You know we meet people for a reason. Yaga was one of the first Blogland friends I made. My dream and prayer for Squiggly Sundays has been that it would be a place people could come to contemplate their own life and open themselves up for healing. For processing of stuff that happened. There is lots of good stuff that happens in our darkest times, and we become the people we are from it.
So please let me introduce you to this amazingly kind lady who lives on the other side of the world to me. She is fun and herself and I just love her! This is Yaga from The Shiny Bubble
Hello everybody, my name is yaga and I blog over at the shiny bubble.
I am so impressed with the way Rachael shared her personal story here over the past few weeks, and I thought I'd give it a try myself.
The story I want to tell you is about my sister Rosie.
Rosie was not my sister from the start. I only met her when I was about 14 years old. Before Rosie came into my life I was a very shy child. Every moment I can remember from that time, all down to when I was about three years old, always has an underlying tone of insecurity and a feeling of not being good enough. I don't think anybody's to blame for that. It seems it's just the way I was born.
One episode I remember very clearly from these days is when my birthday was being celebrated in kindergarten. The ritual included me sitting at the birthday table in the middle of the circle, wearing a crown and birthday cloak. I think as a child, birthdays are just the best part of the year for everybody. But all I remember from that day is that I felt so ashamed because I was convinced that I looked horrible in the birthday clothes and how everybody was looking at me. I chose the most boring kids in the class as my birthday friends, because I did not dare to choose the ones I liked best, for fear that they did not like me back.
It got only worse when I grew up to be a bookworm and then a nerdy teenager, spending my time buried in books and the internet, for fear of going outside and doing the things that I really wanted to do. Because I could fail, you know.
But then, somehow, Rosie showed up and it all changed. After being one of the kids others giggle about when they walk by in my primary school class, I had spent two years in highschool in peace. People more or less left me allone. Everybody had enough to do for themselves with studying and then making friends and going out with them. I even kind of liked some of my classmates. After two years, the classes were being split up and reformed according to our matura profile choices. I was deadly afraid all summer break long. How would the new people treat me? Would they laugh about me?
When I stepped into the classroom, people were nice. Nice. They said hi. They chatted with me. I was over the top. And from that first lesson on, Rosie was sitting with me. Rosie was my sister, my partner in crime, she was everything I always wanted to be. She looked exactly like me, but she did not think that jeans were cool. Rosie decided that we would only wear skirts from now on. She said we would go make-up shopping. She put on loads of eyeshadow in the morning. She skipped and squealed, she flirted, she made friends. She was the quirky, squiggly, long-buried me that had come out to play. I found I liked being friends with boys better than girls. I think it was because the boys could see Rosie better. The girls would sometimes squint at her and see me behind the grinning face, and that made me feel uneasy.
So I stuck with the boys, and for the first time in my life, I was happy.
But sometimes, often when winter was on and it had been dark and dark for days and days, I would wake up and Rosie was gone. Sometimes she went away, just like that. And on these days, I would often not get out of bed. I just couldn't, because Rosie was what kept me upright, it was her who belonged to that class. She always stood in front of me, shielding me from sight and it was Rosie everybody knew. Nobody knew yaga with the teary face. The girl that felt exhausted by the effort of looking other people in the eye. The girl that had never known a day without a headache for as long as she could remember. The girl that sat in a cage together with various dark and unfriendly faces that shouted "You'll never make it!" "You're a lyer and a fake!" "You are riddiculous!" and other horrible things, until she couldn't bear it anymore and went back to sleep.
Sometimes Rosie was gone for a monring and then would drag us into school with a feeble excuse, assuring everyone that everything was under control. But the next time she went away and I looked into the mirror, I could see the stain of guilt had grown bigger, because all the frowns of my teachers, the suspicious questions of my classmates, the scolding of my parents and my very strong general social consciousness had added to it.
When Rosie stayed away longer, I would spend days in bed, pretending to be some kind of sick. Sometimes I had a migraine or a fever, which made things easier. On such days, I would only wake up to eat and cry until I could go back to sleep. I could spend 18 hours of a day dozing or sleeping without problems. Everything to make the voices go away.
The year after I left school I was diagnosed with winter depression. Now the days without Rosie had a name, but it did not make her go away less. If anything, it just made me dread the dark times even more. But Rosie continued to make me happy. Rosie made great friends at uni. She went bow shooting and fishing, she met internet friends and organised parties. You must understand, she was a really nice girl. She wasn't fake. She was as much from the heart as could be. Only me, I was fake and wrong and did not keep up with her. Rosie got us a fabulous job. She joined couchsurfing and we met 90% of the people I call friends these days. She decided that we should quit our job and go traveling.
But then, we met the Cat That Walks Allone, and he did not fall in love with Rosie. He fell in love with yaga. He looked at us, and he looked at the orange hair and the shiny eyes and the quirky shoes and the colorful clothes, and he saw the girl that was sad. And he loved her.
Befriending this boy was the first ever thing despite crying and sleeping and feeling bad that I did without Rosie.
I felt so vulnerable and guilty, but in a very strange way I also felt relieved, light and empty in the good way that a blank sheet of paper is empty. I went traveling then, but Rosie was grumpy and she often walked a step behind me, and we both didn't like it. I felt so guilty for not liking to travel. I shared everything with him. He listened. I could talk about everything. The first time in my life, I was not afraid or ashamed to be the way that I was. No, I was eager to share, I soaked up the healing he gave me. I was so grateful.
The first social event I attended to after I came back was dreadful. Rosie was there, but she was way too loud, her voice hurt my ears and I wanted her to go away.
I cried for hours that night. I shook, I cringed, I scratched myself until it hurt. I tried to hold on to myself because everything that had ever felt positive about my life was slipping away from under my grasp. I knew I had to let it go, but there was nothing, oh nothing that would be left except for the hurt and the dark voices and the boring, empty, scared little person that was me.
Only, he was there and he held me, and he spoke to me so that my soul would not get lost. He guided me through the dark seas of my underworld, he helped me look the sharks in the eye.
And when I surfaced, he was still there, and I was still there, and life was at our feet.
Rosie was but a memory, a bittersweet one, for she has taught me so much and we've had such good times together. I missed her terribly. I still miss her sometimes.
It's been two years since Rosie went away. My winters are peaceful, although I take care to get enough sunlight and be mindful with my resources.
The faces and voices are coming back all throughout the year now, but they hardly ever see me hiding under the covers for more than a few hours.
It has been hard to introduce my friends to myself when most of them only knew Rosie and wondered where she had gone and when she would come back. It was painful to see some of them turn away from me, dissapointed or bored or both. But it is a blessing to see that most of them stuck around and all but shrugged at the changes.
And I am still walking through the wonderland that is my, my, my own life, looking for the ultimate purpose. You see, I have been introduced to the fact that I have limited energy resources very early in life, and it seems that now I am looking for the one thing that is worth spending them all on. It might be an illusion. I might be butterflying from project to project, from interest to interest for the rest of my life. But I will keep doing it by myself. I don't need anybody to stand in front of me now.
The dark monsters keep coming back, but now I answer them, I shout back and sometimes I take my gluegun and I stick red clown noses on their muzzles.
If you have made it this far: Thank you!
Rachael says that squiggly sundays are helping her to heal and I tried to write about something that has been healing inside of me for a long time, and now as I type these last sentences, I feel like I've made a really, really big step on the way. Thank you for keeping me company on this part of the path!
Even if you don't have a blog and are interested in facing the challenge of writing for Squiggly Sundays, drop me a line. There is freedom in truth and being truthful to ourselves - remembering.
Much Love Rach xoxox