Truth: I Am A Stripper

Why don't more people look within themselves and reveal their true identities, who they want to be and who they want to shed? I'm more raw and naked than I have ever been. Who I was when my brother was alive and breathing is no longer the person I feel. I rarely look at myself in the mirror- my reflection is too painful. It hurts to look at ugly. I may wash my face and brush my teeth and apply makeup but I don't look at myself. I turn my eyes away in shame and guilt. I am ashamed of myself and who I've been. Most times, as I did today while moving about Waikiki beach, I block the world out as I move forward in my solace and very quiet life. My ears have turned the volume all the way down to a padded hummmmmmm.

My journey to the serene Hawaiian bubble has been mentally in the works for six months now. When I got on the plane and turbulence hit, I tucked myself into a ball and drowned out the sound of children crying, turned away from the passenger to my right clutching the armrests and told myself to control my breathing. God, if your plan is to take this plane down, please do it quickly. I'm scared and I'm afraid to leave Mia, but if this is what my destiny is, then I understand. It's okay because Charley is waiting. I felt calm as I prayed, which was strange to me, but it's because I've begun to put my fate into the hands that control my existence. I live each day wondering if it's my last. I get frustrated with time and impatient when I survive another day. This level of pain can't be good, it can't be sustainable. But I'm obviously wakening to another day- so I keep my eyes pried open.

As soon as I checked into my hotel and walked into my room, I dropped my luggage and nervously shoved my balcony door open while beads of sweat adorned the brim of my nose. I exhaled into the humid air as though I had been holding my breathe since turbulence shook me over six hours before. My hands clutched the railing as my bottom found a chair to steady myself. A crying episode ensued and I assured Charley I arrived. I'm here, Charley. I'm here. I made it. I'm so sorry I'm here. I'm so sorry I came now that you're gone and not when you so desperately needed to. Please forgive me. Please, please, please. Guilt and despair have stripped me to my core, down to my bones and have encouraged me to do nothing but admit who I hate, who I'm not and who I'm struggling to identify. Who am I? Who am I without my brother? It's both scary and exciting. Scary because this me is foreign. I don't recognize her face, her voice, her intentions and her motive. Exciting because losing Charley is awkwardly offering me a chance to start over with a clean slate. To be anyone I want to be and everything I've always dreamed of. Dreams do come true, you know. Look at my brother. At age four he told my Mom he wanted to be a Fireman so she bought him a Tonka Firetruck. He said he'd be courageous and charismatic. He said he'd be funny. And he became the man he is with his own hands, his words and his dreams. I'll never measure up, but I can follow suit. Even at 33, I am yanking away all that I've known to explore who I want to be when I grow up. For now though, I'm a stripper. A stripper of pain, confusion, lack of interest, lack of life and the drive to find myself and pray that Charley is proud of me...no matter how long I may take and where his loss leads me.