Ask me how I’m doing and I’ll say “fine”, not because I’m actually fine, but because “fine” is the only socially acceptable response.
If I said that I have been lying here, for three hours now, willing my body to move, that would elicit unsolicited advice and tarnish my “fine”.
I’d berate myself for breaking my promise not to moan, knowing that complaining provokes a compulsive need to fix, which just infuriates me
Because my concept of trying – which is defined by getting dressed each day – does not match trying every new therapy, drug, exercise offered by well-meaning but clueless
others, who may experience fatigue at times, but have no understanding of what is is to be exhausted after something as simple as bathing, let alone debating what I haven’t tried.
So, ask me how I’m feeling, and I’ll say “fine” and we move on to the weather, or the latest movie must-see, and I can bask in the warmth of the contact
carry the conversation into the void of the rest of my day, smile to think that I still have friends who accept my “fine” even though they know I am anything but…
Dove’s mournful cry spotlights Nature’s calling – Let us find a harmonic note sing along for conservation, for preservation, for a strong tomorrow – find our voices and join the chorus.
Is the writing on the wall so cryptic? Graphic images depict rage flames of dissonance young men bleeding at their own hands compassion incapacitated.
A sad awakening for a society fixated on rights and privileges, dominating culture excluding the nurture of humanity, or preservation of life.
How can we continue to closet our children’s pain – their vitality oozing – hopelessly abandoned by morality’s shelter?
It is the wall, not the spatters of blood upon it, which needs amending – adolescent minds too tender to wade through the cryptic priorities – messages divided.
(Cryptic first appeared here May 2018. Edited here. Image my own.)