What I Meant To Say.

I cannot seem to find within myself the connecting bridge between intention and the spoken word. In prose, I am gifted; able to not tell, not show, but invite you to feel what I feel, and know what I know. It is only with a platform upon which I am able to dump out my thoughts and sift through them, then find a way to organize them into meaning for you– only then can I connect with you. Odd, isn’t it, that our connection requires the presence of disconnection?

I used to believe that there would be a day I would grow into my thoughts. My mind would no longer usurp my ability to carry out conversation, but would in fact enable me to understand others, and make sense of things baffling me for so long. As I have grown, though, my mind has grown as quickly. My desire to acclimate took a backseat to the desire to create, discover, and journey beyond– further, always further than what I could make sense of if I stood still for a time. I found that standing still was more baffling than anything else; the reality of myself so far removed from what could be called normalcy. So I stopped standing still; now moving fast enough that no one could say for sure what my definitive shape is.

But you, the one who brought me into existence and told me to reach for the stars and believe in myself… you are the most disappointing of all. You are the most disappointed of all in your realization of my different-ness.

“Aberrant: adj. not normal; varying from the usual.”

For a long time, being an ignorant child shielded me. Then, I utilized everything I could to shield myself from the world, trying to blend in and be like everyone else. It wasn’t until I almost completely self-destructed that I stopped trying to cover what I came to understand as beautiful; the same time you stopped meeting my eyes. Once I realized you didn’t know me as the individual I was, I fought to destroy the image you had created as a stand-in. I broke my skin, my bones, my heart, and for a time, my spirit, until I gave up that fight. You can keep your stand-in; one day I will become immune to your neglectful silence.

One last time I will say to you, Mom, that I wish you wanted to know me as I am. You would be proud of the woman I have become, the child I have nurtured back to life and maintained, and the tranquil balance I finally found between the two. You might be awed at the beautiful, unaffected character added by the flaws I no longer try to hide. The organic impression supplied by the natural, unrefined texture in my words and expressions would be foreign to you; perhaps it would take you longer to appreciate. Most of all, there is a galvanized strength within my skin, my bones, my heart, my spirit, and especially, my soul– after healing over the wounds earned in fighting for my place in your eyes. A strength you cannot comprehend, because you have yet to fight that battle for yourself.

I wish I could make you understand the pain it causes me to see you dismiss yourself– greater pain than was caused in your dismissal of me– but you cannot see me. You cannot hear me. You refuse to believe that the one standing in front of you is an illusion you have created to suit your desires, in case I ended up disappointing you. I wish i could tell you not to be afraid, because I haven’t shaped into a disappointment. I wish I could tell you a lot of things, because you are my mother, and all I have ever wanted is for you to see me as I am, know me without restraint, love me without condition, hear me without judgement, touch me without hesitation, and feel me without assumption.

But you cannot seem to shake your fear, and I cannot seem to find the words that, strung together, will deliver a blow impressive enough to free you from your own mother’s grasp. Generational damage I did not deserve, but was lucky enough to escape by my own devices– and that is how I know that you are wrong: I am not innately wrong, I will not fail by seeking to discover rather than following a paved trail, and your stand-in will never replace the daughter I could have been, had you but let me in.

These are the things I mean to say, but have no opportunity– you see, I am holding out for eye contact, face-to-face interaction, and my own seat to open up once more.


4 thoughts on “What I Meant To Say.

  1. Nobody is in this world is alone. Even if you feel that way, believe that many people feel exactly the same way you feel. Depression, anxiety, fear, hatred, anger are all a common human experiences. Everybody goes through them or experienced them to some extent in their lives. Some more, some less. But so is happiness, joy, support, compassion, understanding, connection, love, peace. And those positive feelings are out there for you to tap into them just like the negative ones.

    I call my slips into negativity black holes. They are long and deep narrow holes in the ground, I am at the bottom, alone, in the dark, the space is big enough to just sit with my legs curled up or walk around in a small circle. There’s no ladder, no rope, no roots of trees or any other way I can climb up and crawl out of that hole. A total dispair.

    Way up high I can see a tiny shining opening with beautiful green grass waving over the edge now and then, a bird flying over occasionally, and I can sometimes hear happy people from distance to talk and laugh as they pass by and children shouting while they’re playing and I know there is a sunny day out there with normal people going on about their happy normal lives whilst I am down here in the bottom of the black pit and cannot get out for the love of me. And they don’t know about me. They don’t care. Just like I would had I been up there among them frolicking in the grass on a sunny day, feeling great.

    But I’m not. And I have no idea how I got into the lonely dark pit in the first place! Did I dig it up myself? I don;t know? I really cannot remember. If I did it wasn’t on purpose, because initially I liked being among people, in the normal sunny day with green grass waving and birds flying and children laughing. Did I get hurt, scared, humiliated, diminished, abused, ridiculed, dismissed, yelled at and wanted to isolate myself from it, escape it, shield and protect myself from it so bad that I started to dig my own hole for that purpose because there was no other means for me to escape it back then?

    Then suddenly I get up slowly on my feet and try to climb. Hopeless, I know.But still I try as hard as I can. And I let out a thought, a wish, a prayer like a beam from my head to leave this place. And it is aimed upwards. Right towards that sunny opening. Hoping somebody will pick it up and act upon it. And I start scratching the surface of the pit walls that surround me and fight fiercely dig the tips of my shoes into the ground to move at least one inch upwards. Sharp dirt is biting into the tender flesh that’s under my finger nails. I actually love that bit of a pain. It reminds me I am alive and CAN feel something. It represents that I am capable of meaningful action. It was even a bit comforting and a safe haven, a refuge for me to some extent. Protecting me from that happy sunny world out there that were full of all kinds of dangers in the past.

    I am sick and tired of the black hole all of a sudden and start to fight my way back up. fiercely. All of a sudden the depth of the hole is barely 6 feet. I don’t get it and I don care hoe that happened. It used to seem be at least 80 feet when I was in the darkest moments. But who cares now. A few skillful moves and I emerge out into a beautiful day. I am clean, my clothes, my hair, all immaculate, not even a trace of dirt under my nails. I am beautiful again as I have always been. Few days later a vague memory of a bad dream I once had about being trapped in a deep black hole in the ground….

    I know they exist. Most of them are empty now. Just like mine and are and starting to be filled with leaves, twigs, small dead animals and collapsing slowly into oblivion. But nn some there are still people sitting or walking around in a small circles, despairing. But I know now I won’t start digging my own any time soon. 🙂


  2. This is beautiful writing. I love your style and I totally get you. You speak from the heart of so many people and your feelings are not so uncommon. Many people feel that way but you are one of the few fortunate to put it into words so beautifully and help a great deal yourself and others that way. It is extremely catarthic and liberating to read and know you are not alone. Thank you!


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