““It’s not easy being green…” was the frequent refrain of Kermit the Frog. How has difference been a part of your life, and how have you embraced it as part of your identity, outlook, or sense of purpose?”
I always identified with patchwork – buttons which fell off and were resewed, differently coloured clothes that were stitched together to form sweaters, shorts which were clearly cut-up from pants. I always identified with patched up objects because I too am one.
When you’re whole, you’re perfect. You miss the cracks, the slowly creeping dark vines surrounding you. When you’re broken and remade, you’re not cautious, you’re just weather-worn. I’m now a re-glued teapot, and you can drop me, but I’ll never break…because I’m already broken.
Kermit found being green difficult…I found life.
When I see movies about the brilliant (or depressing) high school experience, I am emotionless. Because we only relate to emotions we’ve felt, and my high school experience has been spending days in bed with the lights off lying in complete silence while my brain attempted to devour itself.
These days, migraines have become the common refrain for anyone with a headache. People take an aspirin or a paracetamol and life moves on.
For me, it didn’t.
It rewinded and replayed day-in and day-out, interspersed with medications until, one day, they too stopped.
But my brain didn’t.
So, no. Not every headache is a migraine. And barely anyone can understand the impact of chronic refractory migraine on my life; the feeling that the rest of my life is going to be spent wishing for my own brain to just stop.
But I’ve lived through it. I’m no phoenix, I have not risen from the ashes. I’ve embraced the fire. I surround myself with the shadows where I earlier used to be in the spotlight. I’ve let go of old dreams, and forged new paths. I’ve become a new person, one who is guarded – not insecure. Someone who will let you in, but only so far. I’ve let go of my naive childhood, but I’m embracing my future. I’ve been crippled, but I’ve also regenerated – with different pieces of cloth.
I’m neither a piece of woven silk nor a divided branch. I’m the roots, gnarly and old and enthusiastic and new – all the same. I’ve been forced to learn suffering by my own self and now I’m broken in, but not broken. Just like patchworks are warmer than sweaters.
