Enlightenment Lane 3

My third trip along Enlightenment Lane, I discovered open mindedness was not for the weak of will.

The next four years of my young life were a blur. First, I was busted making out in my closet with a girl from the neighborhood then, a younger boy, on down the line to an older boy in my bed, and then a girlfriend from school. Shunned, bullied, and labeled a tramp, I miraculously acquired an actual steady boyfriend, only to find he cheated on me with his ex girlfriend’s brother.

Forbidden to love whom I wanted, when I wanted, or how I wanted. With broken dreams, I reasoned running away would erase the mess I’d, unknowingly at the time, forged myself. At sixteen, I vowed to snare the next person that came along. Oh, and I snagged myself a real winner.

My first clue should’ve been when he slapped me across the face for teasing him, my second, when he beat the shit out of me for not empathizing with his ignorance to seek a dentist. And my third, when he, clad in cowboy boots, kicked his car full of dents, while ranting some insanity about “No one cares about him,” but no. I was too young, too pissed, too desperate, and by the time I realized all that, I was pregnant.

Broken and beaten, the last of my remaining self and will severed, I resigned to him and his convoluted ways. Dressing, walking, talking, eating, and fucking like the “lady” I should have been. Over the course of thirteen years, I believed his every word, took to heart, his every command, and shamelessly struggled to rid myself of my demon and its wanton behaviors. All, with his carefully guided fists and twisted logic to keep me on the straight and narrow.

Enduring life with the devil, I was blessed with three beautiful children, the most diplomatic way to state the fruits of an unwanted, and most often then, an unwelcome union. With age, came a touch of wisdom. At twenty-nine, I faced my forty-something image in the mirror. “Just who’s the crazy one here?”

Pretty much goes without saying that he was, of course. But, my answer to myself differed little from the numerous times I’d gazed upon my reflection. I knew my impulsiveness, selfishness, and insatiable desires had left a trail of misery for all involved. For my entire life had been formed through my unhealthy relationships. At the expense of others, I’d sought a definition, an identity, recognition that a person can only afford him- or herself. I realized for the first time in my life, I had to fix me. When he refused to listen, I followed my instinct. I tried having the best of both worlds. When meeting needy spouses in rented motel rooms under aliases and carrying on trysts in the gym parking lot were discovered, once again…I ran.

Running from him was little different from when I reasoned avoiding my hometown would solve my woes. Labeled a whore, a tramp, and admittedly, I was. I took on numerous counseling sessions – anger management, rational thinking classes, and countless group therapies for depression and anxiety, to name a few. All while maintaining a full-time job, running my own business, attempting to earn my GED, frequenting the clubs every free night, regrettably disrupting a relationship or two with my wanton carelessness, and somehow managing to pay child support, faithfully. The while, I argued relentlessly, as my councilors tried to convince me of my sanity.

I wasn’t crazy? Well, that was news to me. Thankfully, I had one councilor patient enough to help me lay it to rest.

“That’s impossible. You know the mess I’ve created throughout my life. If I’m not crazy, then what am I?” I asked.

“Who are you?” she asked.

God, I hated playing the sounding board game, especially that line. “I don’t know. I don’t fit in anywhere, no matter how hard I try.”

“You shouldn’t try. Not everyone fits into a category. In fact, most people don’t,” she said.

“Right.” Easy for her to say. Miss prim and proper, married, sexy-as-hell for a fifty-something year old, lady. And, I told her so too.

“What do you want to be known as?”

What the hell kind of question was that? Suddenly, the sounding board game seemed more palatable. It took me some time to think about an answer to that one. I didn’t want to be a lady, by any means. But could I reveal to the world how I felt? I eventually answered. “I want to be known as, a person who is dependable, kindhearted, and a hard worker.”

“That’s it?” she asked, and I nodded. “But, you already are all those things. I don’t see the problem.”

I looked away, unable to admit the rest. The risk felt overwhelming. Instead of pushing the issue, she enlightened me with her life story-which I will not elaborate because of the personal nature. Point being, both of us tugged at the last tissue in the box by the time she’d finished.

“So…You’ll understand if I tell you I feel like a man trapped inside this body? That, “cheerleaders” and the like make me nauseous and I feel like a drag queen when forced to wear a dress? That, I don’t understand how women think, or how they feel, or shopping, or the desire to domesticate things in the slightest? That, I hated every second of being pregnant, though I love my kids? And, that I view men as intellectual equals? That, I pitted myself against the every intelligent boy in school, equaling their math and art skills, coming in a close second in science, and ranking higher in every other subject, including drafting and shop, and would’ve joined the football team if allowed?”

“What I don’t understand,” she said, “is why, if you view women as you do, why you’re willing to have sex with them.”

Even I had a chuckle at that statement. Right then, I’d realized I was not only a man, but a sexist man…Sheesh. “Truth is…it’s always been easier for me to woo women into bed. Given my desire for sex, well it kind of goes without saying I’d take whatever’s available, no?”

“But, if you’d rather have a man-”

“The men who want me aren’t what I’m after. I don’t want to be some man’s sex object or wife, but I don’t want a man who is a wimp either. Anyway, the size of my balls scares the hell out of the ones I’m attracted to, figuratively speaking. I guess I intimidate them.”

“Well, who are you then?” she asked, looking a tad agitated.

“I guess, I’m…just me.”

She ended the session with a hug. “You won’t need to make another appointment. Have patience and just learn to accept yourself.”

That’s it? Well, her simple act of empathy helped me understand there are probably no two people alike and I am special, just because. Her kindness also helped me to recapture my will. I left her office anticipating where my journey would lead next, but wondering if I’d ever be accepted, just for me.

Disclaimer: Any names used in this series are purely fictional to protect the privacy of all involved.