Existential Crisis

After my last blog post, "Things I Suck At," Barb informed me that my next blog post should be about things I am good at. So, I started with a few things people have told me that I'm good at, and tried to see those things from outside of my own frame of reference. This was far more difficult than I expected and I quickly became derailed. Now, I will tell you all about my existential crisis that started when I tried to see Dan's perspective and then he and DJ broke my self image.

 Dan said he loves my smiles. When I tried to see that from his perspective, I just couldn't. I don't smile at myself in the mirror and I hate selfies, because my smile hurts me. I didn't even realize just how much until I started talking to Dan about it. When I was seventeen, I had a really bad car wreck. It was a very washboard-y gravel road, I had a tiny, lightweight, little Datsun 210, and I was crying. It made for a catastrophic combination. 

I don't actually remember much from the two weeks that ensued. I remember being high up in the air, with my back towards the ground, looking over my shoulder and thinking that it was going to hurt when I hit the ground. Apparently, prior to that, the 4-6 inch deep washboard had bounced my little car off the road, into the ditch. They say it didn't look like I hit the brakes. The ditch was pretty flat where I went off the road, but at the point where I was almost back on the road, it was pretty steep. As I came up to that gravel surface, my driver side tires finally gained traction and that was enough to flip my car. Somehow, before that happened and I was thrown, I smashed my chin on the steering wheel, shattering my front teeth, splitting six teeth and causing hairline cracks in the enamel of others that would create the needs for many extractions as I got older. 

I was taken by ambulance to our local hospital in Quinter. They kept me there long enough to notify my parents, put in a few stitches, drug me up and ship me off to a bigger hospital in Hays, 55 miles away. I was there about a week for a couple of surgeries on my right arm and left wrist and then I was stabilized and sent another 2 1/2 hours to Wichita for surgery to repair six broken vertebrae. 

While I was in Hays, I remember some things. I remember an amazing nurse who stayed two hours after her shift to wash and brush my hair, getting the dirt and grass and tangles out of it for me. I remember the guy who had made me cry in the first place, coming to visit me with his previously ex-girlfriend, who he started dating again after my accident. I remember learning what it is like for a junkie to wait for his next fix as I watched the second hand round that clock for the tenth time so I could start hammering the button and get my morphine. I remember the feel of my teeth in my mouth. The sharpness of the edges. I remember how it hurt to breath in too fast, because the air rushing over the exposed nerves was excruciating. And I remember thinking how glad I was that I had taken my senior pictures the week before so that my photos would still show a smile that I was proud of.

I can't remember the first time I actually saw my teeth. It was probably in the hospital in Wichita, as I was finally able to get up and walk to the bathroom after surgery. I remember that first walk to the bathroom. In my hospital gown, back brace, and slippers, walking very tenderly for the first time in two weeks, my Daddy watching me take my first steps for the second time in my life. He asked me how I was doing and I threw a little James Brown at him, singing, "I feel good - da-nuh da-nuh da da dah!" with a very careful rendition of a hip wiggle. We both smiled and laughed and I loved him for being there with me. 

After I saw what my teeth looked like, so ragged and ruined, I quit smiling. I would do what I call the "frog smile" that my kids seemed to like to do in pictures when they were little. You know the one, where you kind of make your lips fat but smile without opening your mouth at all. No teeth. That was the important part. Why would anyone want to look at that? I sure didn't!

I'm sure part of it was vanity, but I have never been proud of my looks or even happy with them most days. I have never been happy with my appearance. There has always been something that wasn't right or didn't fit. Mostly, I just didn't feel like I was pretty when I looked at myself. I mean, sure there were days when everything seemed aligned correctly and I thought I looked all right, but mostly, that wasn't a thing for me. Losing my teeth destroyed any semblance of vanity or even satisfaction at looking at myself in the mirror. Self-consciousness is bad enough at seventeen when there is nothing wrong with you. Top that sundae off with broken teeth... yeah.

The first dental work I had was six root canals on front teeth that had been shattered or broken. They built them back up and crowned three of the front ones. After the root canals, Daddy gave me a dollar (since the tooth fairy, who paid us a quarter a tooth, couldn't pay me for teeth I didn't have) and we went to Sirloin Stockade for lunch. I was so excited that I got to eat a piece of Texas toast and the crust didn't hurt me! From a parental perspective, that had to have been so gratifying and yet sad at the same time for Daddy. Sad for what I had gone through and what was still to come, but so proud and excited for each step I took forward from there. 

A lot of people in Quinter donated money to help my family out while I was in the hospital and Daddy was with me and Momma was home alone with the younger three. My church created a fund, and people donated, to rebuild my smile. 

It's a strange thing to walk into the grocery store and see a coffee can, wrapped in construction paper, that said, "Ericka Sparks Medical & Expense Fund." Not that you can even collect donations that way anymore, but it was bizarre. 

I had a lot of dentist appointments, teeth pulled, root canals, crowns, and a partial plate to fill in the gaps. Once all that was done, I could smile again without feeling like a monster. Later, I had to have my wisdom teeth pulled due the residual damage and had to have three more teeth extracted twelve or thirteen years ago. As these teeth were on the side, you could only see them when I smiled big. So I didn't smile big anymore. I kept my smiles narrow and small. I still need three more surgical extractions that are going to cost upwards of eight hundred dollars, plus many thousands of dollars for bridge work. 

In 2010, I was fired from my job. The job provided housing, so we had to move into a roach-infested, run-down trailer home. I had been diagnosed with depression a couple years before and was going to therapy, but was not on meds. This turned out to be a real bad idea. Money got tighter and tighter as I tried to stretch Dan's income enough to cover all the bills from month to month. In December, I couldn't pay everything. I could either pay the rent or the utilities, but I couldn't pay them all. So I paid everything but the rent. I can't remember my thought process as to why the utilities were more important, but that's what I did. I was struggling to get out of bed in the mornings and probably wouldn't have if Payton didn't need to go to school and Livi didn't need me, she was only three. I did not tell Dan that I didn't pay the rent.

It was my own fault that people didn't like me and "dissolved" Dan and my couple's job, telling me that they could place Dan, but had no place for me. It was my fault I couldn't go out and face the fears of looking for a job. It was my fault that I didn't know how to budget well enough that we could pay all of the bills. It was my fault that the rent wasn't paid and we had no where else to go. My family was going to end up homeless and it was all my fault. (Dan said to point out that this was NOT, all my fault, I just thought it was. Sometimes, I agree with him, but a big part of me still bears this guilt.)

The guilt continued to engulf me. I knew that Dan and the kids would be better off without me in the picture. I was such a burden to them. If it weren't for me, they could be successful. They could have stability. I was hurting them. 

In late January, Dan got a call from the trailer park office, asking him if he was going to be in court on Friday. He didn't know what they were talking about. I guess they had mailed us an eviction and taped one to our front door. Somehow, we never got either one. This was the first Dan learned that the rent had not been paid. Apply more guilt. Poor Dan was blind sided. I called my therapist, because I couldn't think of anything else to do. Bert-Nash had a couple of guys who helped clients find and keep housing. One of them went to court with us. He got us a couple of weeks to get moved out. Then he started trying to help us find a new place to live, but he couldn't help us get anything we could afford to pay for. As we had a boy and a girl, they couldn't help us get anything smaller than a three bedroom place and that was out of our price range. 

We had just gotten a couple thousand in tax money so we packed all out stuff in a rental truck to take to storage and we moved into the Econo-lodge. Olivia loved it. She was so excited for a new adventure and she couldn't wait to get up and go eat breakfast in the lobby! Payton and Dan never talked about it much. I just sank a little deeper every day. I was so far beyond wanting to be dead. Just to leave them so they could find a better path without me. If there had been a way for me to kill myself, I am fairly certain I would not be here today. 

We went to Family Promise to try to get help finding housing and getting back on our feet. We were going to be moving in within a week, when a new family came up who had a tiny baby who was sick. They had to take in the family with the sick baby and there would not be another opening for months. 

We went to HUD. They would not help us. She told us that if we could afford to stay in a motel, we didn't need their help. I explained that we were trying to keep our kids out of the homeless shelter. She said if we went to the shelter, then they could help us. We had visited the shelter while Payton was at school one day. We would be sleeping on mattresses on the floor and would have a big tub we could keep our stuff in. There was no way to lock up our stuff and theft was a common issue. There were mice and roaches on the floors we would be sleeping on. Dan and I agreed that we would be better off sleeping in the car. 

One morning, I woke up, and one of my crowns had fallen off in my sleep. It had fallen off before and I had superglued it back in. This time, I couldn't find it. I guess I swallowed it in my sleep because it was nowhere to be found. It didn't really matter anymore as I had no reason to smile. 

Since that time, we have gotten an apartment and I have started on antidepressants. Life is in a lot better place. I have plenty of reasons to smile, but if I think about it, I won't. Mostly, it is too much work to try not to smile, so I do, but I have kind of liked the mask thing with the pandemic so that people don't see my teeth and never know how atrocious they look. Even on days when my hair is nice and I am happy with my appearance, I don't smile in the mirror. 

I didn't see how Dan could love my smiles. So, I asked him point blank how that could be. I told him how I felt about my teeth, and I cried over all of the things that have built up in that. He hugged me close and said it had nothing to do with my teeth. He said he loves the way my smile lights up my whole face and that it makes him happy to see me happy. I guess I looked confused. He asked if I knew why our friend, Adrian, had always worked so hard to make me laugh when we played D&D. I had no idea. I thought it was silly and weird, but I always knew he would do something to make me laugh. Dan said that he and Adrian had talked about it and that Adrian loved to see how I shone when I laughed. 

When DJ called that night, I was still feeling pretty fragile. He asked what was up and I told him about trying see other people's perspective on my good qualities. I told him about Dan saying he loved my smile and how I just couldn't wrap my head around it. DJ was strongly on Dan's side of the conversation. He said, "Ericka, when you smile, you are infectious. Worse than covid." He said that I changed a whole room when I was happy, and that it was devastating to see me sad. I don't know how long we all talked as they tried to show me how they saw me. When I was finally exhausted, I was still confused. 

When I woke up, I talked to Dan some more. I told him that it was weird. They had made me feel like a precious resource that needs to be protected. He agreed that this was how I should feel because that is how he feels. When DJ called that morning, he also agreed. As I finally realized how serious they were, and that these two men, who love and respect me, and who I love and respect, would never lie to me about something this big, the mirror that I viewed myself with shattered, taking my self image with it.

Now, my self-image and I weren't exactly friends. I certainly didn't like what I saw in that mirror. But that's what was there. That's who I was. Going through this introspection, I started thinking about all the memories that helped create that image. 

My first memory that I can remember, is still so vivid. I was five. My older sister said she didn't love me and she didn't want me. I was devastated. I grabbed an old granny purse and packed it with some of my clothes. I threw in two slices of cheese and a banana, and I ran away. Yes, it was Quinter. Yes, I only made it two blocks before I got scared and went back home. But the damage had been done and a new self image was in the works. Over the years, so many things added to that. In a town so small, around 900 friendly people - as the flyer in the local restaurant used to say, I just didn't fit. There was always one or two friends I could hang out with, but I just never felt I was wanted or had a place. 

When I was fourteen, I was taken off the schedule after two weeks on my first job as a waitress and informed that while my singing voice was beautiful, I would be better getting a job at the library where I wouldn't be around people. As an adult, I have been reminded again and again of the validity of this image. We have been shunned by friends after having Olivia, even though we already had older kids, because we were outranked by furniture. I have been told at an audition to sing with the band in church that I did not meet the image, but if they were needing an extra voice for a recording, they would call me. Who doesn't want to hear they have a great face for radio? When Dan and I were hanging out with friends he had known from high school who had all moved to Lawrence, I was told that I just didn't belong in the group and maybe I should join a book club. And when I joined book clubs, I didn't fit there either. 

At my core, I have always been that unwanted five year old who just wants someone to accept her. Not even to love her. That seemed too much to ask. You don't even have to like her. Just, please, don't make me go away.

That has always been my frame of reference. When I try to look outside my box, this is the box I am looking out from. It is cardboard and looks like our cat has been clawing it and chewing on it for years. It is taped up with scotch tape and barely hanging together. Or at least it was, until Monday night when Dan and DJ burned it up and swept away the ashes. 

As they worked to destroy my box, I tried to cling to it. It was the only box I had ever known. I had barely even aspired to more. I mean, a sturdy plastic tub would be a nicer place to look out from, but still, it was MY box! Now it was gone! Who am I? Where am I? 

Then, they turned me around. They showed me a big, shiny silver chest with sparkles and gems. They said, "This is your box, Eeka." I was stunned. I didn't even know boxes like this existed. It was beautiful. I told them it was NOT my box. I couldn't have a box like that. It was far more than I had ever dreamed was even possible. I couldn't take that box. It must belong to someone else. They couldn't just take someone else's box and pretend it was mine! What were they thinking?! When I told them I couldn't take that box, they told me it wasn't someone else's box. They said it was MY box... They said it had always BEEN my box. DJ said that the other box was just the Amazon box that my box came in. The cardboard box was never my box.

My mind was blown. It's still a little fried, even after a couple of days. I mean, sure it's a relief to not have that dingy, cardboard box anymore, but it was what I knew. I knew where I was and who I was. Or at least, I thought I did. It was my vantage point to view the world and all of my life experience. But they were telling me that my whole life has been tainted by this skewed perspective. 

I cried some more. Partly in mourning for my grungy box. Partly in vulnerability in being outside of the only box I had ever known, that I can never go back to. Partly, in hope that it was actually true. Partly in fear that this was all a big joke. 

When I woke up on Tuesday morning, I was just drained. I didn't feel bad. I was tired, but not sleepy. I worked, but it was a struggle. It can be emotionally taxing but I didn't have any emotional anything left. It lifted me some just to get off work. I just felt hollow. Adrift. Not good. Not bad. Just not sure about anything. 

Dan and I made dinner together. Meatloaf, cauliflower mashed potatoes, and roasted broccoli. It was the perfect comforting meal I needed with Livi and Dan to reground me. Then Anne and Barb and I were chatting via text and they always make me laugh and feel loved. Dan and I played board games and then DJ called at the end of the night. I felt pretty ok with the world by the time I went to bed last night.

Today, I woke up better. I'm still trying to accept this new box. I just don't know that it's right, but I have accepted that the old one is gone and it was never where I belonged. This morning, Dan and I had breakfast and played a couple rounds of Dark Seas. DJ called before he headed out to Sam's Club. Dan went to bed and I went to work as soon as the system was back up. When DJ was ready to head in to the store, he came by with our Sam's stuff. He carried the stuff in and I started to put things away. Then we just stood and talked before he had to go and my break was over. He was telling me about how bad traffic was and how many wrecks he saw on the way over since it was a little slick on the roads, but he was grinning. Even knowing that he doesn't get as annoyed at these things the way I do, I got the feeling he was genuinely happy to see me. Was he actually happy to see me? Did it make him happy to actually see me being happy after two days of dealing with me upset and worn out over the phone? 

This afternoon, when Dan woke up from his nap and came out to talk to me for a minute, I asked him what he thought. He said, that I was probably right about DJ being happy to see me. He said that I make people happy and I have to learn to deal with it. 

When I called DJ on my break, I was afraid to ask him about it. I figured, I was either right, which confirmed that the new box is, indeed, my box, or I was delirious. Either way, I was happier than I had been before, so I wasn't really sure I wanted to know the real answer, in case it was not the answer I had hoped for. But I screwed up my courage and asked anyway. DJ confirmed that he was happy to see me and that I was not delusional. 

I am still having a hard time seeing myself as someone who makes other people happy, just because I'm around. I don't know how long it will take to process and I have a feeling that there may still be times I find myself looking for my old box. I guess it's a good thing that box no longer exists so I am stuck with this new one. (Just don't tell the guys I said that!)

"Things I Don't Suck At," coming soon!