When Words Seem Generic

What is it about pain that produces the most beautiful writing? Someone who has never put more than 2 sentences together is able to write for a eulogy. A eulogy given with such a profound impact on those that hear it, that you wouldn't be surprised if the tears would flow as effortlessly down your own cheeks as the words flowed from his pen. Is it the longing of what was or what could of been? The struggle of how a different path could of been taken, producing different results? Maybe it's the lose itself and the overwhelming sadness and grief that is left behind? Or perhaps your anxiety, frustration and newly found fears consume you the most? Whatever it is, the overall emotional ache we feel in our own private hearts produces such a gift. When we are alone, more than any other time, is when the emotions flood in. A wave that washes over us. Some destine to swim. Others destine to drown. It is at that moment when he must of picked up his pen and put ink to paper.

It's when we are in seclusion that the masks are lifted from our faces. Eyes exposed for what they really are. Fake smiles disperse. It's the time when you hold your heart in your own hands because nobody else is there to hold it for you. The walls around you begin to fall and crumble as if they were made of clay. Nothing from this day forward will be concrete. The future is blurred even thru the driest eyes. For some this emotional roller coaster is too much and it pours out of them in the form of anger. Everyone knows it's not good to suppress things. They eat at you. A rawness inside that never seems to heal. It's only concealed...behind yet another mask. In the past I've prided myself on being a man of many masks. I refer to it as "clown face". I can put on a happy smile and add humor behind it to help those around me deal better. I'm sure part of me does it for my own needs as well. Maybe in the long run it's not the best idea, but for the time being, it seems to do the trick. It's like putting the f-u-n back in funeral, if such a thing exists.

Silence must be deafening because people can't seem to not speak. Something must be said. Surely I can find the words. Surely it will offer them some comfort. You are taught from an early age that it's the right thing to do. To say "I'm so sorry for your lose". To say "if there is anything I can do to help, please don't hesitate to ask". Phrases like these are proper, polite and what many consider the norm. However, I don't think they are helpful. Sometimes words are generic. They are just words. Although staged sounding, perhaps they are heartfelt. And maybe, just maybe they offer someone out there comfort? I don't know. They sound like recited lines to me. A group of words strung together that hold little weight. Instead they ring hollow. Empty and generic. I suppose during such a delicate time, I look for something more concrete. Something strong to hold onto or at least shield myself with.

Verbalized sympathies never seem to make a difference to me. I do in fact appreciate people's concern and kindness, but in a way, it doesn't help me. It doesn't aid in the healing process. It doesn't make things feel any less surreal. Their unnatural behavior only reminds me of the fact that there is a crisis going on around me. A crisis that however selfish it may sound, I want to ignore. I want to escape into another world. It may be a normal reaction to have, but in this world, it's unacceptable. An acceptable practice is to go thru the motions. Say your lines, even if you don't feel them. Put on a show. Finish the act. Then go home and take off that mask. Only then are you allowed to return to your true self. I should be given an award for the role I play. Nobody is asking me to play the part of the clown. But everyone is asking me to be in the show. No matter how staged or generic the words may be. Say them. Move up in the line. The next person follows. Like robots. Cold and generic. It goes so well with a black suit.