Ocean of Pain

She pondered what she had done so far for herself: nothing! More she thought, more she realized that she lived the childhood as per wishes of her parents, kindergarten and school under peer pressure, college by filtering the choices: love or lust. What she gained from all this? Fear. The fear loomed large on her life. People often asked her, how are you? She simply nodded. The teachers and the support staff asked about her well-being, she lied that she was happy. So often she acted out the happiness in front of others that she cringed at herself for lying. Little later, she had stopped doing that. She realized that it’s not easy to fool people. Heck! How can she fool others when she can’t lie convincingly to herself.

Her fear, which was the size of a grain, grew into a full blown mountain, with pointy peaks and zig-zagged periphery. She avoided the fear of mountain till she reached grad school where she felt that something was seriously wrong with her. Talking to psychologist helped her narrow down her fears. She feared the expression of her true self, which stopped her from growing. Self-help books were a sort of distraction which told her that she had been running away from the real problem. She knew only way to resolve her problem was it to face it. Face the fear. The bruises and lacerations studded her body and soul whenever she tried to scale the mountain. Thorny shrubs sucked her blood like mosquitoes. How should she deal with this pain? She had read long time back that you get things or meet people in life because of your mental makeup; it draws them toward you. And yet we all blame destiny. And she felt that her life was nothing but a ocean of pain.

 

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Medical CV

I saw it. This was the last thing one could be envious.

But then she was 56 years old and I was barely 30.

She walked normally and there was unmissable glow on her face. But something was definitely wrong with her unless she wouldn’t be carrying this folder full of receipts and medical transcripts from all the known hospitals in the city. She looked exhausted: she was visited all the hospitals yet her ailments eluded her.

Maybe she didn’t have any ailment that these hospitals specialized in. Or maybe she was hypochondriac with plenty of money and free time. Or maybe she had plenty of guilt that guided her suppressed fears to take the shape of an illness, which didn’t exist in medical lexicon. Or maybe I was wrong: she was sick; no one can figured it out.

But under no circumstances, I am not going to own it. I’m not going to visualize her problems as a novice psychiatrist who had this tendency to make other’s problem his own.

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