Scars That Must Not Be Touched

In the county town of my home province there is a street specializing in funeral supplies—various ritual and mourning goods. Last night, returning from elsewhere to my sister's home, I passed that street. It was nearly deserted, the streetlights flickering, and my heart suddenly gave a twitch—not from fear, but from a clear, sharp ache.

Since August, this has happened many times. I realized I too have become one of the "super-feelers."

The American psychiatrist Bessel van der Kolk wrote a book titled The Body Keeps the Score: Brain, Mind, and Body in the Healing of Trauma, which introduces the various stress disorders that arise after psychological trauma. There is post-traumatic syndrome among Vietnam veterans, and the psychological shadows of those who have endured car crashes, the 9/11 attacks, or family trauma.

After trauma, many people carry a shadow in the mind. These shadows become scars that can never again be lightly touched. Any detail that reminds them of the traumatic past triggers a painful reaction.

For the rest of their lives, guided by intuition, they are frequently controlled by these painful emotions, which drive them to act irrationally again and again. Usually some scene in daily life causes their mind to suddenly flash back to those excruciating moments. They may be unable to communicate with loved ones, often shouting (actually from fear and pain rather than anger), unconsciously squandering money, developing drug or alcohol addiction, trembling involuntarily, suffering sleep disorders, communication disorders, and various emotional disorders (anxiety, depression, panic, and so on).

Generally, these people are "super-feelers": they can sniff out painful traces from every subtle clue and produce a conditioned reflex. If the pain human beings suffer is too intense, exceeding the psychological capacity of an ordinary person, it readily leaves a mark in the mind.

For example, when I was small, my sister once accidentally fell from a balcony and was severely injured. I witnessed the whole thing beside her, and it left me with a lifelong fear of heights. I not only dare not climb to high places; even imagining myself standing on a height fills me with dread, and seeing pictures of steep peaks triggers acrophobic reactions.

As I have encountered more misfortunes and learned more professional knowledge, I too have become a "super-feeler." I can now sharply identify a person's risk of cancer, of mental anguish, and of suicide. Anything related triggers a conditioned reflex in me: my heart twinges, then aches, and then I feel compassion for these people, hoping they will be spared harm—yet their feelings are also being transmitted to me.

This is not good. It shows that the callus on my heart has not yet formed, and that I myself still need more time to fully recover from the various psychological traumas I have endured this year. If I let these post-traumatic reactions intensify, I too will be in danger.

Yesterday, eating with an elder back home—he is a chief physician licensed in TCM, ophthalmology, and psychiatry. He has retired and wants to do work related to psychiatry, but he also has chronic obstructive pulmonary disease. I dissuaded him from my own experience: COPD requires quiet rest and adequate recuperation to avoid sudden death, and psychiatrists are constantly absorbing patients' negative emotions, working under intense strain. The two are hard to combine; mishandled, it will affect his health and longevity.

I myself am now trying to avoid every opportunity that might touch my own scars, but I cannot entirely avoid them. Whether at work or in life, I always meet people whose hearts are full of pain and who badly need to talk. When I am in good shape I can listen fairly steadily; when I am not, I cannot stay calm.

Every catastrophic event in life is like an earthquake in the soul. Even after the saddest moment has passed, there remains a period when the heart is fragile and easily touched. Perhaps I still need some time to fully recover.