Ruminations

Ravaged in Stillness
By: Pinky Tabor

My head hits the pillow that lies between my two sons napping. More than half of the day is done. I close my eyes to sleep. Finally, some peace and quiet. Or maybe not. My thoughts are making these noises again. Lately, I've been talking to myself and I found it a good sign that I am once again socializing with an adult. It just happened one day when everything was chaotic…my mood swings were getting worse. It was so colorful at first that I was in a way thankful for remaining quite normal despite the abnormalities of my days. Then these seemingly colorful moods began to change hues, becoming darker each day until everything turned black I could barely see. In a sane way, I could not interpret what was going on inside me. I could not stop my tears. I could not rationalize. So I screamed at myself. A scream only I could hear and suffer. But I know I could still love for I am so aware of the presence of my children…and I could still pray. There was faith.

The darkness disappeared. God answered my prayers. It was just a day in my life, where perhaps I or my other self whom I talk with trivialize the complex or vise versa. It's when I think of swallowing some pills for temporary relief all because I do not want to cover my head with a scarf. The scarf that symbolizes my missing self who sometimes re-appears to haunt me and remind me of the many things I gave up for what I thought was love…Or maybe that self is actually a loveless soul? After that one emotional plea with God (wails and tears that drained me) I just let the day pass with hope to be alive for the ones who need me.

So the episode was over but the battle inside goes on. The fight to find answers or some explanation for these lethal moods goes on. The search for my other half goes on…that is why I could not rest when I should. I stare at the wall. My head is not spinning like it usually does but there is something shaking inside so hard to define. I lie motionless and still, trying to feel something. Perhaps in order to doze off, I try to mentally bore into the blank wall. Then the whiteness explodes into a splash of light…

Vague images came rushing into the picture as a series of windows open. It was almost an endless, silent motion picture. Then it stops. What was it? Was it a call to get up from where I lie and write? If it was poetry, what does it mean then? Or was it also some prophetic vision? A way into answers…ahh, I see it now.

It was a way into my stolen life- the windows, of different shades and lights that was almost like pyrotechnics. Or wait, was she really stolen or did she ran away from me and is now into hiding, resenting the life that won over hers because of my choice? I cannot seep into the meaning of these visions (or they could be plain hallucinations) deeper for thoughts choke me. Thinking about all these is actually killing me. I evade truth by burying myself under realities of life. I know that the truth wanting to confront me is more important than my daily realities, but oh I fear for my sanity. I might not be able to handle her. And so I struggle, alone. Oh so alone…

This conflict is internal. So who would care? But oh does this affect those I love. Yet how can they understand when I could not? I wrestle that which I vaguely know, for the arena of my war is dim. I know there is an enemy, I can feel it/her/him…I can see only the shadows. Though I strongly sense that the enemy is my other self, I still am not quite sure. Maybe if the enemy is what the world calls as "Factors" then I have too many fights to finish or I might even be already dying in this round.

I am exhausted. I am running out of my own self. I cannot tolerate another window opening, for I still might find nothing in there. Life is futile indeed as, the wisest of all, Solomon said it. And yet how can one Holy Book disagree with itself? Jesus said "I come that you might have life and have it more abundantly." Should I give in to "dying to self", sweat in blood, and grope in darkness like Job? Or should I fight for my "priestly rights", aim for the "perfect will of God" known as The Best life?

I lie down but cannot sleep. So I write. I find no answers to any of these yet. My heart continues to ache. My head spins again. I wrestle in and with the shadows. And although I remain still, a reluctant fighter, quiet and tearful, I am ravaged by someone who is perhaps as human as me. Yes, perhaps the enemy is Myself who refuse to give up on life, for whatever that word means to both of us.


4pmSept. 8, 2009 tuesday