There's No Place Like H{ommmm}e - Part II

(Con't from There's No Place Like H{ommmm}e I)

So, this "new and improved"-Amy-meets-the-world-show went on just like that..and for quite some time. The better I got to know this rather ballsy alter ego of mine the easier it was for me to call on her to take over. I have to be honest, I sorta liked this new get'er done swagger of mine that I wore on my hip like Annie Oakley's gun holster. It was way easier for me to hide behind that bad-ass, make-believe self-o-mine then to let my true self flounder about life all out in the open; it felt much less vulnerable to be "protected" by her in this Wild West world.

I can vividly recall feeling a real sense of relief that this side of me existed! You see, that 21 year old brain of mine - frontal lobes a good 4-5 years from being fully developed - insisted that it was high time that I got my proverbial sh*t together. Somewhat reluctantly, I accepted the "fact" that as much as I loved my footloose and fancy-free days of Grateful Dead following, Jersey Shore beach-bumming, bubblegum pink '64 Bug road-tripping, on a whim Tijuana Spring Breaking ... the moment had come for all of that fun, spontaneous stuff to be put WAAAAY behind me.

So, somewhere between point A and point B of all of that acting like a grown-up bullsh@tty bullsh#t is when the real me decided that all of that serious, keep-it-together stuff was not such a good fit for my laid-back, sensitive, day-dreaming, imaginative, go-with-flow self - and with that the REAL ME sorta just made like Dorothy and laid down in a field of poppies for a good, looooooong nap. Meanwhile, the tad bit bitchy, fairly black and white, better at coloring inside of the lines me took care of all of the day-in, day-out adult-ing business that "needed" to get done. And, that is pretty much how my gig went down for about the next 27 years, or so - with the real Amy safe, sound, and nowhere to be found and "Type A" Amy holding the reigns.

For years - day in and day out - the pushier side of me would continue to beat up on the real me, bullying the sensitive me into submission with a constant internal dialogue that revolved around being irresponsible and inadequate - yadda, yadda. This head of mine was often not such a fun place to live in of during those years. I had glorious moments in my life...don't get me wrong! I got married, had two babies, restored a beautiful Victorian, had pets to love and snuggle with, went to Europe, traveled to different parts of the country. I was blessed to have some really awesome friends and a family of relatives, distant and close, who showered me with unconditional love and support. I THANK GOD DAILY FOR ALL OF THAT! I do wonder, though, what it might have all been like if I had gotten to live all of those things as ME...instead of as someone that I was convinced I should be.

Yeah, yeah...shoulda, coulda, woulda - whatever. BUT, suddenly it all started to boil down to one bitter truth for me...I had become a phoney. I had become so NOT ME that there were many times that I was unrecognizable to even myself. Sometimes I would hear myself speak and think, "Amy, you are so full of sh#t!" UGH!! What the freakin hell!! I despise phoniness! This is when I began to realize that I no longer trusted myself...stemming from the fact that I actually believed that I also couldn't be trusted (there is a difference). This realization hurt my soul to it's core. Not to be trusted?! With what??? Myself? Living my life AS ME???

Then one day something very monumental "Glenda" showed up, but Glenda for me was a he. And he didn't have any wand in his hand - he had a cigarette. You see, I was sharing a smoke (yes... I still enjoy the occasional guilt about it now, either) with an old friend with whom I had reconnected with after many years of not being in touch - someone who knew the old-school Amy from back in the day...and liked her quite a lot I'm pretty sure. At some point I started talking about not letting this person and that person see me smoke because they would be so disappointed in me, etc, etc - he stopped me, looked me in the eye with a slight smile on his face, and said, "Who are you?" BAM!! While I'm still not sure if it was a rhetorical question or not...MAN!! do I wish someone had asked me that question waaaaaaaaay before then!! (I have to tell you, I think a part of me fell in love him on the spot for his compassionately hard-core candor.) In that moment, among all of that ridiculousness of trying to be someone that I'm clearly not nonsense, something became crystal clear to me. On that rainy graduation day of mine in Massachusetts I made a deal with the devil (a devil who resided right there... inside of me, never missing a beat), threw my truth to the wind and jumped on a yellow brick road paved out of fools gold and good intentions.

While it all seems pretty surreal to me now, what's even stranger is the fact that this "Let's Play House" scenario of mine is so damn common! This story - MY story - is played out pretty much exactly the same way each and everyday all around us, only with a different cast of characters. Hell, it might even be your story, too. And, while the story behind all of it is very insightful - possibly even amusing to some, in a rubbernecking kind of way - and a very valuable piece to the ongoing spiritual growth puzzle that I am working so hard to put together - the knowledge and understanding of our collective selling out really only answered a portion of my questions...the history part; it doesn't answer the "Now What?" part. It also doesn't answer the "How the hell did that sh#t-storm of unhappiness happen to me...someone who started out as such a proud keeper of the faith?" question. Or, the "Why didn't I wake up sooner?" question.

why, Why, WHY? how, How, HOW?

To be continued... (last time...promise)

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