Friday
Picture 2
SwedenSara’s Choice: both
Title:
All my life I’ve been looking for places to hide. When I was little, I hid for fun - in the closet, under the table, or behind the couch. I sat there, waiting in rapt anticipation for my parents or my big sister to find me. I giggled with joy as I listened to their voices, laced with pretended concern for my well being as they called for me, begging me to come back to them. In some ways, I knew that they just played along to make me happy and that they were aware of my whereabouts all the time, but I still loved the feeling of being missed, of hearing them cry and telling each other how their lives were not complete without me. It was just for show, but it made me feel loved and cherished. I was loved and cherished, and toying with the idea of disappearing made me realize what an impact it would have on the lives of my loved ones if I really did go missing. For a while, that understanding made me anxious about letting go of my mother’s hand in the supermarket, or losing sight of my family on the playground or the beach, but I grew out of it.
My talent for finding good hiding-places came in handy in school, in positive as well as negative ways. During my first school-years I excelled when playing hide-and-seek in recess, but my friends grew tired of never finding me. Once, they decided they had had enough, and just left me. I waited and waited, and when I realized they had actually abandoned me, I cried. I stayed in my place and didn’t go back to class that afternoon. I felt betrayed and ashamed, an odd mixture; betrayed because they left me, and ashamed because everyone would know that they left me. Everyone would know that I was the one singled out, the black sheep, the one not worthy of finding. They would point their fingers at me and whisper, covering their mouths and giggling, and when I would look at them they would quickly look away. I knew that. I had seen it happen so many times. That evening, my parents got the first of many calls from the teachers about my missing class.
From then on, I stayed out of the hide-and-seek games, with the intention to always be close to my friends so they wouldn’t leave me again. Unfortunately, that was a mistake. They suddenly seem to find me annoying, but I didn’t know why or what I had done wrong. It was as if the choice to abandon me during hide-and-seek united them closely and made it okay for them to freeze me out.
I quickly adapted to being “the lonely one.” I thought that, if I gave them time and kept my distance, they would come back to me. I wasn’t happy with it, but I figured that at least it couldn’t get worse. They didn’t come back, and it did get worse. A lot worse. And my skills at hiding came in handy again.
I usually hid in the woods behind out school. The moss-covered trunks and the leafy branches, the huge boulders and the uprooted trees, they were all on my side, offering me solitude, solace and security. The only difference was that now, I didn’t want to be found. So many times I decided to just stay in the forest forever, to disappear and never come back. Then I thought of my family, searching for me and calling my name like they did when I was little, only this time it would be for real. And I realized that if I did leave, then the sorrow in their voices, the despair and concern, it wouldn’t be just for show anymore. It would be sincere. I couldn’t do that to them. So I came back, every time, only to face my antagonists once again.
I survived, though. I’m grown up now, and I have friends who would never leave me behind. The scars are still there, and I still look for hide-outs wherever I go, just in case. It’s like a reflex, an unconscious act meant to prevent and protect. I haven’t told them what happened to me, and to be honest, I don’t remember much of it. I’ve repressed it, pushed the worst stuff so far away in my mind that I’m not sure I could remember it even if i tried. I don’t want to remember, but my therapist says I should. She thinks my life would be better if I dealt with it. I can’t see why reliving that would make anything better at all. I think those memories are perfectly fine where they are, banished from my conscious mind and locked away.
Today, as I look down on the big city below, I realize how much it looks like a forest. The skyscrapers reach for the sky, offering me millions of hideouts. It’s not like the forest at home, but it’ll work. It’ll make me feel safe.
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