Sunday, January 01, 2006
There's a poetess I like named Ruth Lewis. She wrote a book called "Songs of Jewish Living." One poem she wrote touched me, she wrote it after the death of her father. I don't remember the poem exactly, but the gist of it was;
How come if a lady loses an earring it's okay for her to call out, "Help me, I've lost an earring," but it's not okay for me to cry out, "Help me, I've lost my father."
We all have to keep it together on a certain level, to maintain some semblance of sanity and be accepted socially. Maybe people whom we consider "mentally ill" are people who can't keep up the facade of normalcy.
I want to cry out, "You may think I'm so nice and cheerful," I want to say, "but the truth is not so rosy. I've got some serious issues. I feel terribly sad right now."
And then I think, "I have some very close friends. I can talk to them and share the things that grieve me." But then I think, "Is that healthy? Is that what friends are, people that you can share misery with?" And then I think, "My friends are really awesome, and they love me very much. How bad can I be if such great ladies love me?"
Sometimes I feel like I'm just a jumble of my mistakes, my pain, and my sorrow. I only relate to the negative things.
Maybe I shouldn't be thinking so much about myself in the first place.