A thousand fears, give or take a few. After a while most of them just lumped themselves together into one big ball of anxiety, with a few jittery fears falling off here and there, mucking up a perfectly ordinary life. It was nearly impossible to keep them all trained into a single, manageable arm-full. I couldn’t do it. My fears always struggled and strained until I had no choice but to lay a few rowdy ones down and try and leave them behind. That would have been fine, even welcome, if they would just have stayed put, but they sprang after me, biting at my ankles until I was forced to lift them back onto the top of the unraveling, unwieldy heap of fears I carried with me everywhere I went.
And so my journey continued for years, without map or destination. There came a time when I grew weary of the road and wanted to find my way home. I began to see the landscape when I looked for it, rather than allowing the landmarks to go unnoticed again and again while I traveled in circles. Little things began to jump out at me, such as my mom mentioning a cousin of mine going through a terrible emotional break-down. He was much older than me and I didn’t really know him other than his name and family relationship to me. He was Uncle Rob’s son. I began to think about how secrets were kept in my family and I wondered what was in those closets that might actually belong to me.I knew about some odd proclivities my sister, Lark, kept hidden in the closet. She was three years younger than me and we took ‘sister’ to the next level; we were best friends as well. She shared her secrets with me and I did the same as mine came to light.
Lark was in her thirties when she married. She had needed time to work through some issues she carried with her along the course of her own journey. Neither of us recognized the terror we had faced as children, even after we shared the red car dream. Most of her memories were never recovered, simply because she had been too young to have them formulated into her reality. She found other ways to allow voice to her hurt and it wasn’t always healthy for her. She had some strange instances of stocking guys she was attracted to during her collage years. She grew past that when she began working, living on her own. I’m not going to tell her secrets here. Let this stand as a memorial of my undying love and respect for my sister. I lost her to cancer in 2004. An important fact I will share with you though; neither of us were ever able to become and/or maintain a pregnancy. That is important in understanding the irreversible damage done to the two of us in our childhood and the explanation of most of the 1,000 fears I have carried with me over the miles and into adulthood.
This isn’t exactly the chapter I intended to write out today, but D. Little T. is struggling. We face a hurdle here we didn’t exactly foresee. Talking about Lark is still hard, still filled with huge emotion not easy to put into print. I know she would want me to complete this step off into a more healthy mind, but it will have to wait. I write, then erase, then do it again with no better outcome. I am hours in with this write and still it’s not worthy of posting. My words toward the end are stilted and filled with dull, trite language. This isn’t what I want to do here. I’ll find the right road again tomorrow and then the journey can continue.
Maybe tomorrow I can write fast enough to leave a few of those horrid, clingy fears behind…
Today’s word is ‘journey’, a word longer than one would think possible: