I would like to introduce us to both of me. I am who I was raised to be, who I taught myself to be, and who I think I should be. On the other hand, or maybe I should say beneath the surface, is the me who is strangely familiar even though I’ve ignored her existence most of my adult life.
When I do what I think I should, the other has begun to refuse to comply gracefully. I can go through all the right motions, carrying a bridge burning rebellion in my heart all the while. I will sit at a stop sign much longer than necessary, fighting between making the right turn and flooring it in the opposite direction. I’m the one who hated The Bridges of Madison County because when her truck pulled behind her lover’s truck, and she had her hand on the door handle while he waited for her to decide, inside I was screaming “get out of the goddamn truck and run up there”. Get out of the truck, woman.
I am a fictitious character carefully disguising the madwoman beneath.
I have only recently discovered this phenomenon. It was quite by accident that I found that certain voices, situations and words call to the part of me that is very inconvenient to deal with. I cause waves, rock the boat, and make everyone uncomfortable including myself, all the while grinning like a lunatic on the inside. Mostly.
This quickly growing reality is terrifying and exhilarating at the same time. I can’t even tell the difference between the feelings anymore. It’s as if the most real and basic part of me has been pulled out of some kind of self-imposed hibernation and is unapologetically hungry.
To live. To stretch. To grow stronger in spirit, voice and heart.
Here’s the thing…I’m not sorry. Not. Sorry.This is like one of those sad stories where someone is let out after too many years of solitary confinement for a short time, only to realize they are going to be put back in. Oh, hell no. Not going back there, it’s freedom or die at this point, and I’m not playing.
It took me 10 minutes to start my car today, because I didn’t want to go where I was going. When I convinced myself to do so, I kept turning and taking longer and longer ways to my destination until I finally had to say enough. Enough. Get out of the truck and go where your heart is. If I’m going to keep waking up morning after morning, it had better be worth it.
And I’m the only one who can make that happen.
This has nothing to do with being in love with anyone but me. I’m not looking for a warrior, I am one. I love and value those few who recognized my heart even when I refused to, and let me suffer until I saw the truth. That’s really hard to do. They are my heroes, my heart, and the loves of my life. I can only repay them by refusing to go back to the Garden of Weak and Feeble.
I was the snake, the apple, the fallen, and now the guardian that refuses to let me return to that false place. I did it all. To me.
So the truth of the story is this…there can’t be two of me. Pretense does not exist well when truth is burning. False facades fall away when your soul decides there’s hell to pay. It’s time to shred the script I adopted long ago, and live my own story. Life is short, so it’s past time to make mine matter. To me.
Sink or swim. Fly or fall. Live or Lie. Truth or Dare…
Until maybe, one day in the not too distant future, you’ll say to yourself…”I’ll have what she’s having”…and you will.