Chocolate and Elastoplasts

April 27, 2009 3:21 am Published by Leave your thoughts

I would like to challenge the immortal words of Forest Gump,

Is life really like a box of chocolates? Or more like a box of Elastoplasts?

 

Why is it we go through life, experiencing hurt, pain, sorrow, and grief and never really deal with it? We patch it up with a plaster (US: Band Aid). The wound is gaping, messy, bleeding so instead of confront the problem expose the situation which may hurt far more initially, we reach for the doubled doored mirrors, catching a glimpse of ourselves on the way but not stopping to look quickly opening the doors and grasping the box. Lucky for us they come in all different sizes, because every hurt takes a slightly different shape, square, circular those ones with the funny shaped sticking out bit which no one ever really knows which particular wound they bind. We select one that will cover the wound sufficiently so we can convince our selves that it will do, I no longer have to worry about it.

But eventually we do because as far as I am aware not even extra durable, waterproof Elastoplasts last forever. Soon enough they begin to peal away around the edges. The memory of why the plaster is there comes flooding back and we have two choices, face up to it or replace it.

 

Ripping it off hurts, sharp quick pull and its gone. Exposed the wound is painful, vulnerable but is open to the air the healing oxygen it needs to fully heal to be restored. In time it may bear a scar. A constant reminder of a lesson learned. From time to time the skin may break a painful reminder of hurt once felt but none the less is dealt with. Or we take the plaster off and replace it with a new one convincing ourselves now is not the time to see if the wound could heal to test the waters, so on goes another.

But should we even reach for the plaster? Would we be more real, more honest if the plaster were never applied and yeah we bleed openly, publicly but the wound would get air life giving oxygen that heals, and we all do it together, a community of walking wounded, instead of the walking I have a plaster on my pain so can smile back at you. 

By Ally Proudfoot

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This post was written by josaxton

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