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Kymberlie Ingalls is native to the Bay Area in California. She is a pioneer in blogging, having self-published online since 1997. Her style is loose, experimental, and a journey in stream of consciousness. Works include personal essay, prose, short fictional stories, and a memoir in progress. Thank you for taking a moment of your time to visit. Beware of the occasional falling opinions. For editing services: http://www.kymberlieingalls.com/p/editing-services.html

Thursday, March 31, 2011

Me, A Name I Call Myself

It’s funny, the things we remember, isn’t it?  Most forget what hurts them, choosing to remember only the “good times.”  I’m quite the opposite.  It’s like I was born with this built-in eraser that clears the chalkboard that is my mind, leaving only “Life is pain” written a hundred times in neat, repetitive lines.

Some think I suffer from depression.  Surprisingly, I don’t.  The only mental disorder I’ve ever had was believing in others.  How does one trust nobody, and yet believe their false words at the same time? 

Step right up – ten cents a peek at the Girl Anomaly.  See how she hisses, see how she strikes!  See how she cries.

A walking soap opera am I.  Writer of my own salacious, sappy dialogue.  Casting director of my own fate. 

“You need to take it easy for awhile.”

“I haven’t ever had an easy day in thirty-nine years.”

“C’mon, you’ve had some…?”

No, it’s never been easy to be little old green me.  Things were complicated before I was even born.  I was supposed to be a twin.  They discovered the undeveloped fetus when my mother had a hysterectomy some time later.  It wasn’t until years after she told me that I felt the weight of it. 

And every single day of my life has been filled with questions of “what the hell is so wrong with me that I can’t be loved?  Wanted?”  These aren’t questions that I reached and pulled out of my ass..  These were ideas planted by many, but I’ve always sucked at gardening, so constantly trying to weed them out has been a never-ending and futile effort.

“Here’s something to think about – do we ever learn anything when things are easy?  Comfortable?”

Oh – I do love a challenge.  Here’s your answer, Doc:  Of course we don’t.  I’m the Diane Chambers of learning – the perpetual student on a never-ending quest to “find” myself.  There isn’t a day that goes by that I don’t learn something about this big, bad world.

Do-re-mi…  Connect the dots for you and for me…

What I find is that most of what is learned is only a more painful truth than the day before.  I told a friend tonight that I may have recently discovered the identity of a stalker I had from twenty years ago.  He was my first. 

A girl never forgets her first. 

“Okay, so what did you learn?  Why does it matter?”

I’ve learned that if you’ve ever been watched.. if you’ve ever been followed… obsessed upon.. if you’ve ever been the unwilling desire of someone, when “crush” becomes “destroy…”  you’d never, ever, ask “why does it matter?”

Being haunted by such things is very much a chronic condition.  One that can be managed, treated, and medicated, but rarely cured.  I have so many ghosts, the closet door won’t ever close against their ghastly screams, their outreached limbs trying to pull me in. 

Do we ever learn anything from calmness?  No, it’s the storm that we remember, not the calm before it. 

And that will bring us back to do…

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