With one side of my face paralyzed I have often been misunderstood by people. My smiling would be mistaken for a smirk. Some have wondered if I was grimacing at something that they said or sneering at them for some reason.
Come to think of it, if I was in their place, probably I would feel no different. Might even be taken aback by my wince.
I have on many occasions tried to explain to people upfront that what you are seeing isn’t the way I generally look. That, it is an aftermath of a surgery, which is then followed by a pliant formal remark – ‘don’t worry about it!’ or ‘all is well!’, and that they have not been wondering anything in the first place.
Having mulled over it long and hard, I realize that I have, in fact, nothing to confess. I don’t owe anyone any explanation.
“Do I need to be sorry about my condition? Do I need to apologize to them about how I look?”
Don’t think so.
I can’t keep slipping on explanations to people after every conversation that I haven’t been hurting them with my looks. In those rare instances where I have, it had appeared to me as if I was trying to gain sympathy. Even though I was genuinely trying to make them understand that it was something that I have no control over. I haven’t been voluntarily trying to scoff at the worthless things they have been saying.
Somewhere I believe, my literal two-face has slashed me into two personas – The one that I used to be, and the one that I choose to be.
It is almost as if I understand the nervous breakdown that Harvey Dent had gone through after his facial injury. Not giving two fucks about anything. Batman was trying to save people, those who barely deserved saving. He was raised into ‘opulence’ and ‘alone’. If he could just see the shit people do.
As I grow old, what I also grow within is low tolerance. I realize I have stopped taking shit from people. I was already on my way to becoming a misanthrope some two years ago, turns out I have already reached there. If it were up to me, I would cut off ties with everyone, which I think I have already done to a great extent.
I feel less obliged to oblige anyone. They are frigging people, for crying out loud, doing small talks, always fighting for some shit or the other. They can’t change the way they are. I am not gonna miss them. Their shit stinks so much that I am better off without their presence in my world.
The pleasant side of my face now disgusts me. What was I being pleasant or thoughtful for all this time? What did it get me? Where did it leave me? Why did I always think well about the other person? Why was I being so good to random people in the first place?
They leech off you, eat you up, and then walk away ungrateful, docking everything you ever did for them. As if you were born to do all those things while they could be whatever they want.
I have a picture of friends that I used to cherish a lot back then. A symphony of smiles emanates from that still image. Today not one person cares what happens to me. Half of them don’t even exist in my universe. Those who do, are either too busy becoming moms and dads or are sucking a shit load of life from other versions of themselves.
It is a cycle of shitstorms that you are made to walk through. You are forced to figure things out on your own, and when you do, you are disgusted beyond imagination at the person that you used to be – That vocal smiling other half of your face, that had always been genuine all your life, and yet that got you nowhere.