The Soul as Hamburger Meat

Posted on June 11, 2011 in Depression Loneliness

Imagine a soft, gray rock domed and striated like a hamburger bun. No life here, you think, then you notice the blue gray beady eyes blink. It opens its maw and takes you in, chewing toothlessly on your chest. Paralysis prevents you from crying. Oh save my soul, oh save my soul, oh save my soul, you murmur but the dire suspicion that you don’t have one overwhelms you.

A few days ago, I had a conversation with my therapist. It amounted to this: I believe with good evidence that I am a good person. Many years ago, when the mania swamped my common sense, I rushed into impulse buying and sudden, unthinking action. I’m calm now, doing my best to be kind. Irritability electrocutes this kindness at times, but mostly I remember my etiquette. But I don’t think I am likable and I find the world perverse on this score.

Take for example the case of one person I know. We’re sitting next to a young man with cerebral palsy. A young girl sees him and asks us what’s wrong with them. My companion says “Aren’t you glad that you aren’t like that?”

This person is loved by all except me. This person enjoys the world. Friends call to see how this person is doing all the time. Loneliness is not their curse.

I have only Lynn who loves me. And while I love the world, I am mostly alone in it for the many hours of the day.

My therapist says that the experience of this other person should give me heart. If this mean human being can find friends, so can I. But I retorted “If the world is filled with such people, how can I trust anyone?”

I do my best to be a good listener. But I have found that the blessing for this are many people who do not know how to listen in return. The legions come and give me advice. I cover my head with my hands and wish to cry. The other good people of the world have no time for me. I know it is not because I am bad. It is because I am not likable, not even hamburger meat to them.