This is the state of things. I am totally detached from everything. It is my illness, but can it be a blessing?
I’m detached from my senses; my hearing because tinitus is a big problem, my sight because it can get very blurred and objects that move make me a little dizzy ,and smell and taste because they are unreliable.
I’m detached from my illness, I can’t fight the doctors. This is a blessing because if I wasn’t it would be seething annoyance verging on violent hatred of the medical profession for leaving me stranded like this, and for their total lack of consideration for those who may have some reliance on me. I’ve done everything they have asked of me including subjecting myself to psychological assessment, but still no answers.
I’m detached from the fact I’m back at work very soon. I can’t be anything else. It doesn’t feel right, but then nothing feels right.
That legendary feminine passivity comes into play. Everything I do has to be a reaction to what others want/need. I feel like a puppet made of lead, only able to respond to the impulses of others. There is joy in this, there is interaction with others, there is humour, there is peace. I let the world flood over me like a high tide and somehow I keep on resurfacing.
The worst of it is being detached from spiritual things. Things fall into focus best in an empty church (luckily there are many to choose from around here). I mean a really empty church, where the Blessed Sacrament hasn’t been present for nearly 500 years where just the broken remains of the machinery of the liturgy are present. Leave me among the butchered effigies of the faithful departed, worn memorial brasses and jumbled fragments of stained glass, leave me to peer through a squint to where the high altar used to stand and there I can pray. Find me a full church and let the Mass start and I’m underwater again, not quite able to hang onto anything.
So, is this detachment a blessing? Yes, it most certainly is. I’m so very aware of just what is and what isn’t possible. I’m so very far from worrying about it all too.
Am I detached from blogging? Yes and no. Yes, in that I don’t really care much for blogland and much of it’s present fiddle faddle hysteria. No, in that increasingly, I find that mentally I need the discipline of writing things down in order to get them to make sense. Blogging, when it works for me, feels like I’m writing a love letter to the world and the Church. If you fall out of love, you fall out of life.