Things My Fever Tells Me and the Love That's Easy to Miss
Things My Fever Tells Me
- That the snow I watched fall so delicately this afternoon, fluttering down against a steel sky, was beautiful. This would have been such a nice moment had it actually been snowing.
- That I am a terrible, horrible, unloveable thing.
- That a full quarter of my month is going to be wasted by this insane state, thieving another chunk of decent time from my short life.
I am awful when I have a fever. I become paranoid that I cannot be loved, that any good person must not love me if they are to have a happy life. And then I hallucinate pretty things and feel elated. It's a demented seesaw of baseless emotions. You so want to hang out with me right now.
On top of that, I have been glued to the news coming out of Beirut and Paris and Japan, wondering how love could be so scarce and the planet's very structure so violent. I know this thinking is wrong, though, that it lacks logic, but heavy, global gut punches bring out the defensive part of me.
The Love That's Easy to Miss
Logically, love is not scarce. There are far more people who run to help and far more people who mourn their losses because of love than those who choose to destroy people. As Fred Rogers of "Mister Rogers' Neighborhood" said:
When I was a boy and I would see scary things in the news, my mother would say to me, "Look for the helpers. You will always find people who are helping."
And the earth is not violent, at least not in the personal way we think it is when we are warned of tsunamis due to earthquakes. It is coincidentally violent when it comes to human life sometimes, but it is just going about its business, shifting here and releasing tension and pressure there. That it occasionally makes our lives miserable and kills off tons of life on its surface is nothing personal. It would go about its business with or without us; we just happen to be here to experience it. Frankly, it's remarkable that the earth is hospitable enough to let us live for the stretches that we do.
Even in the middle of terrible things that feed the pendulum of my fever's bipolar impositions, there is always more love here than not. This is why even those of us who are thousands of kilometres away from the devastation watch the news and talk to each other about it, even those of us who dive into fear-based racism and conspiracy theories. We worry about those who are hurt and we are scared for our loved ones closer to home. We want to understand and we want to take care of each other.
And even this damn fever that steers my brain into thinking I cannot and should not be loved by those around me — it only goes in that direction because I feel and deeply value love. Sure, my combination of love and fear has me weaving an ugly narrative that I use defensively to spread more negativity around, but the love is in there if I choose to pick it out.
And now it's time for me to take my leave and do another shot of Robitussin before I try to start a love cult. Who's with me?
I'm writing a post a day in November for BlogHer's NaBloPoMo.