I watched an episode of Bones while on the treadmill yesterday. It was about the main character - a forensic pathologist - mistakenly thinking herself identical to a murder victim. Thinking she
was the murder victim. It started out with a few parallels - jewelry, occupation, personality traits. Next thing you know, Dr. Brennan thinks she is having a conversation with a dead surgeon while listening to recordings of her dictated case files. She basically went crazy. But I digress.
Part of the story line touched me profoundly. Yeah, I said profoundly, in reference to a common TV crime drama with mediocre actors. What struck me was that the murder victim behaved in illogical and erratic ways because of her core, regardless of the potential afforded her by intelligence. The hand she was dealt was this: she had a controlling personality which made it difficult to handle the death she had to deal with on a regular basis. She chose logic initially as a coping mechanism. At first, logic allowed her to frame the tragedies that occurred on her watch such that she could face them and keep functioning. At first.
When logic failed her, she chose to detach from life. No worry, no stress, no guilt. Just go through the day doing what you are supposed to do, and don't perceive any of the repercussions of problems that crop up regardless of the force of your will.
The trouble is, when you're detached you don't feel anything, and you start to miss little things like joy. And worse, you really can't stop feeling the acute pain within occurrences you can't control. So maybe you start testing the boundaries of existence. Maybe what looks like - and sometimes feels like - a death wish is actually mixed with a very real search for redemption.
The murder victim, as it turns out, was only an accident victim. And instead of Temperance feeling a kinship with her, it was me mistaking her face for my own. Of course I felt shame at the realization that no occupation surrounded by death could be blamed for my detachment. Perhaps nothing can excuse the coldness I employ. I know I have had pain in my past, and maybe it is not of a level that would drive a normal person to irrational and unhealthy behavior. But I can only play the hand I am dealt. And yesterday I felt that I didn't have to worry so much. I felt - just a little - that maybe I am rational after all. That I am understandable, and not hopeless.
The feeling didn't last (oh no it didn't). But it existed, and I will chew on it as long as I can. I was handed a box that was jewel-covered and lit from within. Real redemption. Real forgiveness. Real acceptance. If there is a chance that I can find it, I will keep going. Longer than it takes the brain to adapt to seeing upside-down. Longer than the voice can whisper, 'You don't deserve to be here.'
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