressing it, they have been beaten, they're used to it, they carry the pain and they need to get rid of it. They're used to suffering from the blows, so why the fuck should they spare anybody else? Why be loving? Why care?

There is so much pain in this world that sometimes I wish I was stronger. I wish I could take it all in and let it travel through me. To give back love, only love. But I'm still insecure myself. I'm still battling with my own image of how life should be, how people should be in it, how my dreams should turn out the way I envisioned them. I'm still having a hard time breaking those thinking patterns and just be. Live in the moment. Forgive as quickly as I used to when I was 3. Be innocent all over again - and be happy. Always.

Photo by Morning Theft.