Neurons fire, chemicals leap across synapses and serotonin and dopamine do their dance in my brain. Somehow amid all of this, my personality is created. How much of this is me and how much of it is a reaction to pain? How long have I been who I am? If I shaved away all the extraneous noise, what would be left of me?
There are many questions I do not and will not find answers to in this life. One thing I do not about myself is that I will always posses a quality of deep seriousness, often bordering on moodiness, that– no matter how well my life is going– will sweep in and set off all the flood warnings in my head. I don’t know when the storm will strike, I don’t know how long the dark clouds will stay, and I don’t know when day will finally break.
But the day will break.
In the meantime, there are heavy rains and a chance of sleet. Trying to control the weather inside myself can be as fruitless as trying to control the weather in a suburb in Maryland; no matter how many times my brother and I performed the snow dance with our PJs inside out, we never benefitted from that many snow days or white Christmases.
And right now, this particular storm is not bothered by the fact that it is Christmas Eve. The most I can do is keep it relatively contained so that no one loses a digit– or worse, a limb– in the process of interacting with me and grazing old wounds. Because, oh boy, are they grazed. Deep-seated pains of the past flood to the surface, floating around like a thick bile on the watery sadness, feelings of being misunderstood, feelings of being unappreciated. The feeling of isolation deepens when I look around and there appears to be nowhere to turn, no one available enough and capable enough to lighten my yoke.
When the day breaks, the rays of gratitude will once again warm and illuminate my soul. And the day always breaks.
But right now there is rain.