Guardian

Should I embrace her or run from her?

By the age of three, I was seeing and conversing with many beings. Young, old, seemingly people, but maybe not. Not people anyone else saw.

Some were near, some were far, some were now, some were I don't know when. It seemed sometimes neither did they. Dusty shadows of people going through the same steps over and over, as if I were not there too, watching. And sometimes I wasn't there, not really, because wherever it was I was watching them, it wasn't where my body was.

She was different. Always behind me, it seemed, watching through me. I could feel her, imagine seeing her, though I couldn't describe her. I would spin around in circles trying to see her behind me. Spinning and spinning until I would collapse in a dizzy heap, but still, I would never see her.

Sometimes I would hide. Under the lilac bushes, in the attic, behind the dresser that sat across a corner of the room, creating the perfect little cubby to shelter me from anyone scary. And she would cling behind me, silent. It was soothing to not be alone. I could sleep, believing she would wake me if there was a need.

We moved to a sunny, warm world, and I thought she had been left behind.

Until the witch who lived at the top of the stairs of the building across from us tricked me. Taking my toy, waving it and taunting me, leading me around the pool to the far, deep side where I was not supposed to go. Then throwing my toy in and shoving me in after it.

I couldn't swim. I had never been in water over my head. And everything was topsy-turvy, wavy, bubbly, and I couldn't tell up from down. Until she was there, behind me, pushing me, and I knew I needed to reach for the light, that that was sunlight and meant the top of the water.

Just before I reached the top, she pulled me back. It felt like she was trying to crawl over or into me, and I was terrified. But neighbors who had seen me pushed into the pool had come to pull me out, and pulled, and pulled. Later, they would tell my mother, the manager, that the pool needed to be serviced - there had to be something wrong with the filter at the bottom that it was pulling me down so hard it took three of them to lift little me out.

Suddenly, my world was inside out. I had always trusted her, felt safe with her behind me, but she had betrayed me even as she initially saved me. She was gone again, and slowly I forgot.

Years later, there came another time I needed to be saved. So terrified of the boys holding me down at the man's command that when she said let it be her - the first actual words she ever spoke - I agreed. She climbed through me, and I closed my eyes and was embraced by blackness.

She'd stolen my life. Suddenly, I was the one behind her, and I realized it wasn't that I was behind her, I was within. I was behind the eyes, looking out but not quite seeing through, and that must have been where she had always been.

Much of the time, she would leave, and I would think I was myself again. And other times, well, we had some battles. You would think if she were some malicious entity, that she would lead me down all kinds of bad paths. But in fact, she was quite boring and well-behaved, and after a while, left me in charge unless I was about to do something truly unadvisable.

As a young adult, I discovered drinking with classmates. She found herself tasked repeatedly, and quite unhappily, with getting me home after a few too many drinks. Before long, a couple of people had pulled me aside to talk about the psycho-me.

Apparently, I would reach a point where I was slurring words, swaying in my seat, and they were sure I was about to pass out. My eyes would close, my head would drop for an instant, then jerk up - like when you fall asleep during the sermon in church and startle as the person next to you elbows you awake.

But it was like I was someone else entirely. No slurring. No swaying. But man, what a b-i-t-c-h. And after insulting everyone, I would promptly get up and leave to go home. For some reason, I didn't connect it with her. It had been years since I'd consciously noticed her presence, and again I had forgotten.

One more trauma, where she again took my place, and I retreated into darkness. This time for weeks. And I didn't come back to the forefront - except rarely - for years. She steered my life well, I guess. Not where I wanted it to go, but safe, secure, traditional, and boring.

And then - poof - I'm back in the driver seat, and I'm not sure she's still here at all. But I can't just walk out of the life she built for me, can I? I can't do it the way she did. I'm miserable and awful at it. I've started to think, how can I transition to the life I want? And how much of what she has left me should I consider keeping?

I wonder which of us is better at handling life? Which is stronger?

And what if she comes back?

I wonder if she ever really existed.

I wonder if she is me.