Alone

October 19, 2019

“Madison, calm down, you’re only 24 years old.” “Madison, you’re only 24, it will be okay.” “Madison, chill, you’re 24.” I am hearing this a lot lately and I want to correct them on two points, but instead, I only correct them on one. I refrain from childishly pointing out that I’m twenty-four and three quarters, but I do let out a, “yeah but odds are this is my mid-life, so I’m entitled a crisis.”

Kandace and I are at happy hour and I can hear myself spiraling on about this mid-life crisis.  Kandace raises one eyebrow at me, a smile barely suppressed, with a drink in her hand, halfway lifted to take a sip, and calmly quips, “oh, do you want to go shopping for motorcycles now?” I’m startled into laughter, the tension within me breaks, and I’m reminded easily why we’re friends. I’m reminded why I’m glad I trusted her with this part of my life.

I cry after my parents ask in response, “why, do you plan on dying anytime soon?” I’m saddened. Stunned in disbelief. Did they forget? Weren’t they there? Don’t they remember the several, very real reasons why at twenty-four-almost-twenty-five I’m probably not going to live the same length of life most of my peers will? Do they not remember those hospital stays and doctors and tests and diagnoses?  

I feel an acute kind of terror when this type of thing happens. Every now and then, my parents and I will be on different pages when it comes to my health. We’ll be coming from different perspectives or we’ll interpret things differently or we’ll place different significance on a symptom or episode or something. It is incredibly distressing to me when this happens. It sets me off on an emotional spiral like nothing else does. I feel like I’m not getting their approval. But it’s not as simple as that. As clean as that.

I use my parents as a barometer for my own emotional response. All kids do this. Granted, most of the time kids do it when they’re infants, not young adults, but still. I know that I’m having the appropriate response to my situation based on how my parents are responding. I feel like I’m responding inappropriately when it differs. But then, when we differ, I feel resentful toward them for not responding appropriately and I feel disappointed in myself for overreacting or being too emotional. 

It’s entirely unfair of me, though. My parents are in Alabama and I’m in Washington, DC. We’ve now been apart for more of the time my medical issues have been going on than we’ve been together. I recognize this. My parents’ experience is different from my own. This is happening to their child vs. this is happening to me. Both valid and real, but different. Distinct.

I asked my mom about this after I had received very distressing news and had relayed it to her and my dad. They didn’t react. They let me talk, cry, sob, sit in silence, but they didn’t react. I was upset. I wanted someone else to share in my pain. I asked why they didn’t do anything? Weren’t they outraged? I was told I’m dying. Weren’t they upset? I’m their daughter! Why weren’t they feeling these with me?

My mom told me that of course she and my dad were all of those things and more. They love me such an indescribable amount. But they wanted to provide comfort and security to me. How would I be feeling if they were freaking out as well? They wanted to provide loving stability so that I could be solid in having them as shelter through this whole madness. How good is your shelter if it’s as fragile in the face of a storm as you are?

It’s a good point. I told her I appreciate that, but I need to know that someone else feels this with me.  

My parents are the only two people on the entirety of this earth who went through all of this with me. Other people have been there for parts of the journey, and I’m sure even more people will come in for parts in the future, but they weave in and out of the tapestry. My parents are in every thread. The longer I’m away from home, the more that happens while they’re not here, the times that it seems like we’re not on the same page, it feels like that thread is being pulled. I see the tapestry unraveling. I have to stop it before it does because once their thread is pulled,

I’m all alone.

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