I knew my life needed to change, but I couldn’t fathom the scale, nor could I pin point the source of my angst. I felt it rather; as a canker festering like gangrene, more like an itch vs. pain. If I am to be frank, which I usually am, I didn’t feel much at that time in my life. I couldn’t even make myself orgasm through masturbation; my mind flat out refused to give me the gratification of self pleasure. “You are not enough for you, but you must be….” The voice was silent, but it was there.
I did not consider myself “unhappy” back then, two years ago when I weighed nearly two hundred pounds; I am a woman who finds joy abundantly. I can’t think of a single day in my life when I haven’t smiled. There has always been a reason and a place. I have also known great sorrow, the most tragic in circumstance….
“I am very impressed by you, Amber. I know your childhood was rough. I saw bruises and marks on you when we rode on the school bus together. You were so strong to get through what no child should ever experience. I also remember you having a beautiful singing voice. Do you still sing? I really hope so! I always loved it when you would. It was one of the precious few things I enjoyed on the bus. Most of the time I just tried to hide from everyone and endure it until we got to school and a different version of hell began. My home life wasn’t so hot either.”
The message above is an excerpt from a reply I received on facebook a week or so back. I wrote to a grade school friend on behalf of a woman I met undergoing chemo. I go to sit with my friend Tara bi-weekly as she undergoes treatment for Hodgkin’s Lymphoma. The woman I wrote on behalf of, almost seemed jealous of Tara’s cancer though I know it couldn’t be, “At least you will get better,” she said with words drawn and quartered, “You are not only young, you have a fighter’s spirit. My disease has no cure and the treatment leaves me so ill I am back in the hospital for weeks after each session, at least you have hope….”
I stood there in front of her wanting to argue, wanting to give her hope, “Is your cancer terminal??” I asked instead.
“I don’t have cancer.” She replied, “I have Multiple Sclerosis. Chemo helps keep the disease from progressing.”
“So you are making yourself sick, because you are sick, to prevent more sick, which is the pattern you are stuck in???? Where is the healing in that?”
She defended her choice of treatment, mentioning some relief, and I let my line of thinking drop. I can only imagine the struggle of such a decision, the power that must be found to quiet the doubt of making the wrong one. My own mind reverted to the sword, “I would rather die. I would rather kill myself. I could not live that life, I would refuse.” I fell silent, admiring her determination to fight, while questioning the recesses of my own inner struggle.
According to Chassidic philosophy, a soul descends into this world to perform a mission, which cannot be performed in the “spiritual worlds”. This is the Chassidic interpretation of the Talmudic statement “One second in the World-to-Come is more pleasurable than the whole life in this world. But one good deed in this world is more important than the whole eternity of the World-to-Come” (Ethics of Our Fathers, Mishna).
Suicide has been the resistance of my life pattern. The thought lingers like a malignant shadow pulling at my soul with a devil’s whisper, and then a prod, “Just do it, You are going to die anyway, Amber. Does it really matter when you go?” It creeps into the forefront of my mind even now (with far less frequency), whether I am happy or sad, like a viable option should I need to abort.
“Life ends when living quits, the act of suicide is mere punctuation, much like pulling the plug on a catatonic.”
I remember feeling it there, the pull to quit, at a very young age. The instinct was entwined with my consciousness on such a level that I was certain I had lived the death before. There was a time that I thought that God didn’t want me here. Why else would he have me born into a world so difficult to inhabit. He made me allergic to most things living, anything with fur, feathers, or wool, and then he further exasperated the isolation with a disease. I was diagnosed with Asthma around eight months old, spending the duration of my childhood gasping.
Shawna wrote to me about her MS.
“Amber, I, too, sing. I have a degree in Vocal Music. The song you sang is one of my favorite “fun” songs to sing. I used to sing it to my beautiful little girl. Did you know that I prayed for a brain tumor? Yes, I am the crazy one. When I lost the movement and feeling on my left side over 12 hours, I was told that I may have had a stroke (unlikely, as the numbness traveled from my foot to the top of my head), I may have a brain tumor, or I may have MS. I protested at the thought of MS. It doesn’t happen like that, does it, doctor? I mean, don’t people have difficulty for years before even getting diagnosed? Then they live with symptoms for years more before even needing a cane, right doctor? RIGHT?????? The doctor said no. It is called rapid onset and I may never feel my left side again. “Normally” it doesn’t happen that way, but, sometimes it does. It is a progressive form of MS. Only 5% of those with MS have it. As I left her office I began praying that I had a tumor in my brain. Yes. I am the crazy one. You see, with a tumor I would either fight it and live, or I would fight it and die. But, I wouldn’t have to spend the rest of of my days Just fighting. Fighting a disease with no cure.
(TO BE CONTINUED)
