Diagnosis

So in English with Mr. Miller. We're reading The Diagnosis, by Alan Lightman. I went to a Doctor on Friday to ask her to make her own diagnosis about me. Funny enough while waiting for her I was reading the diagnosis. I just finished the book this morning.
I think it was Friday, but one can never be quite sure, but I had started talking about something in English. It came out to be how we interpret it, but that had never been my immediate thought. My classmate had said something and it triggered something else in my brain. It was a marvelous thought, a wonderful thought, a point of enlightenment in my life, but as I began to talk, and notice that everyone who was listening wasn't really hearing me, then I began to lose track of the original thought. It brought me back to, "If a Poet Has No Words, Does He Leave His Poem Blank?" I can't even remember the title to something I myself wrote... But my thought was lost, that beautiful pearl in my mind. If only I could have held onto it, then let it slide from my mind and form on my tongue. If only I could have remembered it.
A major theme in The Diagnosis is sound. Even now, I'm drowning myself out in sound even though I know better. Listening to Michelle Branch, and some Filipino singers in the background. I can hear the keys clicking, the washing machine sounding. The more I listen I hear myself breathe, I can hear my heart beat. The sounds my body makes as I'm moving, hitting things. The world crashing in around me, assailing my senses. I see the colors in everything, how it moves. How my thoughts are appearing on the screen. I can smell the smells in a Filipino house. the mixed smells of food and plants. Of the lingering scent new furniture has as it wears away, still trying to hold onto itself. The smell that is. I can feel everything. The leather creating friction against the skin of my legs. The smoothness of the computer and the keys on my wrists and finger tips. How the earphones feel on my ears. The armrest feeling on my elbows. I can also feel my own hair creating curtains next to my eyes. These sudden fuzzy black lines in my vision, that I'm so used to because of my my hair used to feel. How the edges just touch the base of my neck my shoulders. The lacking of my hair at my waist now. I can taste the dryness in my mouth, the lingering of my fried rice breakfast. I lick my lips and can taste their dryness. I should probably get water, but now... I don't want to lose this pearl. The senses are so sensitive. They attack everything, but as life goes on do we ignore it? Do we ignore every little detail? I was walking yesterday to meet with someone at the park. I was wondering... What do people mean by you need to stop and smell the roses? Do they want us to take in every little detail? Every curve of the leaf just like Bill Chalmers did when his senses were fading? If we're going to pay attention at all, why not include all the small details? Then there's no use in stopping if you can't take every little bit in. Then your sense's become attacked though, every detail in a small thing is overwhelming. I could spend a lifetime staring at one thing. Watching how it changed. How the light dances on it, around it, changing it, contorting it. I could stare at one person's face for a lifetime, and not mind wasting away. As Narcissus did staring at his own.
Don't you just love how one thought can branch into so many different ones?
In my own opinion, Bill Chalmers, in The Diagnosis, has become sick because of everything going on in his life and the lack of human communication.
When I went to my doctor on Friday and talked to her about everything wrong with me. The heart pains, frequent muscle spasms, loss of control in my arms and legs for brief periods of time. The headaches, the emotions and the etc. She said that it was all due to my stress, and that I should try and relax more. The chest pains she took a couple of tests on my heart, I'm not exactly sure what it was, just to be sure. She just said to keep tabs on it and the whatnot, and just asked that I try and relax more. Something that my friends have been telling me for so long.
I couldn't help but see the parallel between Bill's problem and mine. Have I really lost all my human communication? True connection on the intimate level... Will I eventually waste away pushing those that I love far from me? My doctor was very vague with what was wrong with me, only that I should stay calm and relaxed... All of this just made me think how much it related to my Poet Piece. As it's become nick named among some of my friends. AKA Does A Poet Leave His Poem Blank? I really can't remember the name.. That's just terrible. Maybe I'll record the conversation we have in class and write about it one day?
I can get my words and thoughts out when I don't have to speak them. If I were to speak them... Well. I really do have to trust you for me to be totally unfiltered, don't I?

My Diagnosis : All the patient needs is Love, Trust, Understanding. Maybe a slight dosage of relaxation. Definitely to get out with Family, Friends. Connection.