In childhood I hated the stories about heroes. My parents made me read books about Meresyev (he was a pilot who had lost both legs in the war and in spite of this he had returned to the service and flew again), Pavel Korchagin (the character of a famous book, he had a very hard life and even after becoming blind and immobilized, he wrote books and remained a strong person). Every article in newspapers where there were heroic actions at once were given to me. I didn't know how to explain that every person has his own potential, lives his own life. Showing me such way that I'm not strong, good, and brave enough my parents made me feel angry.
From my point of view every act of mine was the high level of my possibilities. It's so hard to live in constant guilt knowing that you don't satisfy somebody's expectations. The pity can hurt and make a person feel humble but sometimes it is necessary,too. When a healthy one comes to the edge of the cliff where I hung on my shaky branch and begins to teach me optimism ... well, it looks a little strange. I have understood from my experience that only other disabled persons who live similar way have enough forces to stand all the truth. The health ones prefer to see a happy mask and hear that everything is fine. Usually I could to play my part well but sometimes when the wind blew too strong and almost took me away from my place a piece of the mask went apart and the black snake of depression appeared frightening poor people. And again there was the feeling of guilt towards innocent victims of my incapability to hold the mask.
It's so "nice" when a person who knows nothing about my life and see me for the first time starts to attack me with such vigor telling about another life style. An university teacher said with fire in her eyes that it was a real crime to live so isolated, I should have company to communicate with, there had to be possibility to visit various museums, theatres and so on... "I'll call you next Monday. I'll send some students to visit you. We shall make some seminars just at your home to make you a part of our university life..." So wonderful row of beautiful pictures which finished with nothing. That was the first and the last time when I saw her. I never could understand why catch my hair, pull me up and leave at once.
When it is impossible to change the situation to the best, perhaps it would be better not to hurt even more, just fonder, if there is an impulse to make something, and go away. So often we know we do something wrong but hardly can stop ourselves. Such danger for me is the pity towards myself. When this old, boring song starts to sound inside my soul the life seems intolerable. "I'm the most unhappy creature in the world. Nobody loves me, nobody needs me..." Every time the same words as that baby-cry who sits inside me doesn't have any imagination at all to change the repertoire. Thanks God I haven't a gun at my disposal, otherwise I would shoot that crazy, dull singer because it's better to die than hear this hotchpotch (pool shit). Who could explain me, why the pity coming from others makes me stronger and change my mind to the positive way and on the contrary my own one makes me powerless and empty.
Most of all I'd like to hold my feelings in normal condition and always control them but from time to time "the break of dike" happens and I become like a chip in the wild flow which carry me in into nowhere. Such moment nobody can help me. The voice of despair in soul exceed all other sounds. The image of a black deep cave comes on my mind. I feel to find myself there on the soft carpet of the black fox fur with some candles and a glass of red vine (may be a glass wouldn't be enough for such project, well, a crystal jug would be ok).
Fortunately this craziness doesn't last for a long time usually. The tears take away the burden of negative emotions and the world again shines with all colours and promise a lot of happy moments. Looking over my shoulder I can't believe that I really have thought all those stupid things.
It's so "nice" when a person who knows nothing about my life and see me for the first time starts to attack me with such vigor telling about another life style. An university teacher said with fire in her eyes that it was a real crime to live so isolated, I should have company to communicate with, there had to be possibility to visit various museums, theatres and so on... "I'll call you next Monday. I'll send some students to visit you. We shall make some seminars just at your home to make you a part of our university life..." So wonderful row of beautiful pictures which finished with nothing. That was the first and the last time when I saw her. I never could understand why catch my hair, pull me up and leave at once.
When it is impossible to change the situation to the best, perhaps it would be better not to hurt even more, just fonder, if there is an impulse to make something, and go away. So often we know we do something wrong but hardly can stop ourselves. Such danger for me is the pity towards myself. When this old, boring song starts to sound inside my soul the life seems intolerable. "I'm the most unhappy creature in the world. Nobody loves me, nobody needs me..." Every time the same words as that baby-cry who sits inside me doesn't have any imagination at all to change the repertoire. Thanks God I haven't a gun at my disposal, otherwise I would shoot that crazy, dull singer because it's better to die than hear this hotchpotch (pool shit). Who could explain me, why the pity coming from others makes me stronger and change my mind to the positive way and on the contrary my own one makes me powerless and empty.
Most of all I'd like to hold my feelings in normal condition and always control them but from time to time "the break of dike" happens and I become like a chip in the wild flow which carry me in into nowhere. Such moment nobody can help me. The voice of despair in soul exceed all other sounds. The image of a black deep cave comes on my mind. I feel to find myself there on the soft carpet of the black fox fur with some candles and a glass of red vine (may be a glass wouldn't be enough for such project, well, a crystal jug would be ok).
Fortunately this craziness doesn't last for a long time usually. The tears take away the burden of negative emotions and the world again shines with all colours and promise a lot of happy moments. Looking over my shoulder I can't believe that I really have thought all those stupid things.
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