Wednesday, January 20, 2010

Be forewarned squeamish readers: this is a gross one

I think I have a rare disease of some sort. I'm pretty sure I've suffered from it since shortly after birth (or perhaps I contracted it in utero). My meager attempts at self-medicating haven't really worked out so well and I'm trying desperately to make peace with the persistence of this illness. So instead of dissociating with an episode of the Bachelor where I can get lost in analyzing the messiness and pathologies of another, I'm attempting to work out some sort of peace treaty with my personal plague here in this space tonight.

For as long as I can remember, I have struggled with parts of me oozing out all over the place. Almost every place I've travelled to, every person I have met, every situation I have encountered - has been stained with the presence of my own personal form of ooze. The actual oozing isn't even what irks me the most -- it's that I feel like I have little control over when it oozes, where it oozes, how pungent the smell of the ooze is or how others respond to what oozes out. It manifests itself in the form of anxiety most frequently - rapid speaking and breathing, shakiness and unease. At other times it's demonstrated in a quickness to anger or tears. I honestly think I could live with the oozing if it only happened in the comfort of my own home - the place I love to hide and find rest in.

Today was a day where I felt like I oozed all over the place (and surprise surprise - I'm still oozing right here right now). And I hate days like today. I think part of the self-contempt comes from a deep place of shame because I often feel as though so many of my peers are better at controlling their oozing. I've at least come to believe that no one is free from ooze entirely, yet some exhibit a greater capacity to contain and prevent leakage. If only I could learn this skill.

But I haven't thus far. I haven't learned how to completely self-soothe in every situation. Maybe I'm not supposed to be able to accomplish such a task. If I knew how to control my oozing entirely I swear I'd never let it out in public. It never feels very safe. But if I did that then I may never be able to find someone who knows what to do with the substance that desperately needs to get out from inside of me. If I could control it, it would be left unattended deep inside of me - eating me from the inside out. It would turn into an even more deadly infection.

Yes, my oozing can seem obnoxious or annoying to some (especially when it leads to an inability to focus in class and a need to talk out of desperation to one of the few friends I feel understands me). It can create awkward moments of certain exhibitionistic behaviors. But there are times when my ooze temporarily loses it's stench and the sulfuric shades of green fade long enough to see the beauty amidst the nastiness. Do I really believe that? It feels a bit like I'm trying to convince myself that there is beauty in my own desperation, my own neediness that manifests itself in anxiety, anger and sometimes sorrow. But I do long to believe such a thing. It's easier to believe it on behalf of the other than it is to believe it for myself. Maybe someday. Maybe someday I'll make peace with my oozing all over the place.

No comments: