"Tragedy...When the Feeling Comes You Can’t Go On...It’s Tragedy"

Lying in bed the other night with my man, we had a most interesting conversation about how some people are just tragic and/or lead tragic lives, while others seem able to pass through life unscathed and untouched by tragedy altogether – regardless of what hardships they might endure. (Well it WAS interesting until I made a particularly good point and was pleased by the immediate lack of retort – then realised he was snoring.) But I digress. Allow me to explain.

In my mind, tragedy is like a magnet. If you possess certain pre-determined magnetic qualities yourself then you will find yourself at the mercy of all life has to throw at you. You'll be making headway in your life and then one day all of the sudden you'll find yourself yanked cruelly backward as if on a leash. Tragedy is a cruel master, if only because it allows you great swathes of time in which you are not burdened by sadness or riddled with pain. Sometimes you can even feel as though you might be normal and your past has merely been a series of unfortunate events which have conspired to make you miserable for a time.

But alas, tragedy will seek you out when you least expect it and deliver such a devastating blow to your innermost soul that you wonder if this is 'it'…if it is going to be what finally pushes you over the edge and lands you in 'crazy street person' territory (well they had to start somewhere didn't they?). Either you or your fellow tragic loved ones will be pulled down and under, helplessly struggling like doomed carp.

It doesn't seem fair. Others seem to be built a different way and utterly immune to tragedy. As if sporting different circuit boards in their souls they by no means escape hardship (death, disease, disappointment, loss…all those lovely rites of passage). Yet somehow, vast groups of mankind appear to remain free of the tragic element in their lives, and just, for lack of a better term, 'get through it'.

I can't 'get through it…never could. Secretly I am envious and puzzled by those who can. I feel things more than most people. My whole family does. Certain moments and events are painted with such bittersweet strokes that I emerge changed and altered in some way. My life often feels like a Russian novel whilst others appear to be living in a modern day sitcom.

I suspect it has something to do with possessing a higher than average emotional I.Q. That is just a theory of course, but one I'm sticking with as it's the most complimentary. The other possibilities don't bear thinking about thank you very much.

Let me give you an example. Suppose you one day come across an old yearbook. A normal person might reflect on funny or especially poignant memories from that time, while idly wondering what their old mates are up to. Me, well I slip soundlessly into a 'K-hole' of sorts and allow my brain to revisit another time. I thrash soundlessly inside while mentally and emotionally reliving hardcore memories and am thrown off course for the rest of the day.

You see my past is so riddled with tragedy and tragic moments that it's almost like an acid-flashback and the pain is practically as intense as it was when first experienced…just farther away. That is why I have to be careful listening to certain songs at certain times. If I'm not I'll be swept away by lethal tides of nostalgia and longing which prove dehabilatating and render me useless at doing anything but starely fixedly into the distance and trying frantically to reign in my emotions.

Thinking about it, that may be the source of my pathological love of books and movies. I am the ultimate escape artist – always have been. Even as a child I knew that I was in for a wild ride, and I learned early on that if you have nowhere to run then you may as well hide.

So I'm off to do just that. Chapter four....page sixty-three....