Gently though the boat may row, a storm I make.

It is unusual for me to write two entries in one day. Now that I think of it, I’m not so sure the OD will let me post two in one day. Evidently I need to get some things out. 

I am sick to my stomach in a very unsettled, (emotional?) way.  Somewhere in the back of my mind I hear echo’s of someone saying that when you feel safe, deep seated issues are able to come out and be dealt with. I have had a few of those moments today in which a cruel light came on and showed me the origins of some of my issues. 

When eating and chatting with Dr. Awesome and Knickers and K today I fond myself wondering who would leave first. I like to be one of the last to leave any situation. I have always figured it was just because I didn’t want to miss out on anything. The compulsion is a strong one though, and it isn’t just about leaving. If I hear other teachers chatting and laughing in another room I want to go get in on it.  I don’t always do it, but if it is Knickers I feel comfortable doing that any time. 

As I sat there wondering,I flashed back in time to when I was 11. That was the year Dad moved out, but this probably isn’t about that. The insident that came crashing in on my mind put me at a slumber party. Janet, Jamie, Debbie…..hmmm I even remember their faces and names. We were all sitting in a circle in the dark room talking about everything under the sun that 11 year old girls talk about. I was sitting on the floor with my knees in front of me, resting my head on my knees.  I was the most poor of us, in my own eyes the most awkward, I was enjoying the bit of normalcy that i was feeling. My boat had been rocking crazily since I was 9 and we moved to Oklahoma, A tree had fallen on Dad. A big one. He almost died a couple of times. He recovered but he and mom did not. Please! Stop rocking the boat! 

Here I was, included with the normal girls. Some time during the conversation I fell silent. I just listened. After about 20 minutes I heard them decide that I had fallen asleep. I decided to play as though I had. It would be funny. At some point I would startle them or something. Then they started talking about me. The general concensus was that I was alright. they liked me but found me to be a bit strange. That did not register with me at the time as, I was from the north and displace from not only my culture but my middle class status. Coming from these girls who have known each other all their lives and whose southern culture was so different from my northern upbringing, that would have been a reasonable supposition. 

Here I sat, ears wide open, heart hurting. It’s true then. I am wierd. They kept talking. A tiny panic rose up inside of me. I’m screaming inside, "They don’t know I can hear them! I don’t want to hear anymore!"  Startling them would no longer be funny, only awkward. They  weren’t being mean, only truthful. That made my strangeness undeniable. 

They must have felt vibes coming from me, or maybe I was holding my breath and no longer sounded asleep.

"Gloria?" "Yes?" "Are you awake?" "Yes." "Have you been awake this whole time?" "Um-hmm."

Back to today. I look around and I realize. If I leave now, they will talk about me. If I’m not in on a conversation I might BE the conversation.

Oh. 

I am still 11. My emotional growth arrested. 

On a totally unrelated topic my oldest daughter gently tells me that I have a hard time letting go of things. If she only knew. 

I always thought I just liked a challenge, really, I just like to win.  Fifth in a family of  6 and fourhalves I rarely won an arguement. Rarely got the pretty one. Rarely felt special. Rarely felst acepted. If you win, you’re acceptibility is undeniable.

Here I am still scratching and clawing to beaccepted.  Arrested. Bound.  The opposite of free. The opposite of what I know to be true.  Fragile resiiency. 

And then I realize. I can grow up now.  It is safe, now. I can acept me.  I can let go of having to know what people think about me. I don’t even have to know what they are, or aren’nt, saying about me.  I mean, the next logical conclusion would be climbing into their brains and stealing their innermost thoughts about me.  If I can know it, I still can’t control it. 

I guess part of live and let live is live and let die. Let it go. I may be gaining comfort from rocking my own boat. lol, that would be fine if I were rocking and having a great time. I am rocking and  screaming, "Don’t rock the boat!!"

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 In Sandy soil I plant this seed, If even only I do heed.

 

In death is life; won’t be denied, grown by tears of sorrow cried.

 

The truth is harsh, the babes are dead, I’ll hold mine closer in their stead.

 

It’s all I have and know to do. I don’t admit those lives are through.

 

I will not waste this plot of land, it will not wither ‘neath my hand.

 

Come here my Love, look in my eyes,

 

Do you know how dear you are to me….?