Hurt

Me: "I'm hurt"

          My Friend:"Oh! So which type?"

          Me:"What do you mean?"

          Friend: "There is a genuine hurt,smug hurt,righteous hurt,irretrievable hurt,irreconcilable hurt,contrite hurt; so what type you got?"

After the initial righteous hurt on being subjected to a clinical examination of my sentiments, instead of a few words of solace,I pondered over her words, trying to ascertain the validity of her question.This was, after all, the first time that I had come across categorizing of a feeling. Not just another feeling but, a feeling that defines most of my existence.

I was very young when my eldest cousin brother had put in my scrap book under,"a line that best describes me", "Fragile, handle with care!" What led him to think of me as fragile back then, I wonder. I was one of the youngest in my clan who got constantly bullied by one lot, then pampered silly by another.So I was on a short fuse more often than not and was perennially upset with someone or the other. I so loved the pampering, it made me feel so special, creating a buffer against life's little games, that I held onto my smug hurt, even when the bullying stopped. It turned into a habit.

Old habits die hard. They should, for life is all about forming new habits to tackle old or similar situations.That is maturity, personal competence, adaptability, emotional strength. My permit to be "smug hurt" was cancelled citing age and the advent of next generation in the family as a reason, before I could learn to create my own buffer. I was genuinely hurt by my world's refusal to accept the fact, that I seldom needed permission to do anything in life, least of all when my heart took over. On one hand, I was grappling with the variegated challenges thrown at me by friends, family, studies and life in general. On the other, I was struggling to create the walls around me that would protect me from my own, blissfully unaware, world. With each brick of maturity and emotional strength I widened the gorge around me that separated and toughened the loner in me. Did I stop reacting to rude indifference, dominant bullying, deliberate ignoring, betrayal or my waking up to my own various flaws? Hardly, but I had learned to cry alone.

That sinking feeling moving down into the heart, that feeling of emptiness, somewhere between the heart and the abdomen, the dryness in throat, those stinging eyes,that stupid smile belying the torment and that incorrigibly fuzzy brain.The more specific and bizarre indicators like blocking out a person visually from a room, blurring out words,specially when the decibel is unbearable, impeding a familiar, comforting smell, the stomach becoming a bottomless pit,the feeling of being pinned down with a heavy load. A large part of my existence has been this tussle between veiling the fragile me that experiences all or some of the above and sustaining that mask with the permanent smirk on, when in reality, life went on.

While life went on, giving me equal number of smiles and laughs, that weak, insecure little part in me lived on, resurfacing at all those old familiar situations.From being taken lightly to the other extreme, of being suffocated with attention. From being taken for granted to being denied acceptance. Or worse still, the realization of having succumbed to my being human and failing others. Contrite,irretrievable,smug or genuine, yes, I have felt them all at one point or the other. So what type is it that brought me here?

Time and again, I realize, I am viewed in parts. People see, understand and accept only certain parts of me and form their opinions accordingly. I am happy-go lucky for some, silly and sweet for few, ill tempered snob for most and patient, matured, responsible for the rest. People accept only what appeals to their eye,understand only as much as their experiences allow, love merely to keep their heart alive. But I am not a sum of parts, very few know that it's all me. Fewer still love me as I am. Most pick a part and romance it, when the rest of me comes in view, they leave. They leave me, confused, broken and hurt. Life goes on and wounds do heal, but repeated crushing makes it difficult to put the pieces back together again.

                  Me: I'm hurt... beyond repair.