I am a story among millions - billions - a story that's rarely told and never heard. My earthen tones blend into the background and I am invisible. My muffled screams are drown out by the overbearing and excruciating noise of life. Long ago I fell silent by my own insecurities - the scrutiny I felt and still feel daily by judging eyes, more important words, and stories far better told than mine. I didn't even fight to keep myself on stage, I just simply let myself slip behind the curtain. I walked away, head down, heart heavy, and never looked back. Perhaps it was even raining and I didn't have an overcoat or umbrella. I just let the drops pelt me from above. Each point of contact was a mockery of this hollow shell - emptied long ago. A slight breeze would blow me away.
For years I have worked to reclaim those parts of me that I lost so long ago. The language consumes every fiber of my being, yet only occasionally do the words flow from me like a rising, flooding river at the height of spring - spilling over its encapsulating and protective banks and exposing itself to terrain unfamiliar. The power of the water rages at times. It cleanses, it strips, and it carries away that which is not firmly anchored in its place in this world. As my words escape from me, they move me along the surface with such depth beneath them that continually pushes me up and onward. Never shall I slip beneath the surface.
Broken relationship after broken relationship. Walls of unfathomable thickness. A hardness around my heart. The words stir inside. They blend and mix sometimes with such forceful collision impacts as they strive to break through and pour out. Once the levee is broken, freedom. My words know this. My story knows this. But my heart is tired and never wants to break again, so, it tries to maintain that levee, that stronghold which has been the buffer, the shield, and barrier complete with sonar and radar detection, infrared scanners, and laser beams. You'd think nothing was getting through. Honestly, hardly anything has. That which has successfully drilled its way through has always left an indelible mark, scarring my once pure, innocent, and beautiful self. I cannot connect no matter how hard I try. There comes a point where everything stops. I don't think I would know how to go deeper even if I tried. I feel like it's been a major missing piece in my puzzle of a life. I search high and low and it is not to be found. My journeys have taken me inward and outward and back inward again. Nothing.
My story was lost long ago. There is only one person who knows the beginning of my story and I have no idea who or where she is. Even if I found her, I don't even know if she would tell me. Perhaps it is a story she has erased from her life. Perhaps she has erased me from her life. There have only been three people in my life who have, in some way or another, communicated to me that they did not want me in their life. The words and gestures stung like 5 trillion bee stings. The pain was enough to make my heart stop beating. It took away my breath like a frigid winter's breeze, yet its icy grips were relentless and unrelinquishing. I thought I might die. I have learned that no one can give us closure to such things except ourselves. This is something I cannot understand. In theory I get the importance of moving on, healing. In practice, I feel like I am stuck in quicksand. I try and step forward. While I might gain some momentum, eventually, I get sucked back in. Those hurtful words. The stings. The self shame. The constant blows to any ounce of self-worth. What did I do that was so wrong?
The shape of my life - the words, the pages, the chapters - too long now have I allowed them to be crafted by others. Yes my story was lost long ago. Yes I am one story among millions - billions. But, I have a story and my story is worth telling. My words are precious and strong because they are mine. They are my ability to communicate what is inside me - all of my hopes, dreams, fears, sadness, and insecurities. My words - my story - it's what makes me real. I will forever be a wanderer, a traveler, a seeker within my own story. I will always play the main character, and I will always be the narrator and writer. My story starts with my search for meaning and place in this life. How do I connect with myself? How do I connect with others? How do I move beyond insecurity to hope and faith? How do I stand on the top of the world and shout my story for all to hear while my voice trembles, my body shakes, and tears fall to the ground, and still be strong enough to keep on shouting? How do I reclaim that which has been lost so long ago? Do I invent a new beginning or seek out the truth even if it can't be found? My river is only beginning to rage and it's only a matter of time before the the floodplain is created and the banks erode. This is just the beginning.
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