Not only has it not come true, not only is my life, my very self other than what I thought I wanted, I no longer want what I thought I wanted. I no longer want the fantasies. They have burned out. I exhausted the fantasy. And so new work has begun. What am I left with? I’m left with the sad scared girl I’ve always been, she’s no other than she that’s always been here, I just didn’t know her – I was so busy making plans for the other person I would be.
And so we have a lot ahead of us. We are getting to know each other: the different parts of myself that at one time I was ignoring, hiding under the bed, denying, forgetting, actively aggressively trying to kick out the door. There are parts of myself I’ve been ignoring for years. Other parts, I give them the cold shoulder when I see them. Some parts I’ve just denied they are a part of me. They must belong to someone else, be someone else’s responsibility. When it gets real bad I’ve taken a few parts to the execution chambers. I’ve even evicted myself from dark rooms I’ve inhabited.
But now I’ve called a truce—not just a truce, I’m actually opening the door, welcoming all the parts back in. They’ve come in slowly over the course of months—some are small, tiny little pixie girls looking sad and neglected; others are disfigured and hard to look at; a few are enormous—they take up almost all the space; they have big eyes and gangly arms; some are beautiful—absolutely radiant and dressed with such style I choke at the sight of them; some talk constantly; others I can’t get a word from them: serious and silly, calm and wild, neurotic and picky and plane. All of them are congregating, making acquaintance of each other.
Some find each other as though they are discovering their long lost mother or sister, other parts seem scared of each other, some won’t talk to one another, but no one is being pushed out, no one has to leave. Somehow we are all going to live together, somehow we are all going to learn to be ourselves.
The clan reminds me of some of the communities of kids I found myself in as an adolescent at various alternative schools. There we were—unwashed, rowdy, shy, all sizes, all a bit neglected and lost, but we had each other somehow—we found our way through the days—we argued and hugged, we made up terrible games, smoked cigarettes and snuck out late at night only to be found by others of us—who turned us into the community and made us pay fines—and then snuck out with us the next night.
What is different inside me—is that although all the parts of me are similarly lost—there is a growing core—a unifying energy that has the capacity to care, to love, to see through the bullshit—that unfortunately was not always present—except fleetingly and by accident at those schools.
So my single-organism-alternative-school lives within, and like many of those schools, there is no curriculum, you don’t have to go to lessons, it’s a do as you please kind of place—as long as you are willing to work with all the parts and not eliminate anything. And everyone has a vote and voice. I give over authority. I’m no longer in charge. If anything, I’m here to get out of the way, love you all and maybe let you know how you all feel inside and pay attention—you all need and want a lot of attention. I hope I’m up for this job! No wonder I have less time for everyone else.
This post is an excerpt from a book I’m working on. This entry was written on August 12, 2005.
This post is part of the series The Late Summer Garden of Listening.
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