Winding Roads, Dead End Trails...A Narrow Path Ahead

Winding roads and dead end trails became the paths I was accustomed to many years ago yet it wasn’t until my early thirties the discovery of flight syndrome became a daily battle of mine. Childhood friends, adolescent lovers and the façade of “besties” were definitive antecedents molding concrete walls while the guilt and burden chizzled the very muscle I was protecting. One may think confession is the tissue of healing and one may think what goes around comes around, like karma in tenth degree. The experience of both is yet another reason the shelling of my heart was essential as surely the next victim of my abandonment would stay for just enough time to gain full access; this pearl of mine was too precious and few were allowed. By the time my thirties came around, selfishness was a trait some would suggest however, they neglected to see the things produced by humility and silence; as it should be. Although I can’t remember the first time I exercised the flight syndrome, one particular moment in time I am able to vividly feel today at age 38.

For most, there comes a time in adulthood when the happiness of adolescence is too far gone to grasp, the fear of aging is quickly approaching and the identity crisis of who we are and what we have become outweighs the imagery of desire, passion and hope. Although most feel this devastation, not all can relate to the depths of which one can and does fall. For me, as usual, extreme measures were prevalent. Aside from the discovery of a 22 year old untreated depression, a relevant postpartum diagnosis, an 80lb loss in less than 8 months, severe panic attacks, another father down then a paternity test 18 years too late and the symptoms of peri-menopause shuttling in blurred vision, hot flashes and mood swings, I was just like the next person who experiences a mid-life crisis. The crisis when most will take a moment or two and regain their foothold, not me…too many expectations to uphold, it was not the time to fall or show the weakness stirring within. My children depended on me; the soft spot of a strict home. I yearned for their approval, still do.

Part A...