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© 2004-2008 Linda Escaip
"I may be grumpy but I like you."
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The Suns and Moons of the Grumpiest Girl in the Room.
My nose tends to run a bit when I eat.
Better By Now 26-September-2007
When I was little I had this huge coat. There was nothing more peaceful than sitting on the ground, buttoning all the buttons and lowering the gigantic hood over my head, which covered my entire lid as long as I sunk down a few inches. Instantly invisible. I could hear the other kids playing on the schoolyard but I was nowhere to be found. This was heaven.
Driving my imaginary car was another monumentally peaceful pastime. The cracks in the playground pavement served as the road, so I'm certain you can envision the hairpin turns requiring slick maneuvering. Everything was under control; I was a crackerjack driver. My friend Cindy and I would drive our imaginary cars during recess. We'd stare down at those cracks and fissures and make our way forward on some great journey—separately, yet aware of each other. I remember this blossoming sense of independence and adventure while driving my wonderful car that never broke down or required gasoline. In my imagination, I didn't have to be anyplace other than where I wanted to be. I cherished this so much I told Cindy that no matter how old I got, I would always be driving on that road. And I say it to this day: I'm still driving.
I am looking forward to feeling hopeful again. I miss that. I try to stand still and quiet and let it just find its way back to me without wanting it to death. I think you can want something so much that you can become too rigid and impatient for it to flow to you easily. At least that's how it seems to me. So I'm looking forward to the return of that vast hope I never took for granted. Nothing beats hope. Except maybe love, but they seem to often be connected. Love and hope for president.
Have you ever been in such a negative state that you dreaded your next thought? I've been there for a while. I'm afraid to heal completely. I realize that sounds crazy. Who wouldn't want to be entirely well? You can become attached to pain. You can become attached to what keeps you in a very safe place where you don't ever have to risk failing. When you are unwell, no one expects much of you, including yourself. You can get used to this.
I no longer feel comfortable where I am. As fearful as I am to leave, I'm more afraid of staying. It is this imbalance that is giving me grief. If I could stay in the middle where it's cozy and familiar, there'd be no cause for upset. But that doesn't suit me anymore, so the part of me that fears leaving is clinging with every broken, jagged nail to keep me where I am. It's flinging insults and doubts, too many to lasso or dodge. And the part of me that fears staying—the weightier part—is stuck in a groove, playing the same piercing scenes of the last 11 years over and over until anxiety is up and running.
I want to leave and I want to stay. Leaving is more desirable than staying. I'd rather live than die. Of the few things I know, one of them is that someday I will indeed die. But I seem to have developed a fear of living. I have accepted my inevitable death more than I have embraced my life.
Without my wounds I feel utterly exposed. I somehow have to convince myself I'll be perfectly fine in a reality where I am unimpaired; that I'll be OK even though I still feel disoriented in a world that seems to have gone on without me while I've been held up. Without my wounds, there is nothing to hide behind, no proof to show for the lack of accomplishments. But I don't even know what those accomplishments would have been. I've got myself thinking my life would be well beyond fabulous had I not ended up here.
When I don't stick to believing that everything happens for a reason, I end up feeling sorry for myself. And crying every goddamned time I hear some old song from a thousand years ago, which lures me into a past that is gone and makes me want to go back and change everything. Almost everything.
I have a lot of love in my life. Without it I would surely be dead. With it I have something to steady me when I make my move into the wildly spinning world. I don't have to catch up; I just have to keep driving.
Two things I have learned since high school: 1. It's pretty charming when someone who has a crush on you delivers a little sewing kit to your door, because they wanted to bring you a gift and that's what caught their eye in 7-11. 2. The popularity contest is never-ending.
Thanks for reading.
Linda
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