There it was. A big gaping wound. Surely it must hurt. It was strange that for the first few minutes, she had felt nothing at all. Perhaps one can get immune to everything. As long as it happened often enough. And perhaps as long as one trained oneself to steel oneself against feeling the pain. Afterall, she had long cultivated the habit of detaching her mind from things which bothered her. Even physical pain. It was easy, once you got the hang of it. It was like shutting your mind from the pain, and willing yourself to think of other things. Of course, there was some element of self-denial, convincing oneself that it didn't matter at all. It worked for most things. Physical pain, as well as emotional pain and even mental stress. And as time passed, it got easier. Really it did. Life was also much simpler that way. The only drawback perhaps was that people thought her a cold fish. An unfeeling person who could stop herself from getting emotionally attached to people and things by sheer willpower. At least, that's what it seemed to some. On the surface, she could often project a certain image. There were things in life she genuinely found joy in, and she showed it. Wounds, however, were another part of her life she wanted kept in her cupboard. Every once in a long time, while in solitude, she would sit in silence and think. Recalling how it felt to have fallen, and to have lost in the competition. The emotional humiliation. The sense of loss. Wondering where she had gone wrong. Wondering what people thought of her. The humiliation and disappointment would translate to an almost tangible, physical pain. It helped that she had a physical wound each time, to distract her. Each time, afterward, she would swear never to enter another competition again.
There it was. A big gaping wound. It was starting to hurt. A searing pain. She wanted to swear but stopped herself. Why and how, had she gotten into this one? Didn't she promise herself never to enter another competition? Truly, one would reap the consequences of one's bad decisions or lack of discipline and foresight. And to think she'd always prided herself on her logical thinking and strong will. Enough. Time to detach herself from the pain. Just like she always did. As long as she shut that cupboard, she could get on with life. Never mind the scars. As long as she didn't look at them, it was alright. She hated hurting. Hated falling. Hated inflicting injury on herself. Hated causing others to fall and hurt themselves too. Both hurting others and being hurt were just as painful, but in different ways. But being the selfish person she was, if given a choice, she would rather others hurt instead of herself. Hence, the detachment. But when others brought the issue up and pointed fingers at her, the guilt would mount.
"But what's wrong with detaching myself? What's wrong with protecting myself? I'm not deliberately hurting anybody!"
And inevitably, that line of questioning would lead her to revisit the cupboard and relinquish the detachment. And then, a fresh wave of pain, along with the vulnerability would wash over her.
There it was. Again. A big gaping wound. Perhaps the time would come soon, for her to embrace the pain, and heal. But when? And would that be better than the other way?
