GROWING PAINS

 

If you try hard enough, the precious judgement that your extraordinary system had spent months cultivating, years refining, can be dulled down to a mere nuance, a hushed voice at the back of your head, and a gradually dulling-down sensation of wrongness. If you try for long, you might even kill it. Quite commonly, as I've recently come to learn, mine was stomped into a twisted ugly corpse ever since I was born. It was partly nature, partly nurture, and entirely catastrophic. I had to learn the blueprints of my design from scratch at an awkward age...

The reaching this realization is miraculous for happening at all. I attribute it, with gratitude, to coming in contact with worlds that do not shake me up as much as they prick old senses awake straight to peak, in the most casual and gradual of manners. I barely move into view, or around target, to be made very small and basic, and unable to lie, and unable to look away. I have my pressing questions answered in rationality, then read again and answered again more truthfully, without the sensical layer. I, so, come in contact with myself that way. 

Aside from the painful benefit of knowledge, of course I will grieve the life I orchestrated on top of mine, and all the times I witnessed my own self ask for help and discarded it. The thing is, as tragically comedic as it sounds, the biggest of matters appear the same scale of any other thing, sometimes fading into this ghostly fabric of 'background event', while common minor experiences feel isolating and too big for one. And so, it is the shadows in the backdrop that have the closest access to one's subconscious, and we remain the idiotic try-hard marionettes of 'insignificant history'. That is one consequence of being harm-naive and dismissive of your inner-compass. You freeze, you take the damage, it is so great that it immediately waters down to nothing, you go about your day, like any other day. You are forever left with the guilt of having made a grave crime against your powerless self, and of having shed your skin behind too early. The new skin isn't yours, you can barely feel it most of the time, you couldn't regenerate that fast if you tried, but the one growing underneath, slowly, is. 

Rest assured it will hurt good, like the punishment you wished for to relive you from the haunting sin, but you will reconcile with the mess of your body and soul whether you like it or not, and, admittedly, it is the kindest you will ever experience from someone you have denied kindness. We are made to return to our forgiving homes. It is quite nice, in a way.