Illness changing personality and hobbies: the harsh reality of the new life (Sacks, 34)
Illnesses play tricks on the mind. They alter brain chemistry and destroy social collaboration. Hobbies cease and new ones forms. Illnesses change people. For better or worse. The person you once knew is no longer. Their appearance may be similar but their expression is different.
The physical dimension of illnesses isolate the individual from his pack of friends. Forced to frequent medical assistance, he is no longer present. His absence is felt yet routinely substituted. The void is eventually filled. A best friend who moves to a far country leaves a hole to be filled. The space he has accustomed is now shallow. Just empty fallow land to be farmed. His absence is felt immediately. No more can you talk to him or spend time with him. There is now free time to your own instruments. In time, the friend is replaced with a new best friend completing the category. This friend grows on his own without communication. At the reunion a few years later he has changed. It was gradual for him but to you it is a stark transformation. Affected by the stimuli there he changes. So too with the ill. The ill don’t realise their own transformation. For them it is part of the process. Yet for the friends it is quite a shock. Then again it is a part of distance and time. People will inevitably grow. If you don’t see them for some time, the progress is missed and only the shocking alteration is noticed.
Beyond the platitude of distance is also the situational effects. The friend who moves away is impacted by his new town, school, and friends. The new culture pounces upon and forces him to conform. He acts differently since he is exposed to a varied culture. He speaks a different language and interacts with a unique culture. All this alters the perception of him. He looked native in his youth but his growth in an alternate culture is overshadowed by his appearance. He is the same boy just grown up. Just educated in the foreign culture than one’s own. Yet to him, you have also changed. The stimuli he left have no glaring impact but they do on you. You adapted into your culture and he into his. The ill develop through their doctoral visits. Through the pain. Their isolation medicinally is thoroughly physically demanding. They gradually develop in response to the treatment provided. Yet at the reunion they seem to be different people. They have greatly altered their life philosophy. It seems so quick, so swift but it is a gradual transition. Boarded up in the hospital or at home.
Absence does make for unknown alterations. Circumstances do their part in gradually informing that change. Their attitudes shift with their endless medicinal consequences. Affecting their personality as well. They become despondent. Interacting less and less with others. Even if they do show up for a weekly meal, their demeanour has changed. Yet that is solely in the first appearance since their isolation. Consistency breeds static. The immense alterations are mellowed in the premature intervals interacted. Their prolonged demise is mishandled and overlooked. They have changed but that is the extent. The limit is the doctoral examination. The gradual decline is faint and forlorn. Unexpected from the observer. They see the ill weekly. Keeping tabs unable to see the impending disastrous demise. There may be a hint of discolouring but the slow shaded white is missed. They do not see the pigment change. Failing to see the magic exploited. A wrecking ball with no stopping it. Content with the current transformation. Unaware of the immediate change yet to come. The ill do not remain stationary. They either heal or grow sicker. Healed will at times bring more spirt but the opposite will only harbour less energy fading into the blackness of night.
The ill are aware of the slow decline. Scary but recognisable. They reckon with their transition. Whether that be a new routine or hobby. Others curiously observe from afar with little adherence to engage. Questions may be raised but no red flags. It is a part of a new you but similar to the you they knew. It isn’t quite as different. It doesn’t shock them. Yet for the ill it is a big step. Each step is a step toward the next joint. They see an appearance. They hear about the condition. Yet they know almost nothing about the experience. The experience is the ill’s and thus the new hobbies are perceived transformative in his eyes not in their eyes. They find it cute, he finds it crucial. The routine of life cycles his interactions with others. He acts somewhat varied but it’s all in good faith. He is accepted for his slight difference. It is hardly noticed. Even when it is, the illness plays its role as a fluke. This isn’t permanent. It is a bump in the road. He’ll be back to normal in no time. He is just going through a tough time. A tough day but tomorrow will be different. They fail to understand the magnitude of the situation. His alterations are seminal. They are a byproduct of his illness but permanent in their engrossment on his soul. Tattooed a new personality.
His new hobbies are isolated personas. While he acts quite understandably with his fellas, the moment he is alone all the walls come down. His new hobbies are drugs for his rapid insanity. To ensure his survival. Beating the dreadful psychosis. They seem minute in others’ eyes but an antidote to him. His hobbies are more cherished than his friends. They are purposeful in accepting him as their master. An illness that projects joy in the most mischievous of ways. The colourblind prefers the nighttime. Becoming a night owl, a revolutionary nocturnal figure. He wishes to engage in the new world that possesses him. The night understands him. It provides cover. A haven for his detrimental condition. Finding solace in its protective attention. Heading out to party in the early morning. Fully awake and fully enjoying racing on the open freeway. For him, the new normal is perfect for him. He’d rather sleep in the day shielding himself from the disorienting colours than suffer. He has found a friend. The moon shines its beautiful light onto his shoulders. Pain is avoided in the recesses of a book. An alcoholic beverage that numbs the terrible illness saving his sanity from the nightmares.
Preoccupation with these new hobbies does wonders to his personality. While isolation had its impact on social matters so does his hobbies. Whether that be reading a book or hiking. Depending on the event it may strengthen his resolve or offer new skills. A fervent reader may expand his vocabulary wooing his parents and perplexing his friends. A hiker may build some muscle extending his physique. It is all relative. Yet unlike the average benefiter, the hobbies are salvation. They are not a simple distraction from the tedious afternoons but from immense suffering. Clinging to these hobbies as a safety net. Become a night owl or a bookworm. Tragic but necessary for existential serenity. The illness becomes a lifeline. The medication is the hobby. If colour will be snatched then the night will be welcomed. Turning oneself into the illness’ direction. The illness is being conquered but at the same time coercing his habits. Trying to turn over a new leaf. He ascends to tackle the problem head on yet the new leaf is itself a distraction. A double-edged sword that provides benefits as well as hurls him into the furnace.
Hobbies are intrinsically related to behaviour. Insofar as they radically manipulate the individual. The object becomes the subject’s concern. While the colourblind thinks he is conquering his condition by travelling out at night, he is giving into his condition. His condition has forced him to be a night light. Yet at the same time, he is choosing to be active than passive. Choosing to go out instead of laying depressed in bed. The crippled cannot conquer his condition by magical healing or going for a run. He cannot overcome the limitation but he can still work alongside what he is capable of doing. Restricted physically but surpassing the mental barrier. Hobbies are a method of distraction but active expression. Distraction but productive in personal growth. The colourblind is forced to head out in the dead of night. Yet the quiet bliss is enjoyable. He finds nighttime serene and beautiful. He finds old classic cinema to be marvellous. While many of his friends mock the black and white films, able to appreciate the visual projection, these classics become all time favourites milking their prowess. Finally recognising the prestige of Citizen Cane and 12 Angry Men. He is no longer obsessed with appearance in the same regard. Instead of heading to the bar after a long night his nights are ever more constructive.
Falling into these hobby routines are transformative. His perception is deepened. His mind expanded. Able to understand the world in a new way. Though it need not be as experiential as a night owl. A cripple who unable to travel, picks up reading to pass the time will enhance his vocabulary and broaden his worldview. So much literature that can provide new insights into history, philosophy or psychology. Friends may grow accustomed to his absence during the day or his walking stick but his evolving perception that differs due to his unique hobby strikes them as odd. Praising old classics or the nuance of nightlife is credibly peculiar to the average millennial. It is the small things whether by topic or by terminology. Yet for the ill it is an enlightenment insofar as it is a protection. The point is the change that derives from irregularity. From a pinpointed hobby that is immersed intensively. The sufferer searches for hope and salvation. Hobbies are sought to bring tranquility. These hobbies are clung to. It is their immersion that engulfs the ill transforming them from motionless to engaged. Accepting fate and finding a route to curb the emotional and physical torture.
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