“Why do I love so freely, so hard, and yet, it’s never reciprocated?” I retrieve my glass and imbibe the last drop.
“What is so wrong with me?” Tears now stream profusely.
“What have I done to deserve this?” My perpetual sobs now yield a blaring headache. Hyperventilating, I try to catch the last breath; reminiscing my mother’s departure...Holding onto her garment, only age 5; love was still cultivating, yet prematurely deprived.
My next breath inhales memories of the many loves I held onto…once found, only to be lost, while I was still holding on…I exhale, letting go of a ten year marriage.
“It simply is not fair.” A nostalgic image of the self I grew so fond of that I believed “she” was the answer washes away with the next tear.
“Why God, WHY??!!” I am trying to make sense of it all.
“Please help me!!”
A being emerges; sleepily. Approaching me, I feel a warm kiss upon my tear stained cheek.
The visual of innocence is now conspicuous as my ears capture a voice: “I love you mommy,” my daughter utters.
Her consequential embrace comforts me before returning to her slumber, no longer interrupted. I sob at the revelation of my answer, knowing that my daughter didn’t hear my cries, but it was God who answered my pleas.
Drained, I find my way to bed, and nestle alongside my two daughters.
As I drift into a serene sleep, I whisper “I love you guys,” and hold onto to my children a bit tighter.
As our dreams coincide, my heart rests peacefully.
Solidified, and content knowing that although I may not have any(one) to reciprocate the love I give so timelessly, I have (two) lying right here beside me; always holding on, and forever loving me…
Red. White. Clear. Dark. Mixed. Shot. Straight...to the head. Ache Why did you always take? Away No longer did I wish to be in bondage. Held-CAPtive Each time, you turned your back on me Stabbed--- Sick. Hung...over Indulgent-Satiated-Jaded I hated it No fun. You only had me tired from the run(s)………. Sick and Tired Always sick then tired Loss of time and energy. Fatigued. No damn reprieve...in sight Unable to see, give me insight I see Clearly Now cognizant Truth is: I was once a slave to the bottle
Today, I'd like to bid farewell to a lifelong friend. You have been in my life for as long as I can recall. We've had a lot of time spent together. We've argued, we've struggled, and yes we fought, but I refused to allow you to keep me in bondage. Only you possess the ability to stimulate within me the intense feelings of: nervousness and butterflies in my stomach, you make me sweat like no other, cause me to cry during my most vulnerable times, and relentlessly, you keep me blushing while bearing a smile on my face. However, our relationship has been quite tumultuous. You constantly doubt me, incessantly exploit me, and vehemently make a mockery of me. I refuse to allow you to hinder my progress any longer. No more in hiding, the removal of all fear, and weakened emotions eradicated. Although I have grown and have learned a lot from you, it is time for me to reclaim my life as I say goodbye. Sorry to disappoint you, but I have to break this cycle of imprisonment. It's been quite a roller coaster ride, but I am glad to have known you because through you, I have become a stronger person. You have instilled in me confidence, esteem, self-assurance, and strength. I thank you my friend for aiding in my transformation, and although you may disapprove, I shall now continue my life without you. Good bye my friend Anxiety. I wish you well, and may think of you from time to time, but I will never see you again. I release you to go on about your journey... without me. (remove the handcuffs) I bid you Farewell. Signed, Your life long friend Rayne
Anxiety is what has held me captive for the past twenty-one and a half years. Drug abuse violently disintegrated my family at age five, and in that moment, everything had been stripped away from me. The confidence, the nurturing, and the love which was once instilled in me, had all ceased to exist. My childhood consisted of being pressured into becoming the epitome of perfection. I constantly carried the labels of the "favorite child", the "pretty girl", "intelligent", and "teachers pet" which branded me the black-sheep amongst my family and friends. With no outlet for retreat, I began to shy away as I poured my emotions into my writing, dance, and cries that went unheard. I had always been said to be an eloquent writer, for this was the mechanism I often used to express myself while my voice remained mute. The assumption was that I was weak, when the reality was that I was never built. Like the caged bird that sings, verbal communication was non-existent in my world, so I conformed. Lying dormant and still mute, I awaited my chance to break free.
It wasn't until I reached the age of twenty-three that the startling discovery of my affliction was unveiled. It had taken eighteen years for a close friend of mine to reveal the symptoms and inform me that I was suffering from "social anxiety". Then it all began to make sense. I now understand that the smiles which I wore so frequently were mere gestures of nervousness; The lack of eye contact I subconsciously displayed was visual evidence of my lack of confidence; The need to cover my body and hide behind a jacket or purse, and the sensation of always feeling cold was in fact confirmation of my insecurity. Avoiding conflict, saving face, and being constantly taken advantage of were signs of my passive aggression. Not having the strength to say no, or voice my concerns and feelings freely were signs of my underlying weakness. The overwhelming desire to give an abundance of love, while ignoring the conspicuous signs of infidelity and lies was due to the fear of being alone. In this prolonged state of imprisonment, relentlessly trying to break free, my subtle cries were my only source of comfort, and I wept. Gaining strength with each falling tear, I yearned to be heard. Although my previously perceived "introvert" qualities were now given a confirmed name, I knew that this was still just the first step of my long journey to freedom.
My initial inclination for taking a communications course was to overcome my affliction with Anxiety. As we formed groups and collectively performed tasks and assignments, I gained a bit of confidence with each passing day. The class, only three weeks in length, had given me necessary tools required to build and sustain more meaningful inter-personal relationships. We were given an assignment to research one of the pre-selected topics and deliver a speech about it. Having never delivered a speech or a presentation, I was terribly frightened. Initially, I wrestled with the topic of my speech and the direction in which to present it. On the first day of presentations, I came to class with my prepared speech in hand, but still sensed that something was missing. As I gave my full attention to each speaker, I sought the opportunity to build the confidence to give my speech, but something in me forced me to wait. As I listened to each message, some boring, while others informative, something hit my spirit and compelled me to take my speech into another direction. I couldn't quite gauge at the time that this was the beginning of my spiritual journey of healing, but I obliged, and decided to give my speech a few days later after making several revisions. With each passing day, I'd find myself utilizing the information I gained from the course to better resolve situations I found myself in. The situation that proved to be most detrimental took place the day I was to deliver my speech. My mother who lives in Chicago called me at seven in the morning, yelling in my ear, and attacking my parental skills (for which she never had). Holding a calm demeanor, I didn't get upset, I just simply asked her to not yell at me, and give me the respect I deserved. Her unwillingness to comply took a toll on me, and I politely explained to her that if she could not give me the respect I demanded, I would have to end the call. The conversation ended with her hanging up in my face. Going on three hours of sleep and running late to class, my spirit was broken again, while I attempted to hide behind the façade that everything was okay. I somehow managed to hold it together, destined to not allow her actions to deter me from delivering my speech. My daughter in tow, I asked a friend if she wouldn't mind my daughter sitting in her class because I was uncertain if I could bring her to mine. As the speeches proceeded, I slowly began to lose it, finding myself unable to maintain my composure any longer. Thoughts of my past resurfaced, and I once more succumbed to fear. Fear of judgement, disappointment, rejection, and failure. As the time neared for me to present my speech, a sensation of needing my daughter there overcame me. I went and got her, desperate to "make her proud of me". She has always voiced to me how much she admired me, how I was her hero, and how she wanted to follow in my footsteps. With those phrases tattooed in mind, I slowly found my way to the podium. I thought "I can do this", just focus and remain calm. I wrote my name on the board, then turned to face the class and my daughter. Vulnerable, I looked around and opened my mouth, nothing came out, only silence. Unable to maintain my composure, I broke down and wept. After a few deep breaths, and some sips of water, I stood there again, naked. In a second attempt to exert my freedom of speech right, I managed to get an opening statement out by briefly sharing the events that occurred that morning during the interaction with my mother. I looked out at my daughter, and once again overwhelmed with emotion, I lost it completely. Uncontrollably crying, my daughter exited her seat, and came over to console me. My assurance that I was confident, that I was strong, and that I could do it, came in the form of my six year old daughter. After twenty-six and a half years, my daughter was the one to embed in me what my own mother had once stripped away. In that instant, I knew what I had to do. Taking a deep breath, I exhaled, regaining my composure, I faced the class once more. In full relinquishment, and with my daughter by my side, I delivered my speech. This time the struggle was minor, and although I read from the paper, I made sure to connect with my audience as I presented the speech. At the conclusion of the roughly four minute presentation, I became overwhelmingly empowered. Empowered because I had finally gained the ability to win the battle with my fears; Empowered because my own daughter managed to instill confidence in me for which I had always longed for; And even more so empowered that the succession of my courage moved not only myself, but those present that day to tears. The transformation that had transpired was the power of my inner child finding her voice.
My chains of slavery and bondage have since been broken. I now possess the ability without thought or reason to walk with confidence - my head held high. I am no longer afraid, nor do I surrender to the bondage of "Anxiety". Although a continuous and conscious process, I become stronger with each passing day, and ensure that my voice never goes unheard. The sweet melody, played by the tune of my voice, sings that I have arrived. Set free, like a caged bird spreading her wings for the world to see. Through the power of my experience, and the song of my voice, I now with assurance contend that I have been freed.
