Obligations

I wondered the other day when the last time I truly felt free was. There were a few moments that came to mind to be sure, but each image did not seem to translate into feeling freedom itself. Freedom in itself is a tricky thing. The older you get the more you realize your freedom is in your obligations.

When I was young, my freedom was always in the evening. The crickets played the soundtrack of my youth. The feeling of bare feet on grass as the sun went down created the perfect marriage of possibility and ending. I loved every second of it. Listening to the car stereo playing too loud and dancing in the park with the last true friend I ever had. We did not care who watched or who joined or who did not. It meant nothing. The only moment was then, as the stars came out and the sky grew inky blue and then of course the perfect black. All things then were in the right place at the right time. It is so rare when that happens, I think most people can count on two hands the numbers of times this has happened for them. Work was done and over, no classes hanging over us, just the blissful foolishness of youth that I tried to capture again and again as I have aged. My youthful body so graceful and lithe, played out every note and lyric in praise of the evening, the unseen and the experimentation of youth. The occasional tab of acid, the puff of weed, the few and far between use of mushrooms could hint at these moments. Sometimes they would help bring them into being, but always, it came down to Earth and Sky. I was untouchable in those moments and wholly protected by all that walks between the trees.

Nights that it rained were the best, the smell of the rain and the flashes in the sky opened my heart to all that was possible in those days. It was magickal. Blissful. Free. I was never afraid. I maybe should have been, but I felt so secure in the arms of the dark. The warm night air and it’s gentle whisperings on my skin…. I knew even then that this would end, and so I held it..held it so tightly and did all I could to remember it. I look back at it now and sigh, a sweet heaviness lays across my chest when I think of those days, that time. Knowing I can never have it back, makes it that much more precious to me.

Years later, what seems like lifetimes later, I would sneak the occasional night out. I would anxiously await the 9pm open time for the club. As the hour would approach, I would start the ritual of getting ready. This would of course entail putting on copious amounts of black eyeliner and blue/black lip color. My “sexy” clothes would be laid out and tried on as I admired my final mix of “gothic goddess and crazed Fairy” . I was dark, sexy, strange and more myself than in most other times in my life. The black walls inside the club wound around to the bars, the stairs, the dance floors. I would dance and drink until at least 2am. Final call seemed too sudden and too soon. But for those moments, I was free, but now the obligations had started to set in. I was the mother of an autistic daughter who needed so much care and more love than anyone could ever imagine being able to give. In the back of my mind I was thinking about her. She has never been far from my daily thoughts, even on my nights out, I would ache at thinking she needed me. I was forever worried, but could catch brief moments of being me again.

Performing was wonderful, and I did it for 20+ years. But the only real freedom was me alone on stage. Otherwise I was obligated to everyone else not to screw up, to fit in, to keep tempo, to match. But a solo, a solo…that was freedom. It was just me, me and the music and the space between the bars. It was heaven! Even when the rest of the show had me stressed to no end, that moment was mine, I was free. Again, my daughter was never far from my mind, even when I had too much to drink, I was always texting and worrying. I had taken care of so many people by that time in my life, that 5 minutes alone on stage was all mine. I would of course check on her after, and there were many nights I had to leave early. First for her, and then as it came to pass….me. I was not well enough to be out anymore.

Now I ache for those moments of feeling free, beautiful, sexy and strange. I have lost most of those things now. My once wild and thick hair is falling out in clumps and very thin. It has turned grey and I have long ago stopped trying to dye it anymore. My body is swollen and hurts every day. Sometimes it works, and sometimes it doesn’t. Sometimes I can walk on my own, and sometimes I can’t. I am no longer free to be the person I was, I am obligated to be the person I am. I am usually recovering from surgery these days and so much of my days are spent in bed. I am not really able to go out anymore, especially at night, as I am obligated to my more than full time job. I am obligated to take my meds at night so I can sleep and get up and go to work the next day. That is all I do anymore, as I am obligated to the bill collectors. I am still obligated to my daughter to help her figure out the best way for her to navigate the world. At 24, she still needs help. While most peoples kids are graduating college and marrying, mine is still working through classes and has no one as a partner and no real friends. I understand, I feel for her. I am obligated to be there for her. I am obligated to my partner, to listen to him and cheer him on, and support him and cook and clean. His job is more physical than mine, I have the responsibility of everything else. I sort the mail and pay the medical bills, (which are insane). I do the laundry, and scrub the bathrooms and the kitchen. I scrub the floors. I am obligated you see. I am obligated to keep a clean house, and a functioning daughter and a content partner. I am obligated to keep my doctors appointments, and most of the time that is literally my only time away from work and bed.

I know most people are obligated, and we give up our freedoms as our obligations grow. For me, my obligations outweigh everything else. Do everything you can to keep this from happening to you. Do not lose yourself, or who you truly are. The mourning is beyond words sometimes.

I miss that feeling of night air, and creeping darkness that stretches its fingers from beneath trees and bushes. I miss the starlight and the perfect cast of blue and grey the moon makes on the sidewalk. I miss the illusion of having friends, and the moments when I truly felt seen on the stage. I miss the black halls and fog machines of the clubs and the pulsating music that kept my mind together. I miss feeling pretty, and thin and sexy. I miss my dancing world and the applause that went with it. I was valued and seen then, if only for a moment. I miss my hair, and my clothes and the time and energy to do a full make-up, or put on a costume. Most days I can dress myself, but it sucks when I need help. I miss who I was, I am only left with the broken and sick parts.

Love makes obligations easy. It makes them service. By the same token, for me, it has made them almost unbearable. I search with such longing for what and who I was. I am obligated to be the person I am now. That has erased most of my freedom. I am tied to pill bottles, and MRI machines, and CT scans, IV poles, oxygen monitors, hospital wristbands and very long days waiting for someone to come visit me. They never do. It seems they are obligated elsewhere, and to others.