Sensitivity

                       It is a great affliction, sensitivity. In milder doses it can be construed as soft-heartedness or even genuine warmth. But when it is present in copious quantities within one's mind and spirit, it becomes a dead-weight that is of no value but has to be lugged around nevertheless. It complicates normal existence and makes for a difficult companion.

                      Taking myself as a case in point, sensitivity has resulted in the categorical exclusion of a number of seemingly innocuous things from my life. First to go was the meat of mammals. Having witnessed an act of butchery, it was no longer possible for me to continue ingesting red meat. Even though I sincerely tried, every time I put a morsel into my mouth I found myself tasting blood. And thus my range of edibility narrowed considerably.

                        I used to be an avid newspaper reader, beginning my day with a thorough read and a cup of coffee. The coffee habit has survived but I have given up wanting to know what's happening around the world. I vividly remember that morning when I read, horror-struck, the accounts of the tortures committed at the Abu Ghraib prison in Afghanistan. The text was descriptive and there were pictures accompanying the article. It evoked a reaction so deeply visceral in me that I found it difficult to get through the next couple of days. Consequently, I decided that knowledge about the depths of human suffering was not for me and I gave up following the news altogether

                        Each of my conscious decisions to avoid people or things, events or places can be ascribed to sensitivity. Or should I call it over-sensitivity, as that seems like a more befitting label. My existence is becoming more and more cloistered because of this as I continue to try and shield myself from hurt and pain. But the more I try the more it spreads....covering grounds which were thus far innocent. It's not a blessing...it's a curse.