BULLY PART 6
Common knowledge suggests that no one leaves childhood unscathed by ‘evil spells’. However here’s where fairy tales and memoirs part ways: Whereas fairy tales offer happily-ever-after endings to princes and princesses and even to ogres, reality charges the spirits of real, live guys and gals with carving paths where curiosity into self-awareness may combine with the courage to free oneself from whatever evil spell has cast a black hood over the intelligent side of the mind.
I mean what might have happened had Hansel and Gretel abandoned each other when life got as dark and tangled as a forest, limited as a cage or hot as an oven? Though storybook characters depend upon each other's courageous support during life's darkest hours that's when live people lean toward separation, ending in divorce.
With thoughts of pulling ourselves together vs. pulling each other apart, let’s consider this: Harrowing experiences exacerbate confusion. And during times of heightened confusion, contradicting traits compete for space inside our minds. Then to make matters worse, denial blinds us from seeing our own vulnerabilities with clarity, so pots call kettles black. Classically, the blame-game heightens pain, all around.
In my opinion, this is NOT how love makes the world go round. This is how fear and fury spin clarity into your La La Land vs. mine.
Though embarking upon a quest for self discovery may be a scary thought to some, I envision life as a Create-My-Own-Adventure. And here's how that came to be: While my mom nurtured each of her daughters to grow into unique individuals, my dad's sense of adventure injected us with the strength of his spirit, which bounced up each time life knocked him around, you know, kind of like Rocky I, II, III, IV and V.
Even so, people are people where ever we go—meaning that *all people are vulnerable to denial—most especially during life’s most harrowing times.
Each time you witness the strength of my spirit nearing collapse, watch my defense system sweep me on to the stage of Denialand, where I’ll produce, direct, star in and believe in my own productions for decades on end. In short, denial will serve me well until I weave a fantasy, which cannot sustain the test of time.
Eventually, my pattern of repressing (denying the existence of) subconscious pain will undermine the strength of my marriage until my house of cards can’t help but collapse. Today, when I can't figure out how I got from 'there to here', I question whether denial is blocking my way toward achieving the clarity necessary to solve problems, which present themselves to one and all, meaning that I believe most problems that plague individuals prove classic, universal and timeless ... and with that belief in mind, I decided to write this blog, air my dirty laundry in public and clean myself up, rather than whitewashing my vulnerabilities by darkening yours. However I’m getting ahead of myself, so let’s get back on track by considering this insight, which just lit up my mind:
If balance in all things is a rule of thumb then visiting Denialand, which enables a person's spirit to make it through a fearsome time, is a good thing. However any attempt to move one’s entire life into Denialand weaves a fantasy that's bound to explode. And …
Once self conceived bubbles burst, exploding Fantasyland to bits, houses made of cards take to the winds and depression descends—BIG TIME.
At eleven years old, Annie is still decades away from my house of cards collapse. When next we meet and BULLY PART 7 unfolds, I'll show you how The Furies of Inner Conflict devil me, night after night. Then I'll introduce the person who tries to save me from seriously injuring myself …
BULLY PART 7
Hmmm. Upon sitting down to write, today, low and behold, I was surprised to find those childhood Furies still in control of my mind. And here’s how I know that’s true: I sat down to write several times. And each time, anxiety arose.
As a result of anxiety, my brain froze; my memory locked, and every attempt to force my mind to cooperate made my head ache. In short, nothing came out except—resistance to re-experiencing residual PAIN!
It's as though a little voice, residing inside my subconscious, said: STOP it, Annie—there's no sense forcing those Furies out prematurely, because for 'some' reason you're not yet ready to reveal (relive?)—that last fateful ride on that bus from hell—at least not yet...
So rather than pushing into yesterday's pain, as I’d have tried, unsuccessfully, in the past, I'll listen to instinct's attempt to say: Relax, Annie—with patience, layers of your defensive wall will continue to soften, melt down, and slough until that painful memory emerges from its deep freeze on its own. And when readiness is yours, that horrendous memory will reveal itself without your fearing an onslaught of unrepressed pain overwhelming your present state of safety, right now. Until readiness is yours, take good care of yourself; make good use of your intelligence to bolster your spirit’s self image. Your mind has the will to overcome this fear just as your body has healed from surgeries, serious enough to require intensive care ... little by little ... step by step.
As this little voice of instinct makes sense, I've decided to put that irretrievable memory to rest, temporarily. And guess what's happened? Upon listening to my cheerleading instinct, anxiety let go of its choke hold and—I'm writing, again, with a sense of repose.
In short, I’ve come to accept this as fact: There are times when the instinctive side of my brain sends out a (cautionary) signal before my thought processor has had time to identify a specific reason for subconscious unrest.
Bottom line: The more deeply I delve into the complex functions of my brain, the greater my ease at honoring instinctive reactions. And …
*Each time I honor an instinct, fearful feelings of self-doubt diminish, though the problem remains unresolved.
In short, I don't need to know why I feel the need to honor a reaction that I don’t understand. I just go with the flow, wait and see. This is new to one who needs safety first, like me. Rather than laboring to deliver a premie, I'm learning to place my faith in this belief: One day that baby will be ready to slide out of my mind fully formed, healthy, lusty and strong.
As this frame of mind continues to prove true, repeatedly, residual tension fades away, meaning that I can move forward toward clarity, more quickly, when my patience is intact. *You see, the more relaxed my mind, the more clearly I think. So if you agree that positive attitude and timing are everything, then you, too, may choose to relax while your sense of patience for readiness to solve mysterious goings on develops, step by step. In addition to timing and attitude clarity is everything, too.
Apparently, I'll need to withdraw and produce many one act plays from my memory bank before the final curtain goes up, revealing the primary reason why Mother Nature directed denial to grab control over my mind when I was a child. Again, every impactful fact has not been revealed ... not just to you, but to me.
*If Mother Nature offers the gift of denial to us all then let’s remember this defense mechanism as being a good thing. On the other hand, immersing one's mind in denial indicates a depth of pain too fearsome for the conscious mind to acknowledge. *Therefore, some trauma must have literally scared me out of my wits when I was much younger than ten ... I must have experienced some trauma other than the tragedy suffered by my family, as a whole. In fact, instinct suggests that the combination of these traumas caused my voice to freeze and my spirit to cow to the bull on the bus, repeatedly ...
As instinct refuses to awaken that personal Fury, right now, let’s examine a memory, which no longer confounds me or needles me with residual pain. In fact, it’s this specific memory that exemplifies my readiness to roar, NEVER AGAIN!
BULLY PART 8
Before moving into Dad's dream house, I'd been a natural leader. 'Knowing' myself as perky, bouncy, and fun, I was shocked at having been cast as the bullied, new kid. Though I was the only girl squished in with a busload of guys, there was no reason to expect vulnerability, as yet undetected, to be trounced by a mean-minded passel of pre-teen thugs.
Upon mustering the courage to stuff myself into that sardine tin—four times a week—I’d no clue why my self image tied itself into deeply confounded, tight, little knots, repeatedly. Rather than leaning upon yesterday's budding leadership skills, I learned to fear the herding nature of gang mentality. The more I'd shrink into myself, the more ‘left out’ I'd felt. That conundrum makes me ask ... if I’d felt respected and admired in the past, then what made me feel unworthy of self-respect each time I tried to find a seat, where my ego might feel some what protected from attack?
Well, the obvious answer suggests this: I’d begun to see myself through the beady eyes of THE LORD OF THE FLIES. I mean how could I see myself otherwise when my full-length mirror reflected the cold, cruel truth inherent in every taunt. In addition to hating those rats, who'd gnawed my self-confidence to shreds, I’d no respect for the meek and mousy, who'd failed to speak up in my defense.
This brings us to a piece of the puzzle that spotlights my greatest vulnerability: *I'd failed see that no one had let me down as much as I had myself. I mean, if being 'ungainly' had not rendered me defenseless when others were in need of help then what caused me to feel so insecure when the indignity of being publicly shamed had targeted—me? In short, I'd no clue that:
*My pattern of diving into denial empowered tyranny to cow my mind, allowing undetected insecurity to prolong my misery.
Bottom line: If I’d had the inner strength to stand up to gang mentality in defense of the underdog then what stopped MY VOICE from turning the tides when the bully's taunts rallied his troops to smite my sense of self? Well ... since that puzzle piece still remains vague in terms of clarity, you may feel relieved to know that I can reveal at least this much, right now:
One day the bullying loomed so large that my ire rose up just as high. As you shall see, something utterly unexpected flew in from out of the blue ... and as this unexpected 'something' ignited an explosion of raucous laughter throughout the bus, which nothing could stop, my cloak of denial could not withstand the engulfing flames of humiliation, which burned so deeply into my core that every ridiculed atom of energy inside me screamed clearly and painfully—finally—unfortunately ... just not out loud!
BULLY PART 9
At this point you might ask: If denial blocks reality from penetrating the mind then why didn't Annie bury her head even more deeply into denial? Well, hindsight suggests that just like everything else, denial exists in degrees. And black holes are not simply bottomless pits. If no mind is an island then at some point, even the strongest spirit amongst us will hit bottom. In the absence of peer support, my memory split into two separate parts, each time I climbed up into that bus. As I’ve mentioned before, this split will not have been new to me ...
Although I recall the bullies’ cruelty, ride after ride, I can’t recall my reactions except for the last time when that bus load of rats and mice had reason to pounce all over me, at once. As a tidal wave of pain washed over denial’s wall, I couldn’t hide from the reality of my mortification, anymore. (In French mort means death.). On that fateful day, Mortification slew Denial.
Uhhh ... Let's back up just a bit.
Until that fateful day, denial had successfully separated my sense of awareness from floods of emotion too overwhelming to absorb or understand. You see each time I'd stuffed myself into that bus, I'd had to stuff much more than pain behind denial’s wall. I’d stuffed confusion, fear and tension, as well—because otherwise, I couldn’t recognize myself in terms of self image, at all!
In stories to come, denial will prove a highly complex little critter. On one hand, denial serves to keep self image intact. On the other, denial throws all sense of clarity into a solid state of confusion to which we’re blind. When denial turns the paths that we walk into an endless series of mazes, intelligence just can’t wrap itself around clarity, no how. As mind sets layer up, each layer must be dismantled, one by one. This takes tons of concentrated brain work. If we could accomplish this deconstruction on our own, mental blocks would not persist. Why this difficulty? Layers of misconception are woven together as though on a loom. Pulling the stuffings out too soon is like opening a cocoon before the caterpillar’s metamorphosis into a butterfly is complete and thus ready to fly free. What you’d see would be mighty messy, right?
Since my defense system had long adhered to the habit of sweeping all sense of despairing awareness into Denialand, this inexplicable change in my social status continued to confound me. As denial holds hands with conundrums, that makes me ask: What might Mother Nature have had in mind when she decided to confer the gift of denial onto children in need of a life line at times when emotional safe havens seemed no where to be found? Why might a child, who is deeply loved, not seek out help? And what might be expected when traumatized portions of the adult mind reside in Denialand, pretty much forever?
Well if ...
Denial blocks the mind from recognizing anything that opposes self image ... then perhaps Mother Nature believes that people, facing down prodigious problems may recover their sense of logic more quickly if the mind is detoured from burning up with the agony of humiliation. Unfortunately, Mother Nature’s plan may be as flawed as are many of our own. That’s why we say: Love it when a plan unfolds and then comes together as planned. :)
Soooo ... any way, my need for safe haven took refuge in the Land of Make Believe, where nothing this painful could possibly happen to fun-loving-bright-little me.
(By the way, as denial works it's 'magic' in a myriad of ways, it's common for pleasers to develop into care takers, extraordinaire. If a pleaser develops a subconscious need to please others, they need to take better care of others than themselves until such time as every drop of energy has been squeezed dry. In fact, care takers may unwittingly compete for distinction. If asked why pleasers stretch so far as to go the extra yard, I’d reply ... it takes very little to make these folks feel guilty. In fact, all you need do to scare a pleaser into stretching too far is—frown. More about that symptom of insecurity, later.)
Wow! Once a negatively formed mind set imprints so deeply that insecurity grabs control over the mind, it’s no wonder that a host of personal problems worsen rather than resolve! I mean any attempt to problem solve with a mind that's disconnected from reality will create conversations in which both people believe the other is as crazy as a coot. And if denial helps us all to move through difficult times, then who's to say which person's sense of clarity is greater than the other?
If this seems as convoluted as ‘whose on first’ that’s exactly what denial does to our minds. Mixes us up, big time! This subject is so complex that I’m attempting to offer tidbits of information, concerning denial, in taste tests.
In order to hide from fear of the truth, the mind creates a suit of armor, otherwise known as a false sense of pride. This false sense of pride depends upon this pretense: Let's shove our problems under the rug and pretend all is well when nothing could be further from the truth. I need you to pretend that our problems aren't that bad, because your perception of reality scares me half to death!!! Therefore, any attempt on your part to hold up a mirror, glaring into my insecurities with clarity, must be smashed, as fast as I can discredit whatever you feel the need to say or do ...
As pretense on both sides holds up for only so long, conflicts exacerbate and relationships get crazier by the day. (BTW that's especially true of one's relationship with—one self.)
When I was blind to my pretense, I could not enlist the help of others, much less take a courageous stance in defense of myself. All I could do each time I boarded that bus was to—bow my head, shut my eyes and ears and repress confusion by hiding from the truth.
Ride after ride, this self defeating pattern of hiding from reality forced me to swallow fear, fury, humiliation and tongue-tied knots of tension—until that day when, without so much as a hint of warning, the entire gang had reason to open fire on me with such an onslaught of hilarity that there was no room left inside me to repress my rage ...
Having reached the point of no return, every molten molecule of compressed passion exploded forth as a geyser of agony burst out of my core. Finally, reality in the form of clarity refused to dim. At this point my false sense of pride collapsed, and I heard myself scream
You're killing me! ENOUGH!
BULLY PART 10
Unfortunately, I am woman hear me roar was not yet a rallying cry sung round the world. So though explosive emotion quivered through me from head to toe, the only one who heard me roar...
ENOUGH!
... was squeaky, little me.
That fact leads me to this question: How up tight must tension coil within the mind and body of a child, who, fleeing flames of humiliation, walks into her home and greets her family, smiling calmly? I mean think about it: Once emotional rebellion ignites, where does all that combustible energy go? What eventually, shapes up inside our heads? Rocks for brains, attached to tightly wound springs? Catapults, casting boulders at each other's innocent hearts? No wonder why last straws release sudden blasts of fury as unexpectedly as a fully wound Jack in the box leaps out! No wonder why we each need to develop a strong Line Of Control to pull out during life's trying times.
As the eleven year old in question had no clue as to where to gather rock cracking tools, I’ve spent the last few years assembling clues as to which experiences may have sliced off portions of my self esteem, thus silencing certain portions of my voice, at times which had proved distressing, beyond comprehension. This quest for rock cracking tools compels Annie, the adult, to visit Walden Pond, where she ponders upon love and life, repeatedly.
*The more I learn about the complex workings of my mind, the less apt am I to deceive myself when distressed, today.
Though all people internalize emotional reactions to some degree, we often dismiss the distress of others as being over reactive when, in truth, we have no clue as to when a storehouse of negative energy is ready to erupt—spontaneously (Think camels, last straws and head on collisions, when two hot heads are loaded with TNT.)
The fact that I'd smiled by day while thrashing and scratching till blood was drawn at night poses two questions: What might cause a child's mind to dive into denial and repression instead of asking adult loved ones for help? How might adults more readily recognize signs, suggesting that a slice of a child’s voice is silently screaming for safe haven from emotional pain?
Knowing the importance of origins, I dive into my quest for forgotten details, repeatedly, because—well—*let's consider what Maya Angelou had to say:
I have great respect for the past. If you don't know where you've come from, you don't know where you're going. I have respect for the past, but I'm a person of the moment. I'm here, and I do my best to be completely centered at the place I'm at, then I go forward to the next place.
When I'm seriously confounded, less than centered, I ask myself which of my perceptions is in need of adjustment.
For example: I'd been socially respected and well liked early on. However each time I'd faced rejection on that bus, my self-respect dried up, quick as a snap! So I'd perceived myself to be socially secure when, in truth, my submission to the mean minded bully on that bus suggests otherwise. This points to the fact that depending upon the situation at hand, self confidence comes and goes.
Though I’m eager to leap ahead into a story which showcases layers of insecurity, weaving into each other while building a wall, FIRST KISS will not be ready to roll until BULLY FOR ME winds down. I mean, you still have no clue how I wiggled out of riding that bus—ever again, and I've yet to reveal that last bitter straw, which made me declare—
NEVER AGAIN!
(If not aloud, at least within the dark side of my mind where red-blooded fury swirled, round and round, quick as a top!)
BULLY PART 11 ... BRAIN STUCK IN FOG
Thank goodness I've been writing about complexities, which confuse our minds, because, right now at this very minute, I can't figure myself out. In short, my brain is stuck. I can't make it work. I feel less centered. Less peaceful. My brain just won’t write in line with what I feel the need to say, so I’ll switch tracks, go with the flow and reveal whatever comes, naturally.
For the past several days I've been trying to write the end of BULLY FOR ME. Though I've revealed that my defense system raised a shield against pain, I'm beginning to wonder how much of that pain is still locked behind a door inside my head that's solidly locked or at least, nailed shut. Maybe if I stop trying to pry that door open and instead work at pulling out each nail, one by one, that door will swing open, naturally, as though on its own!
Though I've talked about working to extract subconscious pain from my mind, it's becoming apparent that ... Discussing pain and releasing pain are not the same.
Perhaps I can't bare this part of the story until I part with residual pain that proved too great to bear when I was a child.
If, in truth, my conscious mind is still blocking a storehouse of residual misery then this mental block makes sense. In short, I can't write objectively with clarity while my subconscious is processing through which details to filter through the protective wall that separates one raw pain from a series of traumas, which over time, have woven, together. One at three. One at five. One at ten. One at twelve ... All interrelated in mysterious ways ...
As I did not expect to flood with static while writing this story, perhaps my blog mirrors my life in this way: I cruise in clear waters until something about my current life seems to mirror an experience that blew my mind in the past. And once this emotional fog blows in from the past, confusion diminishes self trust, causing me to lose sight of my chosen path—today. For example, while being bullied I’d acted fine but felt worthless. As I know myself to be far from worthless and as I'm eager to write the end of this story, perhaps today's confusion reflects another layer of repressed worthlessness in the process of unblocking, at last!
Good grief—all I'd planned to do was finish one story before starting another. Instead I've got more brain work cut out for me than I knew. See what I mean about this blog mirroring my life?
When it comes to human nature, the truth lies deeper than that which meets the eye.
Looks like it’s time to retreat to Walden Pond until my mind feels free of confusion ... uh on second thought, perhaps I'll continue to show up to offer you a taste of what takes place when I’m wrapped within my cocoon in hopes of working (focusing) painstakingly upon transforming a mind, filled with emotional confusion, into a mind, reconstructing clarity.
Actually, I like that idea. As to you? Please feel free to choose to read into my mind or check back, from time to time, to see if the last details of my story have popped out ...
BULLY PART 12 ... AFTER OUTING THE BULLY ... WHAT NEXT?
Unable to tunnel, today
The year is 2012
Emotion running surprisingly high
Ding Dong Bin Laden is dead
Yet so much work lies ahead
Thoughts of 9/11
Cloud my mind
My Dad died in the weeks before—
Of natural causes—suddenly
At the ripe age of 87 in Mom's loving arms
Soon after we'd all gathered to lay Dad to rest
Mom flew to be where family numbers were greatest
In this way many, longing to embrace her
Could soothe her till self soothing takes hold
Our family had planned to fly out to join Mom on 9/12
Man planned, but God did not laugh
NO ONE laughed or flew on 9/12/2001
Fear of bullies terrorized the skies.
Fear of bullies terrorized our minds
Bullies must be outed
From compounds, caves—and minds
Bullies must be conquered
Before fear of flying recedes ...
Before planes soar, once again
Filled with minds at peace
Through clear blue skies
From nation to nation
And that makes me ask—
Whom amongst us shall work
To inject the mind’s of children round the world
With inner strengths and
Insightful, connective communication skills?
How might we best promote peaceful solidarity
Throughout our world at large?
How shall we link home after home
Around the globe?
As Effective Communications is ours for the taking ...
Answers to questions
Which cause tears to flow freely, today
May arise within minds, seeking peace, tomorrow
Thank goodness, tomorrow is only a day away, every day
BULLY PART 13 (END BULLY PART 1)
By Jove! I think I've got it!
I'm relieved to tell you that an Aha! moment awakened me at 5AM.
As you know, I've been struggling to quell the humiliation that branded me 'outcast' during this MOST embarrassing moment of my youth.
It's not as though I'd never told the end of this story before. I've opened that dungeon, many times. However, I'd told the story dispassionately—as though the main character had been anyone but me.
For the longest time I could not understand why baring the end of this story felt safe when leading seminars, whereas exposing this moment to you felt like sitting myself in the hot seat where an expressionless jury might dismiss the depth of Miss Piggy's humiliation as 'no biggy'.
No need to add that ...
Experiences during preteen development influence future relationships with the opposite sex ... right?
If you were to ask: Well, Annie, why could you sit in the hot seat 'in person' while leading seminars but not in your blog? I'd answer in all humility: I'm practiced at public speaking. I can feel when my listeners are rallying round with safety nets, befriending and supporting me on wave lengths, pulsing with positive energy. When the heart of my audience beats in time with mine, I feel free to leap toward self trust.
On the other hand, while writing this blog, I need to pump up that rising crest of trust by myself, within myself. For days I focused on strengthening this positively focused, mental wave. That's not to say I sat down, closed my eyes and did mental gymnastics or chanted yoga for hours. It means that while going about my day, I unconsciously, patiently steadied my mind until a sense of self confident readiness made itself known. Upon awakening today, I sat down to write, feeling instinctively ready to expel that horrendous memory from my mind—without fear of inflaming embers of residual pain, which had seared deeply into my self esteem when bullying had clamored so cruelly that the bus driver couldn't stand those mean-minded kids anymore than I could—So, having quelled vulnerability, here it comes—the worst moment, ever, of my preteen life ...
One day, utterly inundated with outrage, the bus driver slams his fist against the steering wheel and unexpectedly busts through the harangue that gangs up on me throughout each bus ride. Suddenly, the adult in charge expels a hugely shocking—GODDAMNIT!—while spinning the steering wheel so sharply that every kid comes close to be unseated and every brain aboard is unnerved!
With the bus swerving dangerously against the curb, the driver slams on the brakes, switches off the ignition, leaps out of his seat, and spins around to face down a busload of children, gripping their bench seats for dear life.
At first, the raucous mob is stunned to see the face of authority, splotched purple with fury, looming overhead. Next, the piercing nature of authority's steely glare—shooting bullets, straight into their slicked down, Brill Creamed, preteen heads holds every mind rapt.
During this electrifying stare down, tension is taut, as every brain snaps to attention, like troops trapped behind enemy lines, awaiting orders to retreat in defeat or defend themselves to a man. Though this solid state of suspended apprehension lasts mere seconds, the memory of what shatters this pregnant pause sends chills down my spine to this day.
Empowered by righteous indignation, these words roar out of authority's furious throat—
MY GOD! SHUT UP! SHUT UP! WHAT'S WRONG WITH YOU, GUYS? FOR GOD SAKE—LEAVE HER ALONE! SOME DAY, EVERY ONE OF YOU JERKS IS GOING TO BEG THIS GIRL FOR A DATE!
In retrospect, it's obvious that my friend meant well.
Unfortunately, this scene does not end well for me.
Once shock subsides, comprehension hits, and all hell breaks loose as a bus load of hysteria drowns out the voice of authority. With ridiculous thoughts of any guy ever wanting to date someone who looked like me, bedlam reigns supreme ...
BULLY PART 14 (END BULLY PART 2)
Oh my God!
I can't believe what just happened! I mean truly—right now—as in—this very minute, while I’m writing with my adult mind, today!
I sat down, ready to write BULLY, END part 2 when I heard something huge cRaSh! to the floor! Jumping up from the computer, I dashed into the living room and was speechless to see that a large piece of art (4'X4' square in a box made of plexiglass) had fallen off the wall! Guess it had been hanging by a thread for quite a while... After taking time to collect myself, I sat back down to write and here's what emerged from my mind:
Who's to say when two things, which seem solidly connected, like a painting to a wall, unexpectedly separate—suggesting that a process of growing apart has actually been taking place for quite some time. Reminds me of relationships, which seem solid on the surface while, in truth, a pair of interwoven hearts have long been in the process of quietly tearing apart.
So let's see—where was I? Oh yes ... I'd left you hanging on to the-voice-of-authority's rant, causing every boy and one girl to sit, gawking in silence, still as statues, fingers gripping tightly to the edges of those benches, eyes glued to the apoplectic expression of fury, contorting the bus driver's face until his words were understood.
Though not a sound is uttered, at first, tension palpates through the air as though everyone knows that within seconds, a time bomb, set to explode, will shatter the silence as fast as ragweed ignites endless sneezes—and low and behold ...
Pandemonium busts loose; demonic braying of donkeys ricochets off the bus’s ceiling, floor, windows and walls. As hilarity rocks that bus back and forth, every nerve in my body feels pricked by spikes of anxiety, stabbing straight through my forehead as though a machine gun’s bullets are attacking my brain—rat-a-tat-rat-a-tat—thus imprinting my self image with the permanence of this tattoo:
LAUGHING STOCK! UGLY DUCKLING! OUTCAST! ANNIE, NO GUY COULD POSSIBLY WANT YOU!
Now the bus driver can be seen gawking in astonishment as his well-meant admonishments are trampled to death by the riotous uprising of this uncaged zoo. Upon firing off one last, flaring glare at his mutinous charges, the captain succumbs to defeat, sinks back into his seat, and as I accept my fate and walk the plank, his spirit and mine go down with the ship.
Today, I imagine the frustration with which 'my friend' shoves the petal to the metal, diverting his route to make a beeline straight toward my house. And though my protector gets me home in record time ...
Imagine anxiety skyrocketing throughout me beyond denial's ability to numb my pain...
Imagine my body pressing up against the wall of the van ...
Imagine my head pounding with the need to fly free and escape my fate ...
As the bus driver pulls up to the curb and slams on the brakes ...
Imagine how this final disaster portends for my future ...
Imagine me, now, decades later ...
Pounding emotion into my keyboard with a sense of yesterday's pressure to get out of my skin
Imagine me desperate to leave that pack of laughing hyenas—who needle my insecurity if I gain so much as a pound, today—Jeez Louise ... someone save me from—memory!
Uhhhh—hold the phone ...
How easy it is to forget that ...
The only one who can save me from my past is me!
The only one who can free my psyche of subconscious pain is—ME!
Thank goodness I've learned to dive into the deep with a therapist, skilled in extracting trauma through EMDR!
As soon as the bus driver opens the door, Annie slips out of that van, a puddle of the person she'd once been. Quick as a flash flood, she sprints from the curb to her front stoop where she slams this door behind me. Then, leaning against my strong shield of family life, which shelters me from the outside world, I shut my mind to trauma, which aches to this day ...
If you're wondering whether I sang out in testimony to denial: Hi Mom! I'm home! What's for dinner? I'm starved?
Your guess is as good as mine.
What I can tell you is this: I'd no clue that my ego had suffered a major heart attack until I found myself wordless, short of breath, while trying to write the end of BULLY FOR ME in this blog.
In hindsight, I could not force my ego to get emotionally naked with fully clothed strangers until the self assured side of my brain accepted the sum of my parts as a high self esteeming whole. You see, it takes high self esteem to work, day by day, to peel layer after layer of protective armor away. Tis good to know that I've garnered the strength to bare a wound too raw to bear until now.
Whew! Peeling denial's layers away is tough work, but worth the effort because:
The only person who can strip away at my defensive layers, one by one, in hopes of coaxing my subconscious to reveal fears, secreted deep inside my mind—is me.
So now, having laid soothing hands of compassion upon my battered ego, have I managed to rewire this short circuit inside my mind? Time will tell. After all, instinct suggests that I still harbor a subconscious secret inside from an earlier age ... more peeling lies ahead ...
What I can say for certain is this: Upon awakening each day, every fiber within me is drawn to the computer—so hot am I to explore whatever spills readily out of my mind. And as each train of thought must be compressed into a post rather than a chapter, it's no wonder that patience is considered a virtue. In truth, the path of patience is often a trial to walk. And anyone who knows me will tell you that editing is not my forte :)
As for now ... BULLY FOR ME is not quite finis ... I mean, I need to figure out what to say to my parents to insure my never riding that bus, ever again ... Right? Right!!!
