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  • Writer's pictureeschaden

That Itch...

You know the one...the one that calls to you from some other realm...that realm of yourself that you thought was dead and gone, or just has been MIA for so long that you barely remember who and what you used to be. That itch to be reckless, young, wild, free.

How long as it been?

How far away is that person who is capable of throwing caution to the wind, their head back and laughing. Really, really laughing and having fun?

In general, I insist on fun. I do my best to stay connected to those parts of myself that need sex, fun, laughter and indulgence. I do my best.

But even with my best efforts, I get bogged down in the day to day grinds and I forget myself. I forget fun. I forget sex, and dancing and laughing.

Why are those the things that alway seem to get cast aside? Those things that really make life worthwhile...those things make me feel alive.

I have come to know that that itch is telling me something. Something that I am missing, something that I am lacking. When I get it, I know that life has taken a turn, one that perhaps was necessary, but one that has now caused me to miss the larger point of living. Enjoying it.

I have come to know that when I feel the need to go dancing, it is because I need to tap back into myself, my fun, my life. If I feel the pull towards a concert or event, it is that same thing calling me back. Back to myself.

Life is really hard right now. My son is home and having him here is a daily upheaval and crisis. Every. Single. Day. There is no rest or reprieve for the rest of us. We are all just attempting to avoid another confrontation. Another drama. Another crisis that isn’t really a crisis. And I live every single day waiting for the other shoe to fall. And it does, in some small or large fashion every single day.

And that itch plagues me. It calls to me, haunts me. I want my life back that was fun, pleasurable and not always on the verge of police involvement. I want that life back again.

It is more than dancing or fun events, I want the peace and tranquillity I had before he came back. Sometimes that itch is telling me that life has gotten way off course and that itch is here to tell me that my life has become something I need or want to escape from.

We are there. Life here is untenable. It is hard. It is demanding. It is so un-fun.

There is an end in sight...but that means that I have to kick my just turned 18 year old out onto the street...with little skills or life experience and a head that is so full of delusion that it is almost pathological...wait, it is actually pathological.

But that is the only peace I see on the horizon. He won’t run away from home, and if I don’t kick him out, he will never leave. I feel so completely trapped, caught in my responsibility and duty. And then there is that pesky itch that causes me to look at moving...just to get away. That itch that drives me to think that perhaps I just want to sell the house and move and leave no forwarding address.

Sometimes that itch is just a gentle reminder to move me forward, to remind me to laugh, dance, enjoy life. And sometimes that itch is there more like a rash, pervasive, raw, irritating, unrelenting. Sometimes the itch is a full blown hive related event that really needs an eppy pen and an ER visit.

Teenagers are hard. They are smelly. They are sullen and prone to dramatic mood swings. Life with my son has been this way for at least 14 of the last 17.5 years. Every single day...with small reprieves. I am not sure I am going to make it another six months. And everyone I know lacks belief that I will be able to kick him out even then.

It is so painful to love someone so much but not really like their behavior at all...and to be completely powerless to change it. I pray for some Divine intervention. I pray for some reprieve for the rest of us. I pray for some sort of intervention that releases us all from this prison. Life has become unfun. And then there is that itch which will not go away and is no longer a gentle reminder of the parts of myself I may be neglecting. It is now a full blown reactionary meltdown that leaves me raw, bleeding and completely decimated.

If you can’t relate, I am grateful. I am happy for you. I am relieved that you have no idea what I am talking about. And if you do, if you do know, then I am so very sorry. And I feel you. And I am sending love and light and prayers for change.

I am thinking that perhaps the age of majority should be changed to 17. I mean, really, what is the one year really matter?

Well, in my case, it is just another year added onto a life sentence for a crime that I did not commit. Well, that is how it feels anyway. And let me tell you, it is an awful thing to feel that way. And to have that itch, that nagging pull towards some part of yourself that you know you used to have, that part of yourself you were before you had to grow up and become someone else.

I am trying to hold my center. I am trying to find peace. I am searching for compassion and empathy and to go for the love. But I am foundering...wandering aimlessly through the days, each footfall dogged with that itch that will not relent. Some days, I feel I am losing my mind. Other days I am just depressed and sad and don't really want to get out of bed. Some days the only thing that makes it better, is doing everything I can to find some activity to remind me that life used to be fun and less hard. And if it was that way before, it can be that way again...

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