I shattered. I do not claim this with an agenda
of attention, and likewise several years had to elapse before I allowed for
such a self-diagnosis to exist outside the realm of gossip-privy melodramatics.
However, I do now believe that I at first became obliterated in the conception
of those closest to me, owing an entire reconstruction born from an incident
remarkably sudden and ferocious. Long before I allowed myself to be pieced back
together again, a great many others had hastily attempted the puzzle. A post-operative
identity emerged not merely from my own stream of consciousness, despite the winding
road of reasoning it would pave for itself, but also from a third-party mental
universe; time alone would ultimately determine those tenets, born from competing
bodies of comprehension, granted monogamy in a contemporary, personal construct.
Pure dichotomy defined possibly two or three
years: 40-50% of these six years since acted out of a stage of competition, sometimes
as badly choreographed as the Dame slaying the Villain, yet equally home to
blatant acts of antagonization, incidents as hurtful as they were perceivably
irrational. It is this dichotomy, extant from a personal rendering
of consequences born from effect: that one particular incident, my need for a
new internal organ, and how this effect yielded my control of how to be
perceived, even approached, in the eyes of the common beholder as well as
beloved companion.
My remarkable gift, the perfect example of
divine medicine, was immediately tainted. For the teenager who had just
embarked upon further education, who was taking steps paramount in future
development, even though admittedly at the time one was firmly, ardently, and
ignorantly unaware of this fact, and had reached the final year of teenagedom
heralding stereotypical parental virtues such as all round excellent exam
results, competency in varied extra-curricular activities, and not being one to
ever talk back, stay out all night, and the like, who had, basically, been
promised all, anything and everything his mind could commit to, instantly
became ‘precious’, ‘physiologically weaker’, ‘alive albeit burden’. These tags
would come to inform people, most significant those whom I loved and cared a
great deal, that my interest was to be protected by limitation, prevention,
allowing a polarity to exist between the archetypal man my age and I, the
medication dependent, immunosuppressed, figure of ‘non-health’. Care and
consideration may have born these feelings in my peers, but likewise the creeping,
eventual permeation of such made me feel lost, broken and not knowing how to be
found.
