As a child I felt overwhelmed by things and would retreat into shyness and solitude. I'd exclude myself from activities in the hope that others would see that I was alone and come to save me from that loneliness.
I'm pretty sure this began as a behavior when my mother got cancer.
I was five at the time, and my sister was two, we were on vacation in Virginia.
I vaguely recall my mother looking ill one day, something about food poisoning, then she was being taking to the hospital. I have clear imaged of the garden at my grandparents house, of the white, pierced metal table and chairs on a red brick patio. Memories of how green and humid it is around DC in the summer.
I don't remember actually seeing my other in the hospital, but I remember the hospital itself.
I'm told I refused to go near my mother.
That I thought she'd die if I touched her? Or maybe I was afraid that I'd die too?
That must have been very hard for her.
It was never talked about.
Eventually my sister and my Visas ran out.
My father told me that my sister and I would be flying back to the England and living with our grandmother, that he would stay in America with our mother until she was well again and then they'd come home.
I don't know if I believed that my mother was going to get better or not.
I'm told, although I have no memory of this, that after my father had informed me of what would be happening, he then went to talk to my sister, or would have if I hadn't jumped up and taken the task upon myself.
Apparently I decided to take charge of things at that point.
I told my sister what would be happening and that she needn't worry because I would be with her to look after her.
Shortly thereafter we flew back to England, my sister and I, a two year old and a five year old in the care of a British Airways flight attendant. Things were different in the 80's, people expected children to be competent in ways I don't see today. In truth, a five year old child can take care of a two year old on a transatlantic flight with minimal supervision.
I know because I did.
But it leaves scars.
I became very withdrawn after that.
It was longer than we expected before my parents were able to return to the the UK.
I would start the school year late and in a new school. I remember loosing a tooth in the class of a teacher who was very strict, and sitting there with my mouth filling with blood because I didn't want to raise my hand to ask to go to the bathroom to spit it out. Another child in that class once wet themselves for the same reason.
I don't recall learning anything in that class other than it being ok to swallow a mouthful of blood .
After the flight back I didn't relate well to other kids.
My life had taken a turn towards adulthood too soon, and so I held myself apart form the other children. I'd also become painfully shy and found it difficult to make friends. It didn't help that this was the age when boys are starting to play with boys and girls with girls. Gender lines were being drawn that made being friends with girls difficult.
After we moved back to Wales I was very shy for a long time, although for some reason I was never bullied. Honestly the kids I grew up with were incredibly kind hearted and drew me out of myself. Other boys let me be my own weird self without passing too much judgement if I was a bit girly at times, and things got better. As a kid I enjoyed things right across the gender line. Sword and dolls, Action man and makeup.
But as a boy, I always felt weak compared to other boys.
This feeling has stayed with me right up until a couple of months ago.
Transition has given me a sense of agency and personal strength I never felt before.
That tendency I've had my whole life, to let things fall apart when I feel overwhelmed, to be weak until someone notices and comes to help, to be that child who took on adulthood at the age of five and forever after was unable to admit that it had been too much, I'm moving past that.
Not trying to be someone else frees up a lot of emotional energy.
It's because of that that I've been able to handle things this past year that would have sunk me into a major depression before. If you know me, you will mostly see someone who's very direct, someone who takes action as soon as she sees it's needed. Someone who, and I hope this isn't vanity speaking, has her shit together.
What people perhaps don't see is that I'm no less scared than I was before.
While I'm stronger now and more confident in myself, while I'm proud that I don't let my fear overwhelm me and paralyze me into inaction, I'm still scared. It still hurts.
Transition is hard.
I am getting a divorce.
I miss my daughter every day I don't get to see her.
My mother did pass away this year, and I miss her too.
I have been through two surgeries this year.
I have spent the last three months without a permanent address and I still have no idea where my life is going.
I am still scared.
Tomorrow I'll be back on top of things and feeling fucking great that I'm still alive.
But just right now I cant see through the tears to type properly, because right now the Atlantic Ocean is just too big and I am too small.
But don't worry.
I'll be fine in a minute.
No comments:
Post a Comment