Letting the "but" go

It seems since the dawn of man, people have been looking for validation. Did they do something well enough? Do they look good enough? Did they make the right decision? When do we stop looking for validation and have confidence in our own abilities? Why do we care what others think of us?

I ask this because I suffer from extreme bouts of depression brought on in large part by my overwhelming feelings of inadequacy. I have no idea when these doubts started cropping up. I know suffering from depression from the age of sixteen has brought on many a problem of its own. I manage the best I can without medication. Usually I do quite well. The insecurities I cannot pin point. I do know when I have something good in my life and am achieving levels of success, that I start to panic and doubt myself. I'm not smart enough, thin enough, pretty enough.... on and on... You get the picture. The depression coupled with the feelings of inadequacy is enough to cripple a person. Enough to cripple me anyways. I have a great future as a nurse in sight. Graduation is a mere few months away. I have a wonderful man in my life who adores me and my children. I have a home that is coming together the way it was meant to. So what is wrong? Absolutely nothing other than my brain working in overtime to find something wrong with everything.

I am lucky enough to have people in my life who love me and see things in me that I am not able to see in myself. These people listen to me and talk to me and show real concern for me. And I love them for that. But only I can pull myself together and start recognizing my own worth. I should know that I am smart, a hard worker, attractive, a great mother who has a big heart. I am fun and funny. I can be sarcastic. I quickly figure things out and can make quick decisions when needed. I know these things about myself. But for every good thing I know about myself, I follow it with a "but".... I'm smart but... I have a big heart but.... I have to let the "but" go and just stand on my own two feet and not seek validation.

Letting the "but" go.  

The Wait

There isn't much that marks the passage of time for her. One day flows into the next. She's not sure if it's day or night or Monday or Tuesday. She is unaware and she could care less. She waits. She's not sure what she is waiting for. Maybe it's a sign. Maybe it's an acknowledgement. She just waits.

A plain girl. Unassuming. Average. To look at her, you'd never know the passion she has experienced. The love. The joy and heartache. She looks like the local librarian or the postal woman. Everything about her is so plain and simple. Brown hair, brown eyes, average height, average weight. She blends in so well. She could be a ghost. It makes it so much easier for her to wait.

A long time ago, she had a spark about her. An air of anticipation. To be around her, you couldn't help but feel the excitement. She looked the same as she does now but that spark.... Oh how that spark turned her into the most beautiful girl in the room. She was a true vision. When did the spark die? She's not sure. It didn't happen all at once. It went out a little at a time. She didn't notice it. That's how slow it was. Life went from a beautiful series of events to a waiting game.

She waited. Among the rooms of her home, she waited. She ate. She looked out the window. No one called. No one visited. She waited. Alone. She slept. She read. She wasn't aware that the seasons changed. That she grew older. She couldn't tell you if she was happy. She couldn't tell you if she was sad. She just was. And that was enough.

She didn't think about the past. About her love who left her for another. About her children who never were. About her parents long dead. About her dreams gone unfulfilled. She didn't think about the present. About her home gone to disrepair from neglect. About her lack of money or company. She didn't think about the future.... she just waited.

She was a ghost for all that it was worth. Her home, her tomb.

One night, as she waited, she heard a noise. It could have been a branch brushing the side of the house. It could have been a squirrel running along the roof line. But it wasn't. She knew it wasn't. She knew it was what she had been waiting for. She stood up. Brushed her hair back from her face. Smoothed her dress out. She walked to the front door. The spark... that spark that made her so beautiful before? It had returned. Oh she was beautiful. She shown with a bright light from within. She was transformed.

She opened the door. She was not scared. She was not worried... She just knew all of at once what she had been waiting for. She walked outside. She walked outside and into the waiting arms of death.

The Trunk

I inherited a trunk from my father. It was a steamer trunk. Old. Wore down. I had it for years. I'm not exactly sure how long I had it or how it really came to be in my possession. This trunk came to hold all the things I was ashamed to own but was even more ashamed to get rid of. It was more than just a trunk. It was my childhood.

This trunk... this dirty green trunk... it held the collection of dolls that I was given as a child. I don't remember ever even liking these porcelain dolls. These dolls with their blank eyes and their perfect features. The dolls that had costumes of victorian age or Native American attire. Not only did I not like them but I was scared of them. I was ashamed of them. I have no idea why. I just know that I put them in the trunk and never looked at them unless I had to go and add something else to the trunk. In this trunk that didn't even get a space in my home, I also hid my pageant trophies. The trophies for first place when there were only two of us in the pageant. The trophies that I hated because I hated dressing up and wearing makeup. I hated having attention drawn to myself. To earn these trophies I had to dress like Dolly Parton and pretend to have a talent for music or dance that I just did not possess. I knew I could not do it. I hated it. But I did it to please my mother and grandma.

The worse thing this trunk held... this trunk that I kept hidden in my storage building.... The snoopy's greatest statue that I was given by the monster who hurt me in a way no one ever would again. I kept it. I don't know why. I accepted it and I kept it. I loathed it.....

I kept this trunk for so long... I don't know when I finally got rid of it... rid of it and the contents that had given me such shame and but that I was bound to.... I don't know when but it is gone... The trunk is gone but the memories remain.

The Mural

Picture a mural on a wall. The wall is painted a deep purple, almost black. A tree, barren of any type of foliage stands off center. In the distance there is a small, shanty style building. The building is grayish in color with one window and a chimney. The tree is in the foreground and much larger. Walking away from the small dwelling is a figure. You cannot distinguish if the figure is male, female, adult or child. The figure actually is slightly larger than the dwelling but smaller than the tree. On the right side of the mural is a large building, four stories with a red cross depicted on the front. There are several cars out front of the building and people walking in all directions. The building is brightly lit in contrast to the small shanty. There is beautiful shrubbery landscaping around the building. Between the dull shanty and the brightly lit building is a long field. The field is covered with, in spots, flowers, and in other spots, thorns. There are also objects laying on the ground, some in heaps blocking an easy path through the flowers and others in singulars. Objects representative of obligations, bills, illness, and relationships are scattered throughout. Not all the objects are dull and gray in color. Some are bright and pretty to look at but offer a distraction. Throughout the mural, scattered about the air, are short phrases. “You’ve been accepted.” “You can do this.” “I am leaving you.” “You are sick.” The phrases are done in quotation marks and in a beautiful calligraphy. On the side closest to the four story building, is another figure. This figure can be seen standing on a balance beam. This figure can be seen to be that of a female. She is balancing on one leg, with her arms outstretched. In each hand, she holds an item. In the right a key, in the left a weight, and she is squinting off in to the distance. The details of her features are not important. Her dress is simple.