Moving Forward

I worked with a counselor on the issues that caused the inappropriate eating Wednesday. I had indentified it as embarrassment over a fact I knew and forgot I knew and said I didn't know if I knew. The only people aware of my being wrong already love me and don't think less of me for being forgetful. But it bothered me. And the counselor put her finger dead center on just why it might bother me so. It's a long-standing character defect I can't quite pinpoint. Oh, I know exactly what it is. I just can't name it. Something like "embarrassment/humiliation/don't look at me/don't notice me/let me fade into the dirt, please." And the counselor suggested I write about the times I remember that being triggered. I did. Well, I don't guess I finished the list. I stopped at 84 of them I think. Just to give you a few examples....

• I was 1968 summer youth director for a church in a town owned by a petroleum company that was not Texaco. By definition, every family I worked with had at lesat one adult employed there. Before supper in a home one evening, I commented about the nice crystal glasses but went one step too far, saying at home we just drank from Texaco glasses.


• My kindergarten teacher had me sit in the corner for scratching the red vinyl top of a folding table, something "everybody else" had been doing--and stopped in time not to get caught.


• At a concert in a high school auditorium with my college band (class of 1969) I had an F handbell in one hand, a G in the other, and they were in the wrong hands from those intended. I played the wrong bell at the wrong time and was chastised by the first chair alto sax who sat in front of me.

I usually write rhymed, structured poetry to work through feelings and attitudes. This isn't rhymed or structured. But it's real....

Humiliation

Like two claws hinged
encompass my heart from behind
squeezing, gently but steady
cutting off
turning in
imploding the chest.

The warmth starts
from under the chin
creeping toward eyes
invisible hands
shielding my mortified face.

Don't look.
Don't see.
I'm not here.
I'm not me.

"How dumb can you be?"
"Stupid!"
"You arrogant, ignorant wimp."
"Who are you,
pretending to be somebody,
pretending to matter!"
"You can't do anything right."
"You're pitiful.
An imposter
masquerading as somebody.
Just quit.
Don't bother the world.
Enough of your crud."

Don't look.
Don't see.
I'm not here.
I'm not me.
For shame.