Some people never get to experience love the way they want to in their dreams. Too many movies. Too many books. Too many TV shows…
We’ve dreamed because of them. While the original Grimm’s Fairy Tales and most of the origins of plots to even Disney classics were more horror stories than anything else, we’ve gone and watered them down, let them dry and coated them in sugar. Like donuts.
Eat too many donuts, and if you’re like me, you don’t want much else; coffee and donuts have often been my breakfast–and my dinner. But that’s no good. Everyone knows that, but we want what we want. We don’t buy things we won’t eat. You’ll never find butternut squash in my shopping cart.
Reality intervenes. Life ain’t no box of donuts.
What I mean is, we get unrealistic expectations and we settle on behaviours that harm us in the long run.
I’ve focused too much on the past. It’s because I’ve been stuck. Mental illness is not easy for those of us who suffer from it to deal with, and we’re all different. We have different backgrounds, different types of illnesses, and yet, like everyone else, we are expected to pull ourselves up by our bootstraps and go to work.
Some people do just that, as I did, undiagnosed and unmedicated. For 30 years I did that, driven by guilt, pressure and an outdated understanding of the many kinds of mental illness by the medical community. I was there. I lived through it.
Any behaviour that was considered notable by other children in school got you labeled as “weird”, “creepy”, “stupid” or a “retard”.
Besides, if you had a problem, you had two ways to go: lone wolf or class clown. Sometimes I mixed both but it never worked; I just looked like an ill-behaved “retard”.
I’m not crying about it. I can’t change it any more now than I could then. History gets to stay where it belongs. But now, in treatment, there are a few things I can look back on without bitterness. Without pain, even if PTSD does keep me stuck in dark places often.
Dreams of who and what I could be when I grew up got crushed early on. Soon I couldn’t even say what they were. Was it a cowboy or astronaut? Jet pilot?
One thing I did dream about was being loved. I grew up feeling alone, scared, and believing what my father screamed at me, that I was retarded, stupid, useless, a waste. That I was never going to be able to do anything normal. You hear it enough, from an early age to your late teens, and you believe it.
But if I wasn’t loved, I could dream about it. Most girls later on I wouldn’t dare approach; I was simply too scared of being hurt.
But first, there was Barbara. Thin and leggy like a foal, she dazzled me by honestly being pretty and loving me. Third grade. We spent a whole summer together, inseparable. We didnt care what we did. We loved simply being together.
How quickly that summer passed. All too soon, gone. We considered summer to last until the first day of school, then it was autumn. Lake Shore Elementary School in the 1960s already seemed old to me. It smelled bad. Some kids who lived in the sticks smelled bad. Hell, some of the teachers smelled like roadkill.
One had a constant downstairs-type of odor that I can’t forget to this day. I believe it’s curable now…
First day of school. Every kid was dressed up. Girls had new dresses with bows in the back, their hair in curls. Shiny new shoes, all the best stuff from Sears or Monkey Wards. Boys, well, some anyway, wore white shirts and ties. Not me, man. Blue jeans and T-shirts and P.F. Flyers.
There was a blacktop out back. When the bell sounded, we’d get in lines in front of teachers who called us by name. Until then I guess we just milled around, nervous. Barbara’s older sister, Susan, had worn black hose and one knee was ripped out, bloodied skin exposed, and she was crying. Kids laughed at her. Kids are sometimes way too cruel.
Barbara and I saw each other after school, visiting and playing until it was time for dinner, homework and a bath. Then we parted ways.
It was the only time I remember being unconditionally loved with no restrictions, no expectations, just innocent and wonderful. Nothing like that would ever come my way again.
She was gone before I knew it. Moved to Thailand because her father went to war. Most B-52s and strategic fighter-bomber aircraft sortied from carriers or Thailand. I hid the day her father brought Barbara by on their way out of town to say goodbye. I couldn’t say it. I couldn’t look at her, knowing I wasn’t ever going to see her again. There was no internet. No cell phones. No Skype. For one so young, you’d think it’s not possible to have a broken heart. Or for kids that age to truly love each other. But they can.
It was okay with her dad, stopping by like that. She asked him to. Told me a week before that they were going to stop on the way out. I just couldn’t.
I flunked that year. All my friends advanced. I rarely ever saw them again.
The second time around for third grade was little better. I had a girl in my class named Lee Ann, who I immediately loved, but never spoke to. Not that year, nor through sixth grade. After that I never saw her again. But I liked it that way. I didnt have to be hurt by losing another person I loved and had gotten close to. By that time too, I also knew I was a mess. I was showing visible patterns of behaviour I couldn’t understand, nor could teachers or friends. I held Lee Ann too close to my heart to take a chance on causing her any trouble. Or to get made fun of for liking me. And I figure that meant I respected her. Her best interests meant something to me.
Oh, others followed. Mostly crushes that were fleeting. Then high school. Two girls in two years loved me in their own way, but one has haunted many thoughts ever since.
My marriage was beautiful at first. I ruined it. Maybe she did, too. We made better friends than lovers.
There’s only been two women since who I have truly loved, and only one that I have trusted. She’s the last. My time here is limited, and the best is always the last. I’ve lived a messed up life, but it has led me here, and on this Thanksgiving morning, I’m very thankful that my heart has loved so many, whether they knew it or not.
Each filled my soul with light in the darkest of times. Each filled my head with peaceful, innocent dreams. And I’m so grateful, because each one had a part in saving me.
I’ve outlived some. Lost track of most. And most never even knew how much I cared. I have no regrets. Only gratitude.
So, to Barbara,
Lee Ann,
Kerry,
Donna,
Julie,
Phyllis:
You will always be in my heart and never far from my thoughts.
This is for you.
Happy Thanksgiving, and may you and your families be blessed with God’s help in these days of so much turmoil. Life can surely hurt sometimes, but you have touched people, and you each had an awesome part in my life, my dreams, my soul.
Thank you.
Memoirs of an American Asshole 