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“Who Is That Man On My MDJuction, ‘Profile’? And, Why Do I
Hate Him?”
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08/27/13
To my very, very dearest friends, and most kind and loyal readers,
I know--that in first
joining 'MDJunction'--we were all supposed to write a profile of ourselves, and
to provide at least some, generalized information about ourselves...our
illnesses; our habits; our likes and dislikes, and so on.
There is also room
for a tiny photograph of ourselves to show what we really look like, although
some members choose to represent themselves by objects, flowers, abstract
things.
When I finally was
able to have a photograph taken (one out of several, by the way), and get my
cousin to enter it on my profile, while I tried to look 'stoic' and patient,
now, whenever I see that picture and read that profile, I wonder, just who IS
that man...and why do I hate him? Though intensely dislike is probably closer
to the truth.
When I
looked--again--at the picture--I saw a sad clown, no longer in the first,
second, or third flush of youth, who simply looked pathetic and...weary, both
of illness, and...of life.
In the prologue of my
diary entries is the firm promise to never lie, dissemble, or to try to twist
the truth; this I most readily pledged, and trust that I have never reneged on.
It was a promise I made both to myself, and, to you, my friends. For in always
trying to be candid (even at the expense of Self), one must, ‘be candid’.
Nothing more, nothing less.
I say this to you, my
dear readers, not to elicit from you pitied reassurances that--to the
contrary--I look handsome, almost regal in my suffering. For while I do suffer
great pain, almost without an end or light at the end of the tunnel, too many,
at MDJunction have their own pain, their own despair, their own depression, their
own loneliness, that legitimately
plagues all their days, that surely, my pain is as is yours, if not—in fact—yours
is the greater.
And, in this regard,
the photograph does not lie; for I am a single, fifty-nine year old male, whose
face has been etched with years of pain. In no way did I seek a 'glamour shot',
even were I able to arrange one, for that--in itself--cloak the truth with a
mask.
I then read my awful
'Profile'; it was nothing so much as a menu of pain, in historic order, that--when
I read it aloud to myself--sounded boring, and dreadful...whining and
complaining. Particularly whining, which I cannot abide, particularly when it
is about myself.
And while the photograph
cannot help but be true in a way, the written part of my profile NEVER
addressed what makes me laugh; my gratitude to my late mother and father; my,
'best dog on the planet', Daisy, whom I loved utterly; my likes and dislikes in
art, music; my friends; the home I am now trying to redecorate on the cheap (
as, after all, I am on SSDI ! ); nor of the small triumphs, and joys of the
day; not even what my favorite color is: ( BTW, I think it is purple, followed
by blue, followed by red, and black ),and of how I have tried to make of my
home a statement of myself, to begin my history, my saga, my adventure, and of
the excitement of that realization.
Instead, what was
represented was a catalogue, a compendium, a lop-sided laundry list of pain;
and when--at last--it hit me, I realized that in that dreary conjugation, I had
effortlessly defined myself by my illnesses, just as so many others, ‘others’,
on the outside seek to catalogue us, to place us in separate, little boxes, to which
we could be referred. And then, to dismiss us, denying us our humanity.
Even though that
profile, 'list', of diagnoses and complaints may be true (and they are), by my
writing them as such, I surely defined myself as such. And while the pain I too
often feel is soul-killing, yet I have--I hope--an intact soul, of which
illness is only a part.
It may compromise me
utterly, still...I have--quite apart from it--a personality, a mind, a heart,
and--I hope--a demonstrated desire to listen and to help wherever and whenever
I can.
I think, what I have
tried to do is, redeem myself in my diary posts to you; and, you have never
failed me with your kind support, your acceptance, and your loyal readership,
for, frankly--without it, and…YOU--I would just be spinning plates on the end
of long sticks, as they do in the circus.
Your readership, your
comments, your hugs, and messages to me, mean more to me than I can possibly
say. For, while you may not realize the significance of it, YOU help shape me,
hold me up, give me both courage and confidence, and strength to go on.
For in listening to
me, and in your comments, notes, hugs, and, most important, your kind, kind
offers of friendship--that I hardly deserve--and are often more true than many
of the so-called friends I have in real life, you are as an oasis that
refreshes, even as it offers refuge.
For a while, you
willingly set aside your own problems and pain to attend to mine, which I find
extraordinarily gentle, kind, restorative, and for which there can never be
thanks enough.
You readily and
unselfishly offer hope where there seems to be none, peace, which seems a
far-off, ill-remembered dream, and sanctuary, when in the darkest of nights,
there is none to be found.
You are the 'porch light' which would ever beckon me home,
my friends.
You are as the gentle rain that washes the tears from my
face.
Yours is the hope, and encouragement that gives me new
purpose.
You are the friends,
who--in non-judgment--excuse me for my weakness, laugh with me at my follies,
and foibles, and treat me with caring and a respect that I have found nowhere
else; stay with me when I cry, or feel hopeless. And who truly understand the
height, and depth, and breadth of my agony.
And....you know when I need a swift kick to the butt, or a
reality check, lest I wallow in self-pity.
YOU are all these things, and so much more. For which I give
thanks to my God.
You know...in
thinking--now--of that man in the picture of my Profile, I don't think that I
really dislike him so much, after all; for he IS one lucky guy.
And in my most profuse
thanks, I wish for you pain-free days, quiet and comfortable evenings, and
blissful nights of sound sleep, attended to by angels.
Please know that I think of you so very often, and that I
love you dearly!
'Zahc'/Charles
