This Wistful Autumn

She thought she could hold back the tide. She thought she could make her father love her enough to stay (her mother died, she had to give up on that). She thought being funny was a distraction, an alternative to pain. She thought she was unworthy, unlovable, and couldn’t forgive herself (or her parents) for the burden of her body. So dense, she wanted to be weightless. Food made her too heavy for flying, so she stopped eating, to get off the ground. Some people have flying dreams. Some people have dreams which they remember. I envy them.

Some people have parents who want to know them. Who ask them questions about their life. Who care about their soul. I envy them, too, but I’ve mostly let it go. Some things you learn to live without, because you have to, you have no choice. It pains you, but it pains people to hear your pain, the people who’ve grown to love you, so you keep silent, to protect them. Once, I thought the pain, quiet and undisturbed, might dissipate and disappear. An elegant solution, but I was wrong. The more you walk around it, the louder it calls to you, like the creepy guy in college who stalked me (he stood in front of the dormitory door, needing to talk to me. I, needing to be inside, picked him up and moved him over. Small and mighty (my astrological chart says I will not suffer fools, and that one’s right)).

I used to think unwanted memories would dry up and blow away. Autumn has come to me, in all its wistfulness, and I keep hoping the Spring and Summer of my life will be remembered by meadows and beaches, but I always end up with “the full catastrophe.” I see how I’ve grown through it all, every season with its beauty and I pray my Winter will be peaceful and not demented. My memories will be lovely and endearing, and when I laugh at my foibles, I understand my mistakes are altogether human and I am always and completely, lovable and worthy.

LBM 10/5/2019