Freedom?

I went car shopping today. That in itself can be stressful and emotionally draining, but should it cause one to begin to tremble and cry? That’s what happened to me after I test drove a car I wanted to purchase. It wasn’t because I was excited about driving a new car, it was because it would mean giving up the car I had grown attached to over the past 7 years. The reality of the situation caused me to freak out. It’s not the first time and I highly doubt it will be the last time that I have such a strong reaction to facing a large decision and change. I think I may suffer from some form of post-traumatic stress disorder, let me explain.

For as long as I can remember, I worry excessively about dealing with change. If a change is about to occur, I immediately cling to whatever is familiar and worry about how this change is going to affect not only the current situation, but other things like where I’m going to live, what will my financial reality be, why can’t we leave well enough alone?

I sincerely believe it may have started when I was 2 years old and my father had an accident while putting up a newspaper press in Mexico. Incidentally, I just found out that on the exact same day, his mother had passed away. My mother, who didn’t drive much was put into a situation where not only might her husband die, but she also had to drive her 4 children to a city an hour away to go to a funeral, drop off her children at multiple relative’s homes so they could be cared for while she drove to the airport to fly to Mexico to be at her comatose husband’s side. I wonder, could I even comprehend what was happening at the age of 2? I mean, my mom probably took me to the funeral and then left me with my aunt for most likely weeks. I recall seeing a photo of me sitting in a big chair at my aunt’s home looking very sad. As the story goes, that photo was sent to Mexico and when my father became conscious and saw it, he said that he had to get back to his little girl. I’ll never know if the story is true, but it’s a nice story.

I suppose it’s possible that I’m still dealing with that sense of loss and fear of having to live someplace else without my immediate family, but I know this has been a reoccurring theme in my life. The sense of loss and fear about where am I going to live when my sister moved out of the house is the first such instance I can remember. I was 5 years old and I don’t recall the actual event, but I do remember being in the room we shared as she packed her belongings. She gave me a big thick pencil with a tassel on the top, possibly a keepsake from her high school graduation that I admired. She didn’t need it anymore because she was moving out, becoming a woman and she was going to have her freedom from my father’s rule. If she was leaving, would I have to leave too? Where was she going? Why couldn’t I go with? What does it all mean?

I most definitely remember the sense of impending loss and gut-wrenching fear of what was going to happen to me when my mother died. I remember kneeling in the living room folding her laundry that I had just figured out how to do on my own because she never taught me how to even turn on the washing machine, let alone do laundry and realizing that she was never going to wear those clothes again. What was I supposed to do them? Would dad let me live there still or was he going to leave too? We stayed and I became the lady of the house and figured out how to take care of things on my own. The house gave me a sense of security even though my dad constantly threatened that he was going sell the house. Every time he did, I felt sick to my stomach. Where would I go, how would I manage on my own? Living in this house gave me the freedom to go to school and be in plays. Yes, I was under my father’s rule, but he couldn’t control me, not really. I was free to leave it I chose to, but I chose to stay.

When I got married, I moved out of the house, but that was short lived. Life’s challenges brought me back to this house and living under my father’s rule. I was thankful to be here and to have his help with raising my children after my ex-husband left, but Dad didn’t make it easy. The threats of selling the house persisted, but I grew wise to his empty promises. I would tell him that it wasn’t an issue, just give me a heads up so I could find someplace else to live. However, if I were to leave we would both lose our freedom. He would be living under some woman’s thumb and I would be working multiple jobs in order to keep a roof over my children’s heads without any child support. No, staying put, keeping things familiar was the best course of action for all of us. It didn’t seem like it at the time, but it did give us both the financial freedom we needed to live our lives more freely. We were able to pay the bills by combining our resources and stay someplace familiar, safe and sound.

There have been a multitude of personal and financial losses over the years that I have endured with tear-streaked cheeks, but my next monumental loss was that of my son leaving to join the Navy. Nothing could prepare me for the gut-wrenching pain of watching him leave that day and not be able to communicate with him for months. I found projects to occupy my mind, like making curtains with my other son for my bedroom. That helped, but not as much as buying a newer car. Buying a more reliable car gave me the freedom to get the hell out of town, go where I wanted, when I wanted, windows down, music whaling and the freedom to escape my reality, only for a moment, but it was my moment and my car.

Eventually, I was able to communicate with my son, but he was gone, on his own adventure and finding a place where he finally felt like he belonged and was free from my father’s rule. We were all very proud of him, but my dad was in his glory watching my son graduate from basic training. My father would be so proud to refer to my son as our Navy man when he came home to visit. Then one day, a few years later, dad didn’t even know who my son was when he came to visit. Shortly thereafter, my dad passed away. Now, dad was truly free.

“Where am I going to live?” I decided that I could not deal with grieving the loss of my father as well as losing the only home I had ever known, so I found a way to purchase it. It involved asking John the Pilot to live with me and help by paying rent. I honestly didn’t think I could do it on my own and once again I felt financially trapped, but legally this was now my home. It was a place I felt safe and secure, but I would soon discover that I was living a lie. Back when I was meeting John at hotels it was wonderful. I felt so free, free to be whomever I wanted to be. Our relationship was fun and playful, but having him live in my home that freedom quickly dwindled.

Today, after I left the car dealer without buying a car I received a phone call. I looked down at the screen and I swear to god it was John’s name. Why the hell would he be calling me? I haven’t heard from him in months, why now? Then, after I blinked my eyes a few times I realized it was another friend of mine named John. What was that? Am I that messed up that when I was facing a difficult decision, contemplating giving up my financial freedom and signing an auto loan, contemplating letting go of the car that gave me a sense of freedom of the pain of watching my son leave me, letting go of the car I drove my dad in when he could no longer drive for himself, was I really trying to conjure up the man who destroyed any sense of trust I may have ever had or will ever have again? Why would I do that to myself? Why? Because, when I was with him, I felt like I belonged somewhere and I was with someone who allowed me to be me or the me I wanted to be. Because when I was with him, I felt free.

Freedom is something I sorely miss these days. Giving up this car is just another step towards giving up another chunk of what little I have left. Realistically, this house belongs to the bank, not me. Now I’m stepping into a situation where my car won’t legally be mine for years. I know it’s the American way, but that doesn’t mean I have to like it. I’m so stressed out and jump at any sudden sound, fearful of it being something that is coming for me and what remains of my freedom.

Freedom this is something I have come to understand is extremely important to me and worth fighting for. I’m going to sign on the dotted line and get the car and not be afraid of change. I’m going to go for a ride feeling fully confident in its ability to safely take me wherever I want to go. The house won’t be mine for many years to come, but it is my home and I own every pink flamingo, palm tree and pineapple in this place. I will continue to pray that someday I will find an honest man that makes me feel free to be me, any me I choose to be. And, I still have the freedom to write about all the crazy shit that goes through my mind and share with anyone who is willing to read it or not… freedom.

#thelieswechoosetolivewith