Friday, September 02, 2005


My brother told me a long time ago that some people fear talking to me because they are at a loss for words to help, and don't want to add even more pain to my life. Pain seems all I have and all I can share sometimes. Physically, I know pain from my wearier-than-they-should-be legs, and a particularly horrific incident in my early childhood that I mentioned five months ago on tis blog: I was a kid running around my parent's house in Texas; I tripped over a doorframe and fell face-first into a brick. My doctors were afraid I was allergic to novacaine, so they did the necessary root canal with no pain relief whatsoever. I didn't cry. Emotionally and mentally, I am in constant war with myself: characters and alter-egos seem bent on tearing down any signs of love and understanding. The doctors can't find a truly totally helpful solution to that, either; I take all the pain the voices have to offer.

As you can probably all see, my greatest pains are self-inflicted. From old football injuries that never fully healed, to the casualties of the ingrown war in my head, I find no greater enemies than my imagination, and no sources of pain that can match myself. That being said, don't shy away from talking with me, or posting comments on this blog. Just knowing someone is out there reading and appreciating my words makes me feel a little bit vindicated in my motives to write this down, and brings me closer to the type of understanding for which I search.

Sit down, have a slice of pain. Observe these ramblings and tell me how you feel. A good conversation distracts me from my problems even more than playing a good game of Warhammer, or watching a good boxing match. Think of it this way: It's going to be very hard to join my collection of pains with bits any heavier than those I've already accumulated. Even if you do share with me something heavier than what I've got, I'm a good listener, and I can probably understand in ways others don't. Don't be wary of sharing with me, just be honest with what you share.


Patmos said...

Thy pen or should I say keyboard has within it such an understanding of such great pain.

I not mean this ugly in anyway. Yet when I read of your sorrow, I think to myself, I am such a lucky person. I have my moments of great distress, moments when I feel as if all is about to end. Yet when I look towards you and hear of thy life, I ask myself how can a man dance with such an enemy, knowing that the song, short of a miracle is never going to end.

How is it that you bring your enemy so close and allow her to place her head upon your shoulder so that her whispers consitantly scream in your ear as you dance the dance?

How is it that you you often see the chair to sit and relax in, and yet your feet still move with the rythm of her drums banging in your head?

How is it that you awaken to the day and place once again upon your feet the shoes that will once again lead you into sorrow?

I wonder aloud at times, how it is that you continue, how it is that you are able to never stop, how it is that I might learn from you, so that I not be so critical of myself and others.

I think of a disciple that said to his Master.... "Teach us how to pray!"

I think now of myself and I ask of you... "Teach me how to dance!"

Thomas Jackson said...

Thank you for the beautiful and kind remarks. I live the only way I know how. There was more to this response, but I made that into another post.

bean said...

Yeah I remember the story of how you curb stopped yourself. And you know I want to help you; if I could take your disease and put it in myself I would just so you could live a normal life. I waste mine so it would be a fair trade. I just don't know how I can help.