8APR22 Where Do I Go When I am Quiet, Part Two
Several months ago, I was asked to fly down to Florida and retrieve the snowbird I call mom. I coordinated with her to fly down during our school break so that I could bring my “host son” along. This school year, I am hosting a foreign exchange student, so it added another state to his growing list. To date, he has seen 10 states compared to his sister’s two states each during their exchange years.
Despite the shenanigans of flying to Florida, I did find myself drifting off into my own head during the two-hour painful flight. A screaming infant, a young boy who found delight in creating a strobe light with the window shade, and a two-hour stay on the plane due to the lightning storm upon arrival created a migraine for me which made me crawl inside the safety of my own head. “Go to your happy place” echoed in my head as I heard it in an Adam Sandler voice from the movie Happy Gilmore. So, I did just that. I went there to get away from the pain of the migraine and multiple back injuries that I received during my 24 years of military service.
After a very short stay in Florida, we left about 30 hours later. My host son wanted to make it back in time to watch his big soccer match that took place on Thursday afternoon, and I wanted to fast forward the entire 18-hour long drive that we would break up into two days of travel. We did spend the afternoon at the pool, and I was able to help my mom finish a few chores that needed to be done before her departure so that the house would be sustainable and protected for the next six to eight months.
As we departed Florida, I had a flashback to two years ago when I drove my mom down to Florida. That realization was that I had married my mom, not once, but four separate times! No, I did not marry my mother four times, but I had chosen four separate women who had similar characteristics as my mom. They all looked different; a tall half-Korean, a short auburn-haired Texan, a half-British/half-Puerto Rican, and a tall German. However, there was a trait in them that were all similar. I cannot truthfully pinpoint it exactly, but they were all damaged the same way to be blunt (and possibly offensive). I am not claiming to be perfect at all (because I feel at times, I am the most damaged), but their abuse stemmed from their childhood, and I feel that they have never treated it. They still carry this hurt around with them and it is apparent.
For argument’s sake, I love my mom to death. This woman is a saint in my eyes. All the pain that she has gone through in her life; working since the age of six on the family farm, raising her five younger siblings in a strict Catholic home, the death of her first infant child, two failed marriages due to cheating husbands, raising a granddaughter along with her children post-divorce, living paycheck to paycheck, a third marriage that ended in Alzheimer’s, and constantly bailing out a daughter to name a few hardships. Phew, that’s a lot and it is only the tip of the iceberg. However, I don’t feel that she has truly dealt with this pain. I feel that she escapes her reality by immersing herself in the problems of others. I listen to her talk about everyone’s health problems, the local gossip, and her ability to recollect the tiniest of details when it comes to non-historical events (i.e., how she bought this sweater in 1972 for 25 cents at a garage sale in this particular town in the Midwest and from this particular neighbor whose husband later died from this disease later on in life, etc…).
Within the first hour of travel, I noticed myself clamming up. I had tried to start/continue several conversations, only to be talked over or have the conversation distracted mid-sentence; “oh, look at that building” or “check out those cows” to name a few. I thought to myself that I am having a conversation with a three-year-old. The tangent and sporadic topics made it difficult to follow. Several times I would inform her that I had no idea about who she was talking about or that I was not following because I thought she was talking about this person only to be told it was someone else (who I am supposed to know but have no idea who they are).
So, once again I found myself crawling into my head and shutting out the chatter and tones of nervous ticks of those in the car (i.e., crinkling of plastic bottles, popping of knuckles, biting of fingernails, etc.). In doing so I started to reflect on my own life. Why do I clam up? Why is it that people talk over me when I feel that I have something important to say? Why do I feel invisible? Why do I pick partners that have these same traits as my mom? Why do these tones/ticks bother me so? Why do I find comfort in escaping? Why am I not good enough? The list goes on and on.
In the same breath, I switch to happier thoughts. I mentally begin to build things in my head. What supplies will I need? What will I use for the foundation of the tiny home that I want to build? Why don’t I convert my trailer into a camper, pack only the essentials, and drive off into the sunset? This list goes on and on as well.
Escaping into my head has gotten me through a lot of problematic occasions. During Survival, Evasion, Resistance, Escape (SERE) school, the escape helped me get through the beatings, the interrogations, the times spent in confined spaces, and the possibility of ever becoming a prisoner of war (POW). It also allows me to prioritize thoughts into categories. It makes me feel safe, that I can control some things in my life that I can’t control in reality. I can create, I can be me, and I can strategize ways to create healthy boundaries in relationships. I can ask myself “Is the juice worth the squeeze?” when it comes to the decision-making process for life events. I feel that I often appear as a daydreamer to some, but in my head, I can think/sleep on it for 72 hours before I act it out (I don’t like making impulsive decisions, I’ve been bitten too many times in the past and have learned my lesson). So, once again, where do I go when I am quiet? There is never one true destination but a matrix of problems and comforts that I can attend to during those moments, be it short or long periods of time.
