The Alone Girl is a thinker. There is safety in one’s imagination. In one’s own mind, a world may exist where things are beautiful and happy and safe. There are no harsh words being spoken, no threats of violence, no hyper vigilance for what may come.
The chronic state of being hyper vigilant and hyper aware is achingly exhausting. Not only is the Girl maintaining a facade of normalcy, her body and mind work double time to protect her. She is perpetually on guard. On guard as a sole defender.
If there was an easy part, it was playing the role of a dutiful young lady. Trying to look well maintained on the outside while inside was a jumble of buzzing hornet’s nests, thoughts resembling swirling scribbles from a disturbed mind, and the ever-present desire to be somewhere else.
The Alone Girl learned life was easier by doing the “right” thing, pretending to be happy, and performing the tasks expected of her at a proficient level. It freed her conscious mind of space necessary for the anxiety and apprehension of what could come. Space that needed to be maximized for self-protection.
If anything, the Girl should have trod the boards. She was adept at assuming normal behaviors, a pleasing countenance, stabs of humor. Her own “private Idaho” as it were. Except hers felt like she imagined war could feel. She absorbed the gist of Edwin Starr’s song War. He told us war was good for nothing. Maybe if she had focused on “Life is much too short and precious/To spend fighting wars each day/War can’t give life/It can only take it away.” There was no time to focus, just time to survive.
In retrospect, concepts jump out like a smack to the forehead. “If only” becomes an ill-advised mantra. The mind and body achieve Herculean methods to survive. But like most well-oiled machines, once a threshold is attained and the mind and body are stretched to the limit-the machine breaks down.
Like many, the Girl thought she could navigate the dangerous shoals of life on her own. As smart as she was always told she was, intellect is impaired by pride and the drive to appear to be normal. Hope is a double-edged sword. Trouble will inevitably arrive, but there may be a savior on the horizon. That type of hope is an illusion.
“Danger there’s a breakdown dead ahead/And just maybe you’re in way above your head/I may burn, may upset you/But you know I’d never let you down…”. The Alone Girl absorbed Boz Scagg’s words as though they were true and accurate. It was just a song, another example of non-reality. Because she would be let down over and over and over.
The Alone Girl brawled her way through life, internally speaking. A lady never shows anything is wrong and goodness knows one never talks about it. There isn’t much more for her to sacrifice. Her physical scars attest to life in her “private Idaho.” Internally, wounds are festering amongst myriad disfigurement from a lifetime of survival. If the Girl was told “what doesn’t kill you makes you stronger” one more time, she would look at the speaker and tell him/her the truth. What doesn’t kill you makes you sad, anxious, and broken. It may give one the “strength” to survive…but at what cost? What cost?
Thankful to God for her ability to detach and envision a private fantastical life through her imagination, she retreats and recharges for the next life battle. And copes through expression.
Stories Are For Eternity 