Tonight I will be late for rehearsal.
Over three weeks ago when we received our schedule, I noticed the call time for today and told the stage manager that we would be arriving nearly two hours late (at the usual time) due to Muad'Dib's work schedule and the likely event of not having a babysitter.
I did not remind him and he did not remember.
I don't like feeling like a child caught in trouble.
When he called I tried to push the feeling aside as, "Well, I told you and it's your fault you didn't remember." I'm not sure that's far from the truth and yet . . .
I have a chilling fear, a throbbing anxiety that is slowly (over the last hour and a half) gaining strength: blurring my vision, my hands are shaking and it feels like a heavy wet blanket is hindering my ability to breathe.
Over and over through my mind replays an old memory: Me walking onto the "Deck" at Bonneville on the day of the last Tapestry performance. No one would look at me. No one would talk to me. Okay, one girl who said snidely, "Nice of you to show up."
Then I got reamed. I can't recall many moments in my life where I backed down from an argument, even with an adult. My defenses are up, armed and "fire when ready" quicker than anyone else I know. But this time. All I can remember was the sensation of spiraling into shame. Physically, emotionally and mentally. When i called my mother to pick me up, she could barely understand me between the sobs.
I feel like that scared little girl again.
Why?
I didn't do anything wrong the first time, I'm not so sure I did anything "wrong" this time . . . so why am I so consumed with fear that instead of getting ready for rehearsal I have to sit down and blog about it, hoping to cleanse the wound: hoping it will heal faster.
I don't want to go to rehearsal afraid. But I am afraid: afraid that in the short time between 5:15pm and when we arrive at 7:20 pm everyone will have turned against me. They will all hate me. Moreover, they will all just look at me sideways, with anger in their eyes: accusations I would not be allowed to answer because they would not be voiced.
I can see what these two situations have in common so far, but I sincerely hope they turn out differently. Why am I so afraid? What could any one of them possibly do to me?
I don't know.
Yet I fear. Yet my head spins with the cotton-ball-like numbness that is my defense against anxiety: Overload of feeling, must disengage.
Perhaps that's the answer: disengage.
Because truly, all I can control is my behavior when I walk in, and my reaction to anything anyone says. Nothing more. I can decide now what manner in which I will behave . . . and yet even these things, these ideas of control do not comfort me.
I am still afraid.
Why?
5 comments:
Maybe not ask yourself why you are afraid, but ask why you didn't remind the stage manager of your schedule. Over and over again like a little child. We all forget things on occasion. If that's the case, no need to read on. Or did you really just want to see how unconditionally you are needed, appreciated and loved, so you unconsciously set this up? I've done it before. But, dang it all! I'm still learning I'd rather be happy than right, even about what I think other people's judgements are of me. People can judge me all they want - just as long as the judgement is accurate(the truth in context). Sure love you! You are awesome.
I would like to think that if I wanted to see how much I was needed and loved, I would find a more positive way of doing it instead of creating a situation that caused me anxiety and fear. Knowing me, I'd just go to someone and say, "Am I needed?" Of course, say that to Muad'Dib and he just tilts his head and looks at me as if to say, "Are you insane?"
Perhaps this experience comes around with similarities to allow you the opportunity to finally deal with it rather than supress a frightening memory that is like a canker. A blessing in disguise? I'm anxious to hear what happened. Know I love you.
What happened deserves it's own post. I'll get on that. It's very interesting. And I think Cowboy bob was right on the money.
A catharsis eh? I like to keep my demons securely stowed.
I fear because I care. Because the world has a blindfold with a pointing finger of unfiltered judgement.
Post a Comment