Hi Chrissty, i know your struggle and it was mine for more years than i care to remember, around the holidays i read a post from somewhere that will remain nameless that describes her struggle and it hit home with me and i think many of us, it's not copyrighted or anything and i hope the powers that be allow it and it's quite long. She didn't name it but i call it the Playground.
I wanted to share the following highly figurative story that depicts
the struggle with my own identity.
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When I was a little boy I stumbled upon this strange playground. It
was desolate but for one small girl, who was sitting in a swing with
her head held down. She had such a sad disposition. I had never met
her before but somehow I knew her. I walked over to her and sat in
the swing next to hers. I asked, "What is your name?" "Natilie,"
she replied in a quiet and solemn voice, not even lifting her head to
look at me. I inquired, "What are you doing here all alone?" With
the same monotone whisper, she answered, "Waiting . . . ." "Waiting
for what?" I said. "To come out and play," she murmured. Just then,
I heard my mother calling me. "I have to go, my mother is calling me
home," I explained. With those words I left her sitting there.
I did not think about Natilie for some time and had almost forgot
about her as the years rolled by and I got busy with my friends and
with grade school. Then, one day I remembered the playground and I
went back there, in some ways hoping she was not there and in other
ways that she was. As I approached the location of our first
encounter, I saw the same figure parked in the same swing with the
same saddened countenance, but she was not a little girl anymore.
She had grown up somewhat. I was almost afraid to approach her but
something drew me to sit next to her. "It's me again," I blurted. I
was not sure what she would say. "Would she be angry," I wondered,
seeing that I had stayed away so long. "Would she be happy to see
me," I asked myself. She lifted her head up and looked into my eyes
and with a clearer voice she asked, "Is it time? Is it time to come
out and play?" Before I even had a chance to contemplate her words,
I found my mouth surprisingly uttering the words, "No." "I have
friends and school and my parents expect things of me," I explained--
"You just can't." I left in a hurry, hoping by some means that I
would not see her again.
Time passed. I was full of youthful energy and vision, given over to
the prescribed role ordained for me, coerced into believing that this
path would bring me happiness in life. Junior high, high school,
college, a great job, a wife, a house, and then a son. Natilie
seemed but a distant memory, though I did on rare occasion walk by
that desolate playground, but never went in. Then it happened on
one quiet evening while I was rocking my newborn son to sleep. I
heard this quiet sob. It was Natilie but how and why now?
Another year passed. I only heard that soft cry a few other times,
and I continued to ignore it. But, during one of my evening strolls
I happened upon that desolate playground without intent. "Huh?" I
muttered to myself. "How did I get here?" That soft sob had now
became a much louder cry. Out of human compassion, I sought out
Natilie in the dim light and found her in that same swing. Her head
was still facing the ground with tears rolling off of her cheeks.
She was no longer a girl but had become a full grown woman. "Why are
you crying?" I asked her with concern. She had not responded
promptly nor did it seem that she even acknowledged my presence.
Before I had a chance to repeat my question, she looked up at me and
her expression turned into anger. "How long?!" she barked. I was
taken back by her sudden shift in disposition and nearly fell off my
swing. "Why are you so angry with me?" I snapped back, not minding
her words. She continued. "How long will keep stealing my
life? " "Your life?" I remarked with protest, "This is my life." I
was not too happy about the tone of this encounter and got up from my
swing to leave in a huff. But, before I had a chance to stand on my
feet, she said in a very solemn tone of voice, "Before you leave me
here again, le me ask you one last question . . Are you happy?"
With that she turned her face toward the ground, blocking me out of
sight.
"Happy?" I could not stop thinking about this simple question. "No,
I have not been happy." I thought that I was happy. I should be
happy. After all, I have everything that anyone would want in life --
an education, a great job, family and friends, a wife, a house, and
now a newborn son. I should be on the top of the world, but alas I
still felt empty inside.
I could not stop thinking about Natilie, seeing her in the corner of
my eye, in the dim reflection of a store window, and hearing her
quiet sob in the distance. I became obsessed with Natilie. All the
years of avoiding her, trying to forgot about her, rationalizing her
existence, pushing her away, and for what? I could no longer fight
her. She had a right to live the life that was taken from her. I
knew what I had to do if I ever wanted to be happy.
I had a calm in my heart that night on the evening that I eagerly
sought out the desolate playground, where Natilie sat for so many
years on that same swing. But, as I approached the dimly lit area
where her swing usually hung, she was not there. "Am I too late?" I
thought in a panic. Just then, I felt a tap on my shoulder. Turning
around with a sudden jolt, I was greeted by a standing figure. It
was Natilie and she had a smile on her face. "Is it time?" she
asked. "Is it time for me to `come out and play'?" Looking into her
eyes, I responded with a smile on my face and in a gentle
voice, "Yes, it's time."
---
Happy Holidays everyone!
Natilie
Paula.
