I pulled him by the back of his hair, part playful, and part anger; and in my state of warmed-bloodedness I must have pulled harder than I meant to coz he tripped backward and hit is occiput hard. Laymen terms describe things more neurological than actual: He thought he hit his head, which affected the brain and caused respiratory distress. But my medical backgrounds tell me he’s got a skull more protective than he can imagine. Fact remains, he hit his head and added surprise caused him to panic which he expressed as breathing distress, nothing serious.
But it is not the physical injury that persists, rather an emotional trauma on the part of the doer in the form of guilt, fear and perhaps more than a necessary amount of remorse. Akin to a dual-faced coin, the good and bad effects comes in like a Siamese twin not deciding to undergo surgical separation whatsoever. On the bright side, I get to learn from my mistake NEVER to go physical in times of emotional stress and to look after my conduct more than I am already doing it. On the bad side, I just want to cease my very existence, whence uncared.
The human soul is such that the physical wound received by the body it occupies heals and at times scars with no adversity to the functioning, but the soul when wounded even but slightly heals in dribs and drabs and leaves a scar that feeds on the very existence of the soul itself. Lucky me it didn’t happen, but had I been given a chance to die immediately that very moment I was sure to make it happen. But it didn’t occur, so here I am.
The trauma so happened I was unprepared for. When in life you faced a thing or two it leaves you with a mindset that prepares for a similar situation should it happen again. But more often a whole different situation is brought into place and that shook you completely off you self, or should I say ‘completely off your feet’, whichever is better.
That accursed scene played over and over in my head and at the most undesired times, often leaving me in awkward expressions and positions as I cringed at the very memory of it – while sitting in the church, in the bathroom, as I get dressed, while driving, while reading; anywhere, anytime and at anyplace. There is no ‘Here I come, ready!’, simply a ‘Whoosh’ and the next moment I come to my senses I’d be either making weird faces, stretched out my limbs in the silliest possible positions, breathing heavily with no reason to exhaust, shutting my ears tight with my hands where there is no noise at all, or even make funny noises! I pleading and praying for the mental attack to stop.
As if this was not enough, it started eroding my social life. I like babies a lot, and whenever I see one my first thing would be “Can I please hold the baby? She/he is so adorable!” A week later the incident I was actually holding a beautiful baby in my arms, I was miserable on the inside. All I could think was ‘What if I hurt the baby? What if I dropped the baby or something?’ Images of me accidentally dropping the baby or hurting it my any accidental means possible kept cropping up in my head, haunting me in my very wake. It crippled me so much that as much as I love cuddling the sweet innocent I might as well give it away ‘in safer hands’ was all I could think of. I felt desolate.
I believe that my friend had completely recovered the night itself. His mother was all but completely nice to me. No sign of mistake was perceptible from their side. But I was still stuck with myself, crippled and in status quo. Every time I thought about the tug, the trip, the panic attack and the stirring I caused that night I am still in complete shock. Guilt the size of which I have never imagined I’d have to deal with seized me like a hunter’s trap that caught a deer prancing gleefully and ignorant of the snare until it fell right into it. I am hurting but unable to find the cure, stuck but unable to find the exit.
Then I realized, it’s just me, myself. I go back to the importance of the ‘self’. I was, and still am, unable to forgive myself for what I did, for the person I hurt; for the prevention I failed to execute now the cure is much tougher to find.
Progress comes in when we are able to admit our mistakes and forgive ourselves. That means progress comes in a two phase thrive: self admittance and self forgiveness. Without any due argument I totally, almost automatically, admit to my mistake of brute action that was completely unjustified. But I am stuck because I still cannot forgive myself for what I have done. Perhaps fear of taking it lightly, perhaps fear of repetition, nevertheless I still opt for this pathetic state of mind. Maybe it reminds me of my mistake and would guard me from redoing it, whatsoever be it. Because life is also about choices I may one day choose to forgive myself and leave it all behind, but for now the wounds haven’t healed yet and the scar that will remain is yet another issue.
For me, growth begins immediately after I am able to admit my mistakes and forgive myself.