Anyone who has ever been involved in a therapeutic process understands that there are times when it just ain’t easy. As my therapist says “It isn’t a massage. It’s gonna get worse before it gets better.” Recently in this process of self-discovery I was pushed down memory lane trying to remember moments of my life that have some sort of connection to the person I am now.
Interesting, in this search I was reminded of several lines from a disturbing yet very realistic play. Marsha Norman wrote “Night Mother in 1991 and received the Pulitzer Prize for her work depicting the final evenings interactions between Jessie and Thelma (her mother). Jessie states that she will be ending her own life that night and wishes to prepare her mother. Thus, mother attempts to dissuade Jessie, to understand her course of action, etc. while Jessie does mothers nails, explains household processes, assures her that all the Christmas gifts are purchased and wrapped, etc. It is unsettling and disturbing how calm Jessie is in all this and yet the beautifully crafted dialogue between these two women cuts straight to the heart. In my own journey of self-discovery I have found some bitter truths in Jessie’s words.
“And I can't do anything either, about my life, to change it, make it better, make me feel better about it. Like it better, make it work. But I can stop it. Shut it down, turn it off like the radio when there's nothing on I want to listen to."
While I have learned to disagree with this thought, I certainly understand where it comes from. In reality, I have no control over my life. God does. It is His will I must search for in everything. But the day-to-day living is wearing and wearying. There are so many aspect of life I am helpless to change and often simply enjoying being alive, with all its benefits, is beyond my capabilities. Thus, the desire to simply make it stop, get off the ride, is pervasive at times.
Jessie’s speech that resonates so clearly with me is the following:
"I am what became of your child. I found an old baby picture of me. And it was somebody else, not me. It was somebody pink and fat who never heard of sick or lonely, somebody who cried and got fed, and reached up and got held and kicked but didn't hurt anybody, and slept whenever she wanted to, just by closing her eyes….That's who I started out and this is who is left.
That's what this is about. It's somebody I lost, all right, it's my own self. Who I never was; or who I tried to be and never got there. Somebody I waited for who never came. And never will. So, see, it doesn't much matter what else happens in the world or this house, even. I'm what was worth waiting for and I didn't make it. Me...who might have made a difference to me...I'm not going to show up, so there's no reason to stay, except to keep you company, and that's...not reason enough because I'm not...very good company. Am I?"
I see that same picture of myself and wonder where that girl went; if she was supposed to materialize and at some point something impeded her true formation. Yes, we all change over time and parts of us are altered or morphed by circumstance, by choice, by the influence of nature and nurture. What I’m talking about here is more severe; as if some essential part has been severed and the rest of me was left to figure out how to function without that necessary piece.
Her last line above-- “so there’s no reason to stay, except to keep you company, and that’s not reason enough because I’m not very good company, am I.” I cannot tell you how many times that very thought has run through my head even at this very moment, when I know for a fact I am very poor company. In those moments it seems almost merciful to those around us that they should be relieved of our depressive and needy presence. Years ago in the depths of my saddness I vividly recall truly thinking that others would be relieved if I disappeared and they no longer had to "deal" with me. Once that thought enters your head, it is impossible to erase. One must simply battle it back into submission.
None of us can ever expect to go back to the child we were but often we see bits of ourselves in those early moments. When I look at myself in those old photos I see potential, I see joy, I see budding talent, I see confidence…all things that right now seem shadowed by the clouds of life and reality. Maybe when the clouds clear I will see her again but until then the struggle to figure out who the real me is marches on.
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