prognosis

We all have them. They’re the things we keep hidden under our pillows: free to turn our dreams into nightmares, but afraid of the light of day. And we like it that that way. We’re okay with having our doubts niggle at us, scratch at us with their malicious little sharps, mock us with their threats of exposure and embarrassment. Foolishly, we feel we have control over them that way. We give them this tiny freedom, we think, as a trade-off for not letting anyone else realise we have them. We walk around with fake smiles, fake confidence, fake self-awareness – all in an effort to seem composed and fearless. Like wearing a fabulous pair of Manolos that give you a bleeding blister, you never confess to that discomfort, lest you ruin the illusion.

Which is ridiculous: would you believe anyone who said they were afraid of nothing? You would think them mad! But naming those fears? That’s madder still!

Why is it that the older I get, the less important I feel? I seem to have lost the courageous audacity of youth, become whitewashed and dull in this quest to become respectable. I seem to have lost some spunk and drive. I know I have lost the riskier side of my personality. 10 years ago, I had so much more planned for me. My 17-year-old self is sadly disappointed. I’ve become boring, monotonous, predictable. And I have no one to blame but myself: no kids to drag me down, no partner to hold me back. I’m young, gainfully employed, marketable… and yet… yet.

What is it? What’s missing? I don’t even know. Elle says I’m “beautiful, intelligent, witty and charming”… why can’t I see it anymore? Why can’t I embody it? Why can’t I believe it?

In my mad rush to fill this void, I’ve cluttered every nook and cranny of my life with things to finish, people to visit, experiences to have. I’ve glutted on a buffet of theatre, books, movies, games, friends; my biggest nightmare is time alone, to think. Thinking leads to dwelling and dwelling can only lead to sadness. So, what is it?

I am blessed – please don’t get me wrong. I have wonderful companions who indulge me like the pampered princess I wish I were. I don’t lack for lunch dates, movie buddies, gaming rivals. I don’t want for things – I have books on my shelf waiting to be read, DVDs still in shrink-wrap, clothes that I re-discover on a regular basis. I have my own castle (albeit, still in the air) and an easily rewarding job. On paper, I am whole. Complete. Self-actualised. Maslow would be proud.

Today, I went for a long walk. It was negative fourteen and little icy. I haven’t gone for a walk in months. I usually don’t allow myself to have the time to do those things. Today, I was foiled. An hour to kill, far away from my computer and my books and my life, I was forced to walk or brood. I walked. I thought: isn’t this nice? Cardinals playing in snow, black squirrels running about, crisp bright winter day. I thought: why don’t I do this more? I thought: my hands are cold. I thought: wouldn’t it be nice if someone warmed them up? Then I stopped thinking.

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Things I learned at the doctor’s office:

- Did you know that women who do not have children or who have them late in life have a higher rate of breast cancer? The same study showed that these women tend to have higher educations and/or rewarding careers. It’s because our bodies haven’t created all the hormones they’re biologically meant to and these hormones are one of the best fighters against cancer.
- Botox is considered a viable medical option.
- A father taking care of his child is sexiest thing on the face of the planet.