Do you ever wonder what it would be like to slip into someone else’s consciousness, while retaining your own? To know where someone else is coming from, to see things, literally from their perspective, while still holding on to yourself? I imagine it often, trying to see through everyone’s eyes. I get glimpses of what it must be like in their head, and I always come back, grateful that I don’t see the world the way they do. Grateful that I am myself, and I have my own unique way of looking at life.
I imagine what it would be like to slip into my husband’s frame of mind and it makes me shudder. Anxiety that has built into rage. Stress taking hold to stiffen shoulders and being disconnected with himself. Not knowing what’s going to happen next, stressing because he can’t hold on to anything, everything changes. Jealousy that his wife is so non-challant, has everything figured out when he doesn’t. Man pride. Too much pride. Lots of love, but lots of confusion as well. Life is a struggle.
I would hate to live like that. But he’s my husband and I love him.
MadEye would scare me, being in her consciousness. I imagine it being dull, foggy. Apathetic. Striving so hard to garner the respect of others. Hypersensitive and self-hating. Chronically tired. Hating oneself is hard work. Ceaseless voices in her head, berating and lying to her. Telling her she’s never good enough, never funny enough, never thin enough, never pretty enough. All lies. If only she could see what I see. The beautiful woman. My friend. I mock her mercilessly, and sometimes I feel bad about it, but mostly I just think she’s silly. I kid ’cause I love.
What would they see if they slipped into my consciousness? A bit of apathy, for sure. Desire for adventure, for traveling. For more. Selfishness. Love. I hold so much love in my heart. I have a mean streak too, though, judgmental. I can be cruel, but I prefer to be honest and loving. I have a huge soft spot in my heart for love stories. I love them. I believe in happily ever after. I want to live more. Experience more. The world is an oyster, and I want to swallow it whole, like a good load blown in my mouth.
Hopefully my husband would see what horrible things he’s said that break my heart and torture my soul. Maybe he would finally see why the things he says in passing hurt me so badly. He’d also see why I love him, and hopefully take that into himself and be eased of some of the stress he feels.
He told me the other day that he hated that I have everything figured out. It’s not even that I have everything figured out, it’s that I know myself well enough to know how I handle situations.
I get really fucked up when someone I know dies. Not someone I love, an acquaintance. Seriously fucked up. It’s like, you know someone, you enjoyed their company and suddenly they are just…gone.
I can imagine plenty of situations and how they would play out and how I would deal with them. I know myself well enough that I understand how I would deal with those things (anger, grief, happiness etc) and not be scared by the unknown.
When I ask people questions (about life, about flavours, movies, songs), a lot of the time I get “I don’t know,” and that infuriates me! How can you not know! How can you not know yourself enough to know if you like something, or if you would like something? How do you not know if you like the way your husband touches you? How do you not know what’s going to happen if someone crosses you, makes you angry? How do you not know how you respond to elation? Gratitude? Fools, all!
Know how you feel about abortion, gay marriage, or how you (or your wife) want to go through your labour; with or without an epidural. Whatever the subject may be. I don’t understand how people can say, “I don’t know.” Yes you do.
P.S. “The art of writing is the art of discovering what you believe.” — Gustave Flaubert