Whoever said that time heals all wounds, obviously never lived my life. I’m starting to believe that wounds inflicted on children leave nasty scars that will never go away. Not to mention the recurrence of certain occasions that were once supposed to be joyful, serve as constant reminders of our inflictions. And, each year, so it seems, they seem to dig into these wounds like a dull and dirty knife not only leaving a bigger wound, but infecting everything around it. Things just don’t get better on their own in time. They just don’t seem to heal.
It seems this time, the first day of Chanukah has given me the present of reopening my childhood wounds. They obviously couldn’t wait until the 7th day. They feel somewhat deeper than before as I woke up this morning in tears. I haven’t wanted to crawl out of my studio in the basement to even talk to anyone. I’ve just wanted to stay down here. I don’t even have any music on. It’s just silent today. For some reason, the feelings from my wounds feel stronger than before and I seem to just want to stay out of everyone’s way for fear of lashing out uncontrollably. If anything, I feel safe if I stay out of everyone’s way today. I even saw that I had some Chanukah presents upstairs, but I don’t even feel like I can open them.
It’s funny how I seem to be able to walk around the rest of the year as if everything is okay. It’s almost like I’m going around with a band-aid on, and as soon as this time rolls around, the band-aid gets painfully ripped off. I’m starting to feel at my age, as I am just a few years of turning 50, that it would take a God-like miracle to heal this wound. It sometimes makes me wonder why He hasn’t done so. It’s not like I really wish to stay wounded.