When one's life is a daily pain, one withdraws into oneself. There is no need to burden others, because they cannot share your weight. and they cannot really understand unless they have also opened a parcel and seen the same daunting burden and carried it in their life. This heavy amorphous sorrow is firmly attached and if torn away you will go screaming into black midnight blinded by tears because you become even more helpless with foolish understanding. What a frightening feeling to realize that no one can help. What a horrible feeling to realize you are not alone and your pain pierces the hearts of those you love. And to protect others you begin a list of secrets ... lies of omission. What a helpless feeling to realize that the pain is caused by someone you love more than life itself and you may use up what little power you have in that relationship before the carrying journey is over in so many tragic ways.
I have always loved stories of mystery, drama and love. I have been willing to fall into the escape of movies and books and sometimes even music. Now, when in the heart of the turn of the story/movie or crescendo of the Opera Seria, there is a sharp blood drawn reminder of some weakness/misery of one character that pulls me back into my reality and as if in a time warp I crash again to earth and I collapse in tears. I become a cloth that has been thrown.
I cannot accept sympathy of others, because my life has been so rich and lucky and unearned. Even now I watch the news and realize my pain is just a splinter among those who flee war, slavery or starvation. But I do now feel a filial relationship in the great migration of humanity looking for answers to "What's It All About?"
(Sorry this is so enigmatic. But it is what it is.)