Narnia

Since I didn't get to see my brother this week (he had chickenpox crop up at the last second so his Spring Break was spent miserably in bed), we texted quite a bit.  Today's conversation was kind of depressing.  I think it partially had to do with me finishing up a really sad biography (How to Be A Star: Elizabeth Taylor in Hollywood) and realizing just how messed up my brother and I are, especially in comparison to our much more successful siblings.

My brother's 18.  He's survived a snowstorm (right before he was born), a flood, an earthquake, and being molested as a young child.  He's survived moving overseas, almost being rammed by bulls, firework explosions (still has the scars), and various medical issues (including asthma, chickenpox at 18 and tonsil removal).  He's also survived a harsh and hyper-strict father and being missionary/teacher's kid, amongst other things.

I can't say whether or not his faith has survived, and I'm beginning to suspect he has a drinking problem.  He can't get enough, and he doesn't get drunk.  It's extremely hard for him a) get drunk and b) stay drunk. So he doesn't.  But he drinks a lot.  In Spain this wasn't a problem, but he's Stateside and under age.  Of course, when he's with me he doesn't drink because I know enough to not be stupid and disobey the law.  But he's 18.  And as we all know, teens don't have brains that are done developing.  Hence the not-so-smart decisions to try everything risky with the belief that you can't die from whatever it is you're doing.

So obviously, I worry about him.  I know technically there's nothing I can do for him.  I can pray and I can make him obey the law when he's with me, but he's his own person and he has to make his own mistakes.  This is why I don't want to be a mother.  I don't want to watch them make mistakes that will ruin the rest of their lives.

I don't have a drinking problem but that's only because I cultivated self-control early (in some areas -- mostly my violent temper.  Not food) and have kept away from drink besides the occasional 1 drink on social occasions.  But that doesn't mean I don't want to drink.  I've been wanting to bite my nails and drink since Christmas and while I've kept away from the nails and only had 1 drink (on St. Pat's), I crave something to lower my anxiety and stress.

We didn't know my brother was molested until he told us last Christmas.  It was a horrifying story, involving someone everyone trusted but me.  When I was younger, there were certain people I stayed away from.  I guess instinctively, I knew something was off.  Later I found out these people were all abusive -- verbally, emotionally, physically or sexually.  I always stayed away from the person that hurt my brother.  I never wanted to be near them and I strove to keep myself out of bounds.  To this day I don't know how I knew.  But it wasn't me they wanted.  And it sickens me that it had to happen to my darling little brother.

Talking to him today nearly broke my heart.  He's going back to Spain for the summer and we talked about it.  We likened it to Narnia.  I spent nine months in Spain and when we had to leave I felt like I was leaving life behind and going back to the darkness I grew up in (I really loathe Tennessee).  I had feelings in Spain, and thoughts -- neither of which I recall having up until then.  I came alive there.  And then I had to go back to hell.  That's what it felt like.  I fell into a depression and blocked out the next two years, escaping to South Carolina when I could, only to attend a school where I was a freak and a teacher's kid who didn't have any friends in her class and read books because they couldn't ignore her or turn her away.

But there's Narnia, calling us.  My brother and I are knit to the fabric of Spain.  We thrive in the culture.  We belong there.  And it's painful to be away from it, even though we know it's better to have that longing at times than stay there and find out it isn't Narnia after all.  That's why I've resisted going back (even though the first few years I would jump at any chance to get back there and drink in the wild air).  But I still love it and that was probably the happiest year of my life. I want it to stay like that.

But why are my brother and I so broken?  Why did we shatter when my sister and other brother are perfectly healthy, independent and successful individuals?

My sister is studying violin and voice at the Music Conservatory in Madrid.  She's been commissioned for paintings (her style resembles Georgia O'Keefe's), played with Symphonies and is a dedicated, serious professional.  She's also tall and gorgeous (and slim).

I, on the other hand, am goofy, short, rotund, and laid back.  I have no drive, I might have a mental disorder, and I am in pieces.  I suffer from depression and anxiety.  I grew up with a neurosis that I was ugly (I've since gone past that to acknowledge I am plain), too pale (I was called Ghost and Snow White as a child), too heavy (I was forced to exercise and eat less growing up), and wouldn't ever pass for cute without a ton of makeup (I was also forced to wear makeup when I turned 14).  My mother is jealous of my legs and made it a point to buy me short skirts and comment on my "beautiful legs", causing me to believe that the only things guys would like about me were my legs and my boobs and I was told that guys only liked girls who took care of themselves, which I obviously haven't done.  I was held hostage by family friends while my mother and father tried to figure out if I was sleeping around and into pornography (neither of which has ever been true), and I was told I was going to hell for playing Dungeons and Dragons.

I am a child.  I like playing in water, make-believe, and eating.  Coloring, stuffed animals, hugs, bright colors, play-doh, and finger painting.  I'm emotionally stunted and have very limited emotional range.  I also don't know social cues and I don't pick up on body language.  I often repeat the same phrase over and over because I don't know what to say.  I can't even look most people in the eyes.  I can't process emotions until months or years later and my body is regulated so strictly that I can't even re-learn how to dance.  I'm stiff.

My other brother is a musical prodigy.  He plays cello and piano.  He's played piano for two years and is already teaching.  He is also going to be attending the musical conservatory for cello and is tall, slim, and athletic.  He is boisterous, extroverted, intelligent and intellectual.  He's popular, too.

My darling brother who turned out like me is emotional, sensitive, and drinks.  He is highly intellectual but prefers partying and has done some things I never would have dreamed of doing because of the dire consequences.  He's been abused and still has no resolution in knowing whether the person will go to jail or not.  He's had one medical procedure after the other as things have gone wrong since December.  His stress levels are high and he hasn't been to a counselor.  He wants to earn lots of money and he doesn't want to get married or have kids.

Why did two of my siblings turn out "perfect" (at least, everyone thinks them so.  Privately, my brother and I think they're uptight, black-and-white, high strung and don't know how to relax and have fun...and yet I think we're jealous of how put-together they are) while my other brother and I fell apart?

I feel like my brother is Edmund.  Turkish Delight is his downfall.  My other sister is like Susan.  And My youngest brother is like Peter -- there are moments when we connect.  And I hope I am like Lucy.

But how does a broken, shattered Lucy even begin to search for Aslan within The Wardrobe?  And is there any hope for Edmund?