Almost Lisa: Pt 22, “Almost Ran Away”

 

Almost Lisa: Pt 22, “Almost Ran Away”

Who likes Poetry?

     “Dance” 

        "Dance like the world is awoken.

        Like your heart's never been broken.

        Dance as if you are the Fire of your own manifestations.

        Dance for Joy. Dance for Love.

        But oh, sweet, strong, beautiful Woman,

        Dance for you.

        For YOU are the Music which

        makes Life's Symphony.”

I almost ran away in my early teens. At around 8pm- tired of all the arguing and discourse my family chose to communicate with- I made up my mind, packed a backpack (barely), and climbed out onto the roof outside my bedroom to lower the bag down to the drive with a rope. Then I crawled back inside, casually walked downstairs, across the living room, and left the house. Scooping up my bag from the driveway on the way to... er... well, I didn't know of too many places to go. So I started out in the direction of the local high school a mile and some away. I had a friend who lived right across the street from there. Figured I’d knock on their door and say...um... what exactly? Irrelevant...

Midway en route, I passed a middle school playground and decided to lay down a while on the wood playhouse. I looked up at the sky, trying to figure out what my plan was. I knew I didn't want to be in a house full of so much anger (I felt it, too deeply). But my options were very obviously limited. As it got cold, I soon conceded that it was a dumb idea (I was a kid, after all, and you cant just leave your family at that young age). So I slept a while, wrapped up tight in a ball, shivering under the sky, until the sun came up. Then walked back home, through the door, across the living room, and back up the stairs to my room, and shut the door. My mother and sister were in the kitchen, having breakfast.

No one said a thing. No one noticed.

"Safe" is a powerful word. I've come to understand that everyone- in their own way- is trying to feel safe. To escape some lingering childhood belief system they've become beholden to in order to survive. 

 
I honestly cannot remember feeling safe in my life. Certainly not in my childhood (constantly escaping family drama, isolating in my room, having my privacy constantly invaded by my siblings, being made to feel vulnerable by predatory men invited into the house...). No one empowered me to handle how to develop into an attractive woman in a world of misogynists. If I had a dollar or an opportunity from every unwanted advancement and unwarranted objectification, I'd be wealthy and very successful. My uniqueness of character and varied interests was already isolating. But it's meant a lifetime of going my own way, trusting my own instincts, being unrelatable, uncontrollable, having to fight my own battles, and having my own back. To a fault.

I've had to tuck so many disappointments away in the back of my mind where they wouldn't remain obstacles. So my childhood memories are varied and fragmented. Like snapshots from some faded photo album. I remember them as a kind of slideshow:

       - Christmases at my grandparents house. My Dad and I passing a bowl of 

          Fontanelle cheese across the table so everyone had to smell it (we were the 

          ones  who liked it)

       - Mom, giving me a piece of gum as she pulled a sliver out of my foot (which  

           I adopted running across our old, beat up wood floors, barefoot).

      - My nephew taking a swan dive off the back of the couch as a child, but 

           landing on his feet at the base, smiling.

      - Our 120* driveway in the summer, with all its sharp, embedded rocks and tar

      - Dad hugging me in the kitchen when I was crying after a mean pubescent boy at 

         school said something misogynistic. I likely disrupted him from working.

      - The smell of late Fall, on the bus, in my uniform, off to school games and tournaments

      - Walking home in middle school school for weeks on crutches when I sprained 

         my ankle because our specific street wasn't designated to a bus line. School 

         was 2 miles away

      - Dinner with my family at a restaurant with a Beatles cover Band. I remember  

        then singing “Bye Bye Ms America Pie”

      - My sister coming home from college, playing the piano at 8am one morning 

         after I'd worked until 2 am, because she wanted attention (so mad).

      - Taking a field hockey stick to my hand the ONE game may Dad showed up-

         unannounced- to watch me play

      - My grandmothers “gift drawer” which always had extra socks in it for guests,  

         should they stop in on a holiday. Just so they had something to open 

      - Walks with my Mom to see music at Cain Park, then our stop on the way home 

        to grab ice cream comes (mocha and mint chocolate chip)

      - Saturday rehearsals with the orchestra at the Cleveland Institute of Music

      - Chorus rehearsals and performances in Severance Hall

      - Hunting down things my sisters would steal from me from their rooms

      - The one and only family meeting when my sister became pregnant

      - My yellow room which I spent weekends plastering with pictures and posters, 

          where I practiced music as neighborhood kids howled at me.

I was a bit of a prodigy playing the flute. When I was in high school, I'd auditioned three years in a row to attend the Chautauqua Summer Music Program. I was accepted every time, but could never afford the tuition. On the third attempt (the last opportunity I could audition before graduating) I decided I would raise the money to go. I prepared a repertoire, both playing the flute and singing, with my sister (an accomplished pianist) to accompany me. We sent out mail to every relative and neighbor, inviting them, then baked like our lives depended on it. 

On the day, dozens of my own extended family (including my grandparents who never missed my performances) came to support and donate, raising just over the amount necessary. I couldn't believe they did that for me! And it turned out to be one of the most memorable experiences of my teens. Not only did I have the summer away from the house, but we performed extraordinary works for the summer patrons. It was just what I needed. And as a bonus, my awesome high school band director, Jim Bane, had a summer home in the community and got to see all of my performances. It was Jim who later helped me get grants and scholarships to attend Eastman. He believed in me. And I'm grateful for that.

For someone as loving and empathic as I was created to be, I am constantly surprised and disappointed to have lived so much of my life alone, fending and surviving, instead of celebrating and thriving. It just doesn't add up. The more I search within to heal, the more I have to accept that this is likely going to remain a solo journey.

Perhaps all empaths suffer Kuebiko. We feel things so deeply and specifically, it's hard not to feel physically and mentally exhausted. It's especially hard to feel safe when you don't have a solid foundation to build on. Growing up in an unpredictable environment, without healthy communication, where you feared confrontation for yourself and the people you love, certainly has it's challenges. 

Despite the work I have done (and do) to overcome, I'll be working on this for the rest of my life. And it's never more challenging than in this moment, in the silence and absence of work and community. The very foundation I build my career on is shifting from under me. I've been on my own most of my life. There's no "safe place to fall". There's no sympathetic ear. No one to relate to me or sing my song back to me. It's deafeningly quiet in my world. I need to dig deep for this next leg. Hopeful.

If you never had love, support or security as a child, there is only one person in the entire world who can give those things to you as an adult.

             It's You.

___

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