The more often I familiarise myself with pain, the less I feel its dose, given it’s the similar amount of the same old ache, if we can ever weigh or measure pain.
Before it was like a tsunami sweeps through, shaking up the entire internal world that I had worked so hard to put things in order, leaving behind either the brutal emptiness or the sodden mess. Now, it is more like a small wave reaching its final crest, before collapsing its curl onto the shore, gently.
It feels good for a little while, as if you’re the one in power, so invincible, holding your head high and smirking. Then, it terrifies me, will I feel less of the happiness, less love, less joy, less compassion since I have many of them too?
Maybe it is the Antidotum Mithridatium that life has prescribed for me, small and scattered despair here and there, to get the immunity for whatever more destructive is coming.
What if it’s not another poison, what if it’s a sword, that two thousands years later, still no method is found to get “fortified” against?
