I hope my introductory piece gave a you a clear picture of my psyche: the tumultuous--yet tender--place, which I've resided in all my life. Early on, It didn't register, or I didn't care that I was/am more on the sensitive side. Then adolescence hit, and that's when I started comparing and questioning myself in relation to others. I didn't realize at the time (and still on occasion) that adolescence and onward is the time when society's standards regarding power and standards of appropriate behavior begin to weigh on the mind of its persons; the time when people want to claim their place in the very primitive dominance higharchy. All I knew was a lot of people seemed to hurt my feelings, and I seemed distinctly different from them. Let's just say, I spent a large portion of my adolescence trying to unearth why I was different. (That's not to say I didn't have any friends or was completely rejected by everyone. I just didn't have an abundance, and certain people, who weren't my friends, could sense my sensitivity and exploited it). But, I don't want to go too far in to the darker side of what my sensitivity seemed to bring about--atleast just yet. I'd like to ease you in, like a small breeze of sugary-tainted air, before summoning those heart-twisting, shattering thunderbolts.
Sometime before adolescence....
I was exiled to my room. I must have done something. Today, I obviously can't recall what that something was, but it was enough that my Father had sent me to my room, with no lights nonetheless. I hated being in the dark alone, sure it was comforting when my Sister was in the bed next to me: we'd chat about fuzzy characters from the television or share our innocent and shimmering childhood fantasies. But my Sister was not in the room with me that time. I was alone, and afraid of dinosaurs. Dinosaurs, that wanted to eat me. Why dinosaurs? Not so sure. Why did they want to eat me? Because they liked the taste of small girls with overactive imaginations that's why. I could feel them. My room was a hot jungle and their muffled growls and snorts enveloped me in panic. They'd inch so close then pull away, just sniffing with their dinosaur nostrils, waiting for the precise moment to devour my ripe and supple child-flesh. Green and reddish and scaly in this hot jungle with me. I was sure to die. I had to do something, so I positioned my head just outside of the steaming, sweating thicket. All the while keeping the other three quarters of myself submerged in the greenery. (Technically, I was still in the room!) Ha! My Dad would sure rescue me when he saw my ghostly painted face or heard the 'saurs exercising their jaws, waiting to devour me. Or maybe he wouldn't. I was going to die. My hands were soaked and trembling. I kept waving them incessantly, like two fleshy fans. My eyes welled. The darkness and the heat spread. Even with my head outside, it was all still engulfing me. I don't recall much else after that moment. I may have collapsed, or maybe I was so worked up-- I just don't know. But the next thing I do remember, was my Father, and his cooing, his cooing me to sleep; not in the jungle, but in my bed.
Sometime before adolescence....
I was exiled to my room. I must have done something. Today, I obviously can't recall what that something was, but it was enough that my Father had sent me to my room, with no lights nonetheless. I hated being in the dark alone, sure it was comforting when my Sister was in the bed next to me: we'd chat about fuzzy characters from the television or share our innocent and shimmering childhood fantasies. But my Sister was not in the room with me that time. I was alone, and afraid of dinosaurs. Dinosaurs, that wanted to eat me. Why dinosaurs? Not so sure. Why did they want to eat me? Because they liked the taste of small girls with overactive imaginations that's why. I could feel them. My room was a hot jungle and their muffled growls and snorts enveloped me in panic. They'd inch so close then pull away, just sniffing with their dinosaur nostrils, waiting for the precise moment to devour my ripe and supple child-flesh. Green and reddish and scaly in this hot jungle with me. I was sure to die. I had to do something, so I positioned my head just outside of the steaming, sweating thicket. All the while keeping the other three quarters of myself submerged in the greenery. (Technically, I was still in the room!) Ha! My Dad would sure rescue me when he saw my ghostly painted face or heard the 'saurs exercising their jaws, waiting to devour me. Or maybe he wouldn't. I was going to die. My hands were soaked and trembling. I kept waving them incessantly, like two fleshy fans. My eyes welled. The darkness and the heat spread. Even with my head outside, it was all still engulfing me. I don't recall much else after that moment. I may have collapsed, or maybe I was so worked up-- I just don't know. But the next thing I do remember, was my Father, and his cooing, his cooing me to sleep; not in the jungle, but in my bed.
