‘Pack up your troubles in your old kit bag and smile, smile,
smile,’ that’s what they say isn’t it? Or rather sang, those First World War
soldiers off to the front. It’s what I’ve been doing all my life really. Of
course I’m not likening my life to the horrors those men must have experienced,
but into each of our lives a little rain must fall; sometimes bloody downpours.
My kit bag is crammed full of all the things that I don’t
want to think about. The experiences and times of my life that I want to forget
and don’t want to let worry me. After all, what’s the use of worrying? It never
was worthwhile. So I don’t let all the hurts and slights get to me, the people
who stamped me down, tried to stop me believing or doing, the relationships
that vanished overnight, the cheating and lies, the slaps in the face, the
deceits, the force and bullying, the theft, the ridicule, the shouting, the
blows. All these are safely tucked away in my old kit bag, and (although I no
longer smoke) whilst I’ve a Lucifer to light my fag that is where I want them
to stay - and most of the time they do.
Most of the time… But as I said, into each of our lives a
little rain must fall, and sometimes I get caught up in a storm.
When that happens it’s as if my kit bag never existed. All of
the things and people I want to forget come tumbling out to surround and
suffocate me. Sometimes I call it the black dog, other times a bit of a mood,
when asked what is wrong I say ‘I’m tired’ or ‘My back aches’. I don’t really
want to discuss the contents of my kit bag you see; the who, why, and what
happened, the blame, shame, and embarrassment. Sometimes I just want to put a paper bag over my head and hide from everything. Perhaps that’s why I 'self-medicate' with what I delude myself are a few drinks.
Perhaps.
It doesn’t keep ‘it’ and ‘them’ away at night when I sleep
though. Despite how hard I drink and whistle or how many Lucifers I light I
seem to tumble into this dark echoing place, and my whistling turns into
screams, and then I run out of Lucifers. You see, walking away and cutting my
losses is not as easy as I’d like to think. Keeping my kit bag firmly strapped
shut has its own consequences, most of them bad.
Andrew Height
ReplyDeleteIt's interesting when you search Google for this image what comes up. They seem fitting somehow. I made this one though.
Tim Preston on FB
ReplyDeleteI think you need to talk to Luna about this and remember that 7% of our communication is verbal
Andrew Height
DeleteShe brought home a young goldfinch this evening Tim. Dead almost and straight from the nest, its parents frantic on the wires. What could I do but mourn for them all? Nature, so usual and yet so horribly harsh. It died of course, and of course I cried.
Tim Preston
DeleteSuffering is is regrettable. Something that I find very difficult to come to terms with. And yet death, I think is something different. Buddhists believe that life is suffering and they believe that reincarnation is a terrible thing and something to be avoided. Following it on, does this mean that death is beautiful and a release from suffering? I believe in recycling atoms but not reincarnation. Sometimes I think that it's our culture that teaches us to fear death. I hope I don't sound callous.
Andrew Height
DeleteNo Tim, you never could.
Maggie Patzuk
ReplyDeleteOh Anders - wish I could give you an in person hug. I like to think that when those thoughts pop up it's to remind me that I survived them and they made me the strong, caring person I am today. And you are one of the bravest people I know!
Andrew Height
DeleteA very good way of looking at things Maggie. I am trying to write it away. Anyway, it will be gone some day soon.