Sooo—clearly, I can't relieve frustration by gazing at photos of Ravi, all day, right?
Yesterday's bright idea to recenter my mind proved to be
A successful, short term plan
Upon feeling centered, I got busy brainstorming until
Three choices emerged from my mind:
Write the story of Will's childhood from scratch
Write around Will's childhood until my computer whiz solves my problem
Don't write, at all
Upon considering each choice, separately, here's what I surmised:
I don't feel like writing a story from scratch that's already been written
I definitely don't want to stop writing until late, next week
That leaves me with writing around Will's childhood, which
Means brainstorming, again, until clarity lands on a story that begins to write itself
Though I sat before my computer, staring at
This partially penned post for quite a while
Nothing inspired a story to emerge from memory, so
In hopes of sidestepping self imposed pressure, which
Stops me from achieving my goal
I'll entice my conscious mind to write a story by
Asking myself a string of leading questions, and
As right after those words appeared on my screen
These three questions popped out of my mind:
Why can't I write about high school?
Why did that question replace self imposed pressure with anxiety?
Didn't anything change in high school that surprised my sense of self, pleasantly?
Thank goodness my answer to question number three is—Yes!
I was more than pleasantly surprised to have been asked to join
A girls' club, peopled by freshmen, who were popular …
Hmmm—now that I think about it—each time I walked into
A new school, that which had felt normal to my self image
Changed in perplexing ways that confounded me to no end—
At my first school, reflective memory sees me as:
Happy
Healthy
High spirited
Bright
Eager to learn
Out-going
Chatty
Fun
A leader of my peers
My little sister's protector
Simply put: I was a socially self-confident child
No opinions come to mind concerning my physical sense of self, at all
Upon arriving at my second school, memory sees me as:
Happy
Healthy
High spirited
Bright
Eager to learn
Out-going
Chatty
Fun
A self confident newcomer, eager to make new friends—and
My little sister's protector
No opinions come to mind concerning my physical sense of self—until
I'd felt stunned upon being bullied on those
Hellish bus rides to and from Hebrew school—
At which time my self image felt utterly shocked to find myself deemed
Physically repugnant by that busload of boys so as to have caused
My conscious mind to seek refuge in denial as soon as
I'd step foot into that bus where hurtful insults were
Hurled at my physicality, four times each week—and though
My conscious mind was not present on that bus
Those insults pierced so painfully into my subconscious as to
Wound my self esteem as deeply as a soldier, whose psyche
Returns from war, battle scarred with PTSD, which
Can't be seen on the surface but cuts to the quick …
(Whatever that means???)
Need I remind you that as a preteen
Denial and PTSD were not new to me?
That my defense system had called upon denial to
Save my psyche from despair when
My mom depressed after Janet's death …
That just as denial offered my psyche safe haven from
The terror of feeling rejected at the age of three
My conscious awareness dived into denial to escape
Humiliation during those bus rides from hell, and
The same proved true each time
Denial saved my spirit from feeling
Utterly crushed when party invitations were
No longer addressed to me after
I'd been deemed a social pariah, following my first kiss
If you ask why my young mind, though deeply confounded, did not allow
PTSD to disorganize my decision-making process to the point of
Darkening my view of life so much as to
Transform my upbeat, adolescent spirit into a social recluse
My reply would prove as intuitive, today
As had been true of the state of my psyche throughout
Each emotionally discombobulating experience of my childhood:
At my core, I'd believed myself deeply loved by family, and
I'd had no doubt that girls enjoyed my friendship—As to guys—
Well, from the age of three, my dad had been my best friend—so
Intuition suggests that the strength of our friendship
Neutralized my fear of guys unless
Sexual attraction came knocking at my door, and
Now, having painted a simplified landscape, comprising
The complexities that perplexed my sense of identity during
The first fourteen years of my life, you can see why
My sixth sense set out on this back-tracking path in quest of
Self discovery, because self awareness proves necessary to
Healing the wounded portions of my psyche from PTSD
If next you think to ask:
So, what door is today's intuitive saunter down memory lane about to open, next?
I'd reply:
If today's stream of consciousness continues to
Track this same train of thought, tomorrow, then
You'll see fourteen year old Annie feeling shocked to the max when
Upon entering high school, a highly select, popular girl's club
Swoops me into a safety net where I am swept into
A ready-made social life, leaving me breathless with little time for
Beloved novels whose main characters
Had kept me company during junior high when
My girlfriends, who'd comprised the popular crowd, had
Stopped spending leisure time with me in favor of
Partying with preteen guys, who'd followed Joseph's lead
So, upon entering high school—no one was more surprised than me to see
My library books gathering dust next to
My princess phone on my nightstand, because
It's hard to concentrate on people in novels, who prove paper thin, when
Real, live girls and boys begin to ring my chimes—and suddenly—
The social pariah—who'd spent more time in denial than my
Conscious awareness could know—feels as though
Those lonely years, between eleven and fourteen, had never been (???)
Actually, hindsight suggests that once 'the excluded' found herself
Sought after and included, my spirit felt as delighted as
My conscious mind felt bewildered, and
Thus does it make sense to note that
My psyche could not help but harbor
Subconscious fears of the clock running out only to find that
My fairytale coach has turned into a pumpkin, again …
And now, having written this post, intuitively
I've gained a conscious sense of insight into why I'd spent
The first twenty years of my marriage being
The perfect wife, mother and lover (daughter
Sister, teacher and friend to all) for fear that if I was
Found imperfect in any way
Will would have reason to reject me, and
I'd find myself outcast and alone—Again …
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