I typically publish only posts written from the light. The following writing is not such- it was written from a different perspective- the dark.
Laughing and light-heartedly trying to convince my good friend that I resemble Kenny Rogers, I recently dug out a photo of myself at 8 years old and in the third grade. I was fully prepared to laugh and make some good old fashioned fun of myself.
Anxious to decide what to laugh at first, I looked at the photo. Instead of laughing though, I was struck by the sadness I saw in the girl’s eyes. The pain. “Wow,” I thought, “look how sad she is.” She didn’t feel much like smiling, but the photographer told her to. So she forced the saddest tiniest bit of a smile I’ve ever seen.
She had just moved 2 1/2 hours away from the only home she’d ever known, and away from her dad. She made friends easily back home, but this uprooting and new place left her in shock, and she wasn’t up for the task of being social anymore.
She’d left with just her mom, her sister, and the clothes on their backs. Her last memory of home was saying goodbye to her best friend- the kitten that her mom had just surprised her with, letting her pick one out at the pet store for her birthday the year before. And an image that would forever be etched in her mind and heart- their two dogs- one in each front window of the house, watching them back out of the parking space of the townhouse they’d lived in and drive away, to never again return.
She knew those dogs didn’t understand what was happening and would never understand that they didn’t want to abandon them. She wondered too, how long would they wait and watch out those windows for their family to return? With heavy hearts and trying to choke back tears, a newly single mom and her girls left. They would never return.
Looking at the photo of the girl, I wanted to hug her. I wanted to tell her it would all get better. But that would be a lie. Things would change, things would get different, but not really better. She would keep trying, but the sadness would always resurface. The little girl didn’t want to be here. And often times she still doesn’t. She laughs and smiles but there seems no real and sustaining happiness.
It’s that same face that looks back at me in the mirror many years later.
Even now, looking at this little 8 year old girl in the photo, I wouldn’t know what to do to help her, you know. All I could do is tell her that she feels like she doesn’t belong here because she in fact doesn’t. She wasn’t built for this place. And that’s not very reassuring for a kid.
Maybe I’d tell her to stick with the animals.
Not belonging-
It’s as if I was abruptly thrown on stage in the middle a film that was already going on, and told to act. But I was never given a copy of my script or role and any guess I take at who I’m supposed to be or the part I’m supposed to play is completely wrong- so I just want to go backstage again.
It seems a paradox- when the only thing that makes you feel more lonely than being alone is to be with people. To crave the company of others only up until the point you find yourself with others.
So at least for now I’ll heed my own advice and stick with the animals.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I’ve got some Magic to get back to..
