Scar Tissue

Look at what I did to you
Forced inner scars to surface through
They couldn't see so we gave them proof
Now these scars must be hidden, too.

Transported: Part 3

Unexpected Accidents

One cold winter day when I was 9 years old I was in a bus accident. People always give me a slightly confused/slightly amused laugh when I tell them that. It's not that bus accidents are unheard of (or naturally funny), but I think perhaps since I grew up in such a small, safe little town, something like a bus accident is simply unexpected. Or maybe they laugh because we crashed into a garbage truck.

We were on our second to last stop, picking up Sarah P., on that cloudy morning. There must have been a sleet or ice storm earlier in the day because the roads were a lot slicker than usual, even for Wisconsin. We started to drive to our last stop, picking up a bit of speed, when a garbage truck ahead of us suddenly hit the brakes, and despite Lee's best efforts to stop, we slid into the back of the truck.

It's kind of a blur, what happened in that moment, which is probably due to the fact that I likely had a minor concussion. I remember after the initial impact throwing us forward I hit  the seat window with the right side of my head and it made a loud noise. And, yes, it hurt quite a bit. I actually cracked the window with my head! Then I became aware of the kids around me - some of the younger ones were crying, a few were trying to get people ready to use the emergency exit in the back, but most of us were just confused and slightly stunned. I noticed that the door flew off into a ditch, and for some reason I thought that was incredibly cool. Instead of checking if the people around me were okay, I instead found it more important to share this exciting observation with them. I had strange priorities as a kid.

We shuffled off the bus and went to a house in the neighborhood to wait while things got sorted out. Ambulances came and a few kids were taken to the hospital, as well as our driver. I should have gone too, seeing as I had a terrible headache from cracking the window, but I decided to keep that information to myself since I hated doctors (plus I didn't want to get in trouble for cracking the window).

We waited for far too long (in my impatient, 9 year old opinion) for the parents to arrive. All I remember from that time was being bored, the people who let us stay in their house being kind of cranky and smelly, and their afghan blanket. I don't know why, but that blanket just stuck out to me.

Most of the kids got to go home that day because they were traumatized, but not me. Noooo, I had to go to school. But I had a headache! I was traumatized, too! Everyone else got to go home! None of my reasons had any effect on my mother. She really didn't seem all that concerned that we had been in an accident and was more so irritated that she had to come pick me up and take me to school. Looking back, I probably should not have led with, "The door flew off into the ditch! It was so cool!" What can I say? I handle shock and trauma differently than most.

In the end, no one was badly injured, including our driver. I think there were a couple broken bones, some cuts and bruising, and of course my unofficial minor concussion, but thankfully there was nothing worse. It was a really strange accident that left me feeling a bit disoriented.

There have been a lot of accidents in my life. Some of them happy, some of them tragic, but most of them have been like this one was: disorienting, confusing...unexpected. These "it seems like a big deal when it happens but it's actually not that bad" situations pop up over and over again in my life. It's hard to remember that oftentimes these unexpected accidents won't turn my world upside down, at least not for long. They just appear abruptly and threaten the usual. They may cause bad headaches and disrupt your plans, but generally it's just a momentary inconvenience; a story that you'll tell down the road to get a small laugh.

Transported: Part 2

Unexpected Fun

I recently saw my beloved bus driver who took me and my sister to school 18 years ago. It's funny how someone you haven't seen in nearly two decades can suddenly trigger memories you thought were long forgotten. In my opinion, Lee was and is the best bus driver anyone could ask for, and I was so pleasantly surprised to see him pass by--older, but still the same sweet guy, bringing a smile to everyone around him.

When I was 9 (and maybe when I was 8 as well...those years tend to run together) I was lucky enough to be able to take the bus to school each morning. Now, normally taking the bus would not be seen by many as something that makes you lucky, but I had something that most other kids didn't - I had the best bus driver I could ever ask for.

On top of his cheery disposition, patience, and obvious love of his job, Lee stood out from the rest because he would always play games. Each morning Lee would give us trivia questions to answer on our way to school, mixing up the difficulty based on our ages and interests. Sometimes he even gave us candy when we got the questions right! There are few things I love to do more than play games, which has been true of me my whole life. I wasn't the only one who loved playing Lee's games each day - every student enjoyed the ride. Even on our bad days, it seemed like Lee knew just what to do to cheer us up. It was evident how much he cared about each and every one of us. He made going to school safe and fun, two things that school, for me, definitely was not. I have a lot of painful memories of school, but I also have so many wonderful memories of riding the school bus.

I made eye contact with Lee when I saw him the other day and I couldn't help but smile, and he of course smiled at me, but in a way that made me wonder if perhaps he remembered who I was. I wish I would have told him that I remembered him from all of those years ago. I wish I told him how much it meant to me that he made going to school a fun experience. I wish I told him how glad I was to know that after all these years there are still kids that are lucky enough to have him as their bus driver.

I hope that I can have that same kind of impact on others. I hope that someday, someone will think back and remember something I did to make their life a little bit better. I hope that after 18 years, someone will remember my name and say that I made their day a little more fun, and made them feel a little more safe. And I hope that more kids are lucky enough to have people like Lee in their life - people who really care about them and never stop bringing a smile to their faces.

Transported: Part 1

The concept of transportation has been on my mind this week. I've been temping for my school district's transportation office and it's brought back some surprisingly lovely memories and triggered some insightful introspection.
I only rode the school bus for a few years as a child, but I've realized that I actually have some decent stories and over the next few days I would like to share three of those with you.

Unexpected Absence

When I was five years old I would regularly take the bus home from school, but on special occasions my mom would come pick me up. Every afternoon my teacher would wait at the back entrance with the students to make sure we got on the right bus or left with a known guardian. But on one particular day my teacher put me on my bus and some time later my mother arrived to take me home. My teacher had forgotten that I wasn't supposed to get on the bus that day, and according to my mother, her face completely drained of color when she saw my mom and realized what she had done. My mother has told me that this was one of the most terrifying and infuriating moments of her life, as every possible terrible thing that could have happened to me as a result of taking the bus home like I did nearly every day raced through her mind.
I was one of the first kids dropped off on our bus route, and she knew that I would have gotten off the bus before she was able to get home, so you can imagine how scared she was when she got back and I was nowhere to be found.

My experience of this event was not nearly as terrifying. I remember walking up to the door and it being locked. I tried again, thinking perhaps I was not the strong, muscular kindergartener that I thought I was, but no, it was definitely locked. So I turned around and sat on the doorstep, confused, and slightly sad that I had been forgotten, but it never crossed my mind that something bad might happen to me as I sat there alone. In my eyes, everyone and everything was good and beautiful and there was no reason for someone to hurt me, so why should I worry? Luckily, my bus driver saw me sitting outside as he started to drive away, stopped, and told me to get back on the bus. He clearly had a less idealistic view of the world than I did. I didn't really understand why getting back on the bus was a good idea, but my friends were still there so I was happy to get back on and spend more time with them.

I think we don't realize how much we love someone until their life, or at least your relationship, is in danger. When my cat never came home one evening, when my friend was in a bad accident, when both of my parents had life-threatening illnesses - these were the times that I realized how deeply I cared about these people. The all encompassing fear of loss - that pit in your stomach...few things are as painful. I think it's the not knowing that makes the threat of loss this dark looming cloud that seems to take over your whole being, if only for a moment.  But that overwhelming relief when your loved one returns, or escapes danger, or recovers - that is a feeling I cannot describe. I think my mom felt 10 times that kind of relief when she saw me get off the bus the second time. I remember her crying and hugging me and giving my bus driver an outpouring of gratitude for keeping me safe. I didn't understand her reaction at the time, since I never felt scared, but it has stuck with me all these years.

The older I get and the more I experience the threat of loss, the more I realize just how much my mother loves me. Sometimes it's easy to "know" that someone loves you, but for whatever reason, it's difficult for you to actually experience the reality of their love. This is unfortunately true of my relationship with my mother most of the time, but looking back, this moment is a concrete experience of her love. I may not always understand the way the my mother demonstrates her feelings for me, but I cling to memories like these that prove to me how much she really does love me. I can only hope she has these kinds of memories of me as well.

Silence

"Be silent."

This past week I've been reflecting on why I have trouble communicating how I feel (physically but also emotionally) to others. I've realized that one of the the overarching messages I've been told all my life is that I need to be silent.

The problem is I'm not a silent person. I'm loud. I'm talkative. I'm highly expressive. I'm anything but silent, but over the years I learned that in order to survive I need to silence who I am.

Side Note: I'm about to divulge more about my childhood than I normally do (to anyone, let alone strangers on the internet). It makes me especially uncomfortable to talk about my family, so I may be kind of vague. They made a lot of mistakes, but I still love them and don't want to hurt them with what I have to say.

Saying that my childhood was dysfunctional is like saying the arctic is kind of cold. Yes, it could have been way worse, but it still seemed like my family could never catch a break. We had issues. We had a lot of issues. And we were not allowed to talk about it (and if I did I would feel incredibly guilty for doing so). We couldn't let anyone know what was going on, because that would reflect poorly not only on us, but on God. Good Christians can't be abusive, addicted, manipulative, or depressed after all. They would never use those words, of course, but that was the message. Pretend everything's fine, look happy, be silent. 

I'm a very curious and inquisitive person by nature which is something that I really love about myself. It's also why I like toddlers- everything is so new to them and they have so many questions, often quite beautiful questions that we take for granted as adults. My questions got me into trouble with authority when I was younger (and even when I got older in some circumstances).
My second grade teacher in particular hated that I asked so many questions. It wasn't because I couldn't understand whatever it was she was teaching, but because I wanted to know more, and it drove her nuts. This was when we were first starting to learn more about the world around us and how it worked and I wanted to know everything. I questioned everything because I wanted to understand it. I was quite passionate about learning, just not in a way that my teacher appreciated. To quiet my questions my teacher would insult me and encourage the other students to do the same. She told me I was stupid. She told me it was my fault when other kids would act out. She stood by and watched kids do some rather horrible things to me and never punished them. Don't ask questions, don't challenge adults, do it the way I tell you to, be silent. It wasn't until I got to college and my professors encouraged my curiosity that I loved learning again.

I experienced a similar message in the church, only it was laced with shame and guilt. "Do you think you know better than God?" "The Bible says it, I trust it, so should you," "You don't have to understand it, you just have to have faith." Your opinion doesn't matter as much because you're young and a woman and a sinner. They never said it, but that was their message. Don't challenge the Bible, don't think about things too much, don't question tradition, be silent. (That one didn't stick, thankfully, but I did stay silent for far too long)

My whole life I have been tremendously accident prone. I've been injured more times than I can remember and have accumulated a handful illnesses over the years...it's almost impressive. But I have an incredibly difficult time expressing what's going on in my body to others - especially to doctors. I can never seem to find the right words, or I can't think of how I'm feeling fast enough for them, so they write me off. I can't tell you how frustrating it is to know there is something wrong with your body and having the people who are supposed to help you dismiss you because you are unable to accurately express what's going on inside of you. I figured out why this was such a problem for me recently (which led to reflecting which led to this post). 

So I've always cried easily. It's annoying and I can rarely control it. This (along with love of hyperbole) got me labeled as a drama queen when I was a kid. Because I was sick and/or injured so often growing up, my family had to endure a lot of tears and lots of "my ____ hurts." My family had bigger things to worry about most of the time, so any ailment that was not 'doctor visit' worthy was a nuisance to them. "Stop whining!" "Suck it up," "You're such a baby." Don't get me wrong, when I was seriously ill my mother would take tremendous care of me and was wonderfully nurturing, but her sympathy was unpredictable. I think my sister thought I was just trying to get attention most of the time, and was angry when I did get attention, so she never hesitated to mock my pain (this was just when I was young - she's very understanding now). I don't remember my dad being around much when I was hurt or sick as a kid, but he had his own pain to focus on so I tried not to bother him. 

Basically, I was mocked for expressing any pain that wasn't deemed serious. I broke my leg on a field trip in sixth grade and my mother had to drive out to the country to pick me up. She was so angry with me because I inconvenienced her and it wasn't until the doctors confirmed that I broke my leg that she gave me any kind of sympathy.
When I got older I developed chronic pain (and a host of chronic illnesses). If I paid too much attention to what my body was trying to tell me I would go insane, so I learned to ignore how I was feeling. I'd met other people with chronic pain that would just not shut up about it. They always had to one up everyone. "You think your back hurts..." that sort of thing. I was determined to not be that way. I don't want to bring anyone down and I really don't want to annoy you with my problems. I can't tell you how I'm feeling because I've been telling my body to shut up for so long. Don't be weak, don't complain, don't inconvenience anyone, be silent.

I've forgotten how to listen to myself because for so long all I've heard is that I need to be silent.

I want so badly to be able to tell you how I feel when you ask me, but I can't help but fear that if I do, you'll tell me I should have stayed silent.

Because it's what all the cool kids are doing.

So I actually started a tumblr for this blog before I started, well, this blog. So, if you're on Tumblr, you can follow me here: http://thoughtsfrommynotebooks.tumblr.com/

That is all.


Sorry I have nothing clever to say...

Some People Claim That it's Hard to Get to Know the Real Me

I don't like to talk about myself. There are three reasons for this:

1) I am a total liar. Refer to the first sentence.
2) I am far too honest. Refer to point 1.
3) I am one giant bag of contradictions. Refer to points 1 and 2.

The plight of an ENFP

I never finish anything.

It's not that I don't want to, I-

I never finish anything.

I mean, technically, I have but that's not really what I'm-

I never finish anything.

Trust me, it's far more frustrating for me than it is for-

I never finish anything.

I do try, I really-

I never finish anything.

Maybe one day I will, I hope, but-

I never finish anything.

Not even thi-

Lunch Haikus

Left overs, pasta

Bowties, penne, red peppers

Needs more seasoning

Carrots and dill dip

Make eating healthy easy

For lactose lovers

Chocolate bridge mix

But without the playing cards

We played in my mind

Sometimes I Question Your Intellect

I wrote you a letter today.
I confessed to things you wouldn't dream of.
I turned myself in for many crimes.
Then I realized that I had made a mistake-
I could easily continue to fool you
Just as easily as I can fool myself.
So I hit the backspace for approximately seven minutes,
And this is all that is left.
Which is why you should always use a pen and paper when you want to write a letter.

Limbo

I fell into the void
The middle of two extremes
Knowing both
Wanting neither
It's a strange place to be
It's rather lonely here
It's the happiest I've ever been

A Disturbing Lack of Punctuation

I don't think I will say goodbye

I’d rather sit and wait in silence.

I think the nuances of my face are better at explaining

are better at detailing

are better, even, at evading

the question

the expression

the emotion

We lack the words we so desperately need

language has so many limitations

so many complications

misunderstandings

Communication is a tricky thing

I don’t think I will say goodbye

I’d rather sit and wait in silence.