The Same Hearts, The Same Hurts

I recently wrote an exercise for Stephen King.

A friend read it and, sadly, resonated with much of it. For the sake of anonymity, we will call this friend Joe. Graciously, Joe asked if it was just my great imagination or "did some of it describe your own experience?"

I was trying to figure out how to reply. I never want to exaggerate my pains nor undervalue other's. At the same time, I don't want to undervalue my own pains. Still, on short notice, my life has been pampered. I can never deny the luxuries I've enjoyed.

However, God's Word says, "Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life" (Proverbs 4:23). It seems that the heart receives the deep wounds. Our hearts are the springs of life. As long as our hearts reach out to the world, it seems that we are never quite safe from injuries.

Joe asked, "Did some of it describe your own experience?"

These came to mind:
You don’t need someone’s hands around your throat to feel choked.
You don’t need a hand across your face to feel slapped.
You don’t need to be left alone to feel abandoned.
You don't need someone screaming at you to have your voice stifled.
You don't need a single point of physical contact to feel abused.

On a simple, literary level, I imagine we all have the same experiences. You have felt choked or slapped or abandoned or stifled or abused. You have felt ignored or sad. You have felt crushed or mocked.

Some of my writer friends sometimes worry about writing things that don't resonate with others. My theory is that, if you write your own story with enough truth, people will resonate.

You may not have been told you had autism just because you were depressed and antisocial, but you will resonate with me when I tell you that I started to believe I was dumb. I started to believe I couldn't interact maturely. I started to believe I was incompetent and useless just because I was told it enough times.

You may not have been told you could do better things with your time when you showed someone a hobby, but will you resonate with me when I tell you that I haven't revisited an interest for years because I was told it was a waste.

You may not have been told you don't actually feel your feelings, but you will resonate with me when I say I have been unheard in some of the most ironic ways.

And I don't need your pity. Nobody needs pity. We're all hurting. We don't need pity. We just need somebody who will listen long enough to say, "Hey! I hurt just like you do!"

"Did some of it describe your own experience?"

Of course it did. My heart isn't shelled away inside busyness and noise. I've felt. I feel.

Stephen King talks about writing truth. He indicates that writing "truth" doesn't mean recounting a literal scene. We'd never have intergalactic space battles or ride atop dragons. Writing "truth" just means reaching into the heart, into the experiences you've had, and dressing it with the setting you chose at the given moment.

I don't know if anyone has ever hit you with a lamp. No one has ever hit me with a lamp, but I've felt struck, struck hard by some kind of blind anger or fear. It doesn't matter how quiet it was, how gentle the transcript would read: you've been struck too.

For Stephen King's exercise, I dressed it as a lamp.

For Meadowvale, it's the namelessness that Alabaster has for most of his life.

For Tetraearth, it's the insult a man tried to pay to a water elemental.

For Seven Colors, it's when they take Zandra from him.

For Michael the Traveler, it's his entire existence before he realizes his life is just a two-dimensional trap.

On and on it goes.

That's why you have to write; you have to bleed out your unheard voice until you find what you've been trying to say.

That's why I have to write anyway.

There are glad voices too. There are tender moments that I've dressed in fictional scenes.

In Meadowvale, it's Jalek teaching his son to wield a sword.

In Tetraearth, it's Jaislyn in her dad's workshop.

In Seven Colors, it's the Archmage raising Kaz's rank.

In Michael the Traveler, it's the keepers of the resting places teaching Michael how to travel.

They're all pretty much the same story with different dressings. They're all pretty much wrestling between a broken heart and a healing heart.