The past 5 years has been worse. That shell is more fragile. The live, raw, wire, more frayed. Watching my only child grow up these past 17+ years has been THE ONLY thing keeping me “sane.” Making sure her life goes well, and she is happy and healthy, is what gives me the biggest purpose. Writing my first book in 2009 was very purposeful also. Other than bringing McKenzie into the world, it’s the next most important thing I’ve ever done. But she is growing up…and away from me…
Somehow, this makes me feel even more like a shell. I’ve tried my whole life to be normal and happy, sometimes for actual, intrinsic, reasons, but mostly simply for outward appearances….because I’ve always been longing for Michael…wondering about Michael…lit up inside only for Michael --- sad really, most of my life. My memories show me that I’ve been mostly faking happiness all my life….faking normalcy. Of course I do have happy memories. My parents (especially Mom) worked hard to give these to me. But I always felt like an outsider…a foreigner in my own body even. I’ve felt like this since at least Kindergarten. This is at age 5. I have memories of not wanting to sit at tables with other kids. I remember my teacher, Mrs. Faulk, encouraging me to play with other kids, and me not wanting to. I still remember my home address: 123 Arizona Street.
That feeling of being separate and different never left me. I felt lonely and outcast all my life…with no ‘apparent’ reason for it. I made good-to-great grades in school. I was usually on the honor roll. There were many children whom tried to be my friend. I had a few, but mostly felt like I had to have friends…not that I really wanted them. I have never really “clicked deeply” with any one person. Weird.
I believe I was born into my life already in love with Michael. I consciously remember becoming aware of Him; how much I loved Him, and how much it felt like I already knew Him. This was when I was about 6 &1/2 years old…around 1969. I don’t remember knowing anything about Michael Jackson when I was 5, but maybe I’d heard a song, or saw a photo by then. Or maybe, and this is what I think; it was past memories of Him…of us…in some capacity. I was always a serious kid, you know, contemplative. I wondered a lot about where we come from and where our spirit went after death. I always believed we had souls/spirits, but I did not always believe in the Catholic…or even Christian, doctrine. I had lots of questions. I felt like an adult in a kid’s body. I was raised Catholic and christened when I was a baby, but was never a believer, nor ever considered Christ my savior. I actually had a lot of animosity towards the church, even as a young girl.
As an example of my serious, contemplative, and rebellious nature: One morning at St. Peter’s Catholic Primary school, while in 3rd grade as an 8 year old, I decided to refuse to stand and say the Pledge of Allegiance and The Lord’s Prayer out loud…like we did every morning. I’d finally made my mind up about the pompass, pondering, patriarchal, pontificating, priests. So, I refused to go along as I’d done for 3 years. Making the sign of the cross with the Holy Trinity, I’d noticed we said: In the name of the Father, the Son, and the Holy Spirit. I used to ask my mom, “Where’s the mother and sister?” Hmm? Sounded like a ‘good ole boy network’ to me. NO FEMALES ALLOWED! Well, by 8 years old I knew that was a load of crap. Plus, I knew that MY Holy Trinity was way cooler than theirs. It was Mother, Father, and Child. Simply beautiful.
So you see, my mind has been pretty darn clear on the subject of spirituality; religion; right and wrong; love and hate; needs; rules; and idiotic notions of living with blinders on.