They may have been looking hard and close at me. And I thought “they” weren’t looking at all.
Maybe they could see all that was choking me from the inside out. Maybe they could seen my childlike face with my father’s footprint stamped across it as he walked out the door that day and never came back. Maybe I assumed blame…..and held my breath starting then…Leaving my brain disillusioned from lack of oxygen. I was simply trying not to feel so conflicted about something that some people are so sure of- their worth, Whether they matter. Whether anyone would miss them if they were gone.
Before trying to make sense out of that hurt piece and trying to fill in the rest of my whole being with the parts that did not hurt, I was to busy groveling to find a pen, make a check list: ME: positives/negatives…. Good and bad, the internal tug-o-war should have been apparent to me. It was simple math. The struggle was there on a daily basis. Any fool could see it, and I was many things but, never a fool. I would drink a beer and go work out. I would go for jog and then smoke a cigarette. I would read a pulitzer prize winning book, write my response to all I soaked up, drape my whole being in poetic genius-then shrivel after the laser beam buzzed me back down to human size. Then, I’d feel angry that I didn’t have anyone who cared to hear it my clever thoughts. I was never enough for me, so why would anyone else be? My own opinion of myself scarcely mattered. I now feel forgiveness to all that experienced my paradoxical self. And Floored that I graduated college was never a drug user and have been happily married with a family, for sixteen years. For how heavy the load on my felt then, how it impacted me growing up with such highs and such lows described by my family as either “drinking myself into oblivion” or possibly “bi-polar” . There was the seed who knows perhaps the seed from when I was baptized or the seed, knowing I had compassion and felt the need to help others so early on, it was always there from infancy. Even with all these years of counseling and medication, confiding in my shrink sitting In the seat across from me, I knew more than 90% of the time that that mental health expert guiding me through was more fucked up than I could ever be! I would leave their office with the temporary glow and it would vanish. I could go from a sunny boat ride on the lake to a fit of emotion that had a tornado of anguish whipping around wildly, up out of my world and placing me drunk and lonely in a hotel room god knows where? What kind of person carries that secret inside? The thing is, my cup was never empty, just half full and I just never knew if I even wanted it full or not.
In the ripeness of my youth, my twenties, I would find myself looking outward from my barstool, scribbling poetry on the back of my coaster wanting desperately to feel anything else but what I was feeling, not knowing which Lisa I wanted to be, the bad Lisa or the good one, the tortured child or the nurturing mother who listened with every pulsating vessel in her body. Thankfully I arrived grounded fully, quenched preferring the favorable to the unfavorable seems simple, once you decide to like yourself. Today I embody the good full cup persona I knew would win in the end. Thanks to my husband who was waiting hand in hand with me.CaCall me a later bloomer, but call me fully bloomed, I made it-which means you can too.