I’ve been doing a great deal of thinking about little-me and present-day-me. For all I know, there are more me’s than that, but I really don’t think so. I don’t have any of the symptoms of someone who has alters that take control, cause the person to have no memory of current day events, that sort of thing.
However, the chasm exists. And part of me has a huge deal of frustration with little me, and just wishes I could walk the fuck right away from her. I don’t want to deal with her shit, and I want a life that is free of the whole incest gift basket that I was the lucky winner of.
Part of me wants to kill her. Just be done with the whole damned thing.
One book I have that I have read over and over is “Yesterday I Cried” by Iyanla Vanzant. It’s really a great story of her own triumph over some horrid freaking things, including rape by her uncle. Like me, she didn’t just have sexual abuse, she got the Trifecta of Abuse, or Quadfecta, as K called it in regards to my situation.
Anyhow, the one aspect of her story is that she “stopped” being Rhonda, and became Iyanla. It’s been awhile since I last read the book, so I can’t recall the specifics off hand. I do know that she went through what sounded like a beautiful ceremony with her friends. Though I think that the ceremony was tied in to her becoming a…minister, for lack of better word, I think it also had to do with the re-naming.
When I very first read the book, I thought that all Iyanla described on her journey was incredibly powerful. I still do. I also think that the choices she made were perfectly right for her, and the spiritual progress she has made is undeniable. I am truly happy that she has found comfort and peace. She certainly deserves it.
But the next time I read the book, and the time after that, and all the times to follow, I tried imagining myself taking a similar path. I’ve thought a great deal about re-naming. I’ve thought about symbolic re-birthing. (not that that is any other kind I am aware of ). I’ve thought of so many different things, and when I cut to the core of them, it boils down to me wanting to be rid of little me.
To me wanting free of the living a life in the scratch and dent corner. To no longer live on the Island of Misfit Toys.
Right or wrong, I am guilty of having looked disdainfully at little me. I’ve wanted to obliterate the notion of her. To wipe out the reality of being defenseless, unprotected, powerless, and backed into a figurative corner, with no one to rely on for my life other than 9 year old me.
I certainly have drank enough alcohol and done enough drugs to kill her, myself, and a small village.
But in the end, I have come to believe that she represents some of the best parts of me. So what if she broke off from the rest of me? Walk a mile in her shoes, and most adults would freak. And is it a surprise that she doens’t trust people? Or that she doesnt know how to value herself, or a host of other things?
So the fuck what. She got through it. She’s a tough little thing, I’ll give her that much. She’s resourceful too.
And while I still have…and may always…have difficulties in “feeling” that she and I are one in the same, I intellectually know it.
I also know how brutually unfair that would be of me to just ditch her.
Undoubtedly, whichever part of me that is clinging to old ways of getting by is going to have to get with the program. We aren’t in Kansas anymore, Dorothy, and the things that saved us then are killing us now.
She fought so hard and coped with so much…there is no way I can just say
and not only abandon her, but try to kill her off for good. Not when I have more clarity than I ever have had. To do so would be willfull and premeditated. It would be murder of the soul.
I can’t do that.
I won’t do that.
On top of it being vastly unfair, I believe it is not in my best interest to do so. She holds the key to everything.
Sure, she knows all the terror and despair of what happened. She knows it on a level that the me of today does not.
I know that it happened. She had it happen to her.
But in addition to remembering how it felt and was to live in hell, she is the child from before the descent into the unimaginable.
She knows how to do the things that I want to re-learn. The things that I have had the pleasure of holding in my palm for awhile from watching my sons and being their mother.
Things like joy and barefeet in grass and the smell of springtime and clean light and innocence.
I want to give those things back to her. For I will gain them myself in return.
So while I’ve no doubt that Iyanla made the right choice for her in regards to Rhonda, I don’t think it is the right choice for me. At least not at this stage of my journey.
Though the pull toward a cleansing of the spirit…a re-naming…a re-birth…a re-awaking…the pull toward those things is strong…
but if I do them, it will be little me and me doing them together.