Soul Separation
I'm little and at the birthday part of a friend who lives out in the country, in a place more rural even than the farm town I live in. This house is paradise for a kid: seemingly every kind of animal to play with, four-wheelers, a pond with all sorts of goodies in its depths, and, for when nature fails us, a Nintendo waiting inanimately inside.
We girls are gathered around a big wooden table in the dining room, butchering pieces of sheet cake and chattering to each other in the high-pitched, always-excited language of seven-year-olds. I begin entertaining the crowd, as usual, this time by squirting a huge mound of Cheeze-Whiz directly into my mouth. I hear the delighted squeals of my friends and feel the flush of satisfaction that always comes along with getting a laugh. It is a reward that I will continue to chase like some sort drug high for years to come.
And then, almost within the same beat as I feel that warm glow of having entertained, I sense myself separating from the other girls and in fact the entire party. Despite being in the middle of a raucous time, my soul seems to take a gigantic dip downward, like what a stomach feels as an elevator begins its descent. I'm depressed. I'm terribly, indescribably sad, and the fear of being stuck in that sadness overwhelms the original terrible sensation. Desperately, I try to connect, searching the faces of my friends for the joy I'm supposed to feel, and emulating that joy until I can convince myself that the dark feeling has disappeared - at least for now.
We girls are gathered around a big wooden table in the dining room, butchering pieces of sheet cake and chattering to each other in the high-pitched, always-excited language of seven-year-olds. I begin entertaining the crowd, as usual, this time by squirting a huge mound of Cheeze-Whiz directly into my mouth. I hear the delighted squeals of my friends and feel the flush of satisfaction that always comes along with getting a laugh. It is a reward that I will continue to chase like some sort drug high for years to come.
And then, almost within the same beat as I feel that warm glow of having entertained, I sense myself separating from the other girls and in fact the entire party. Despite being in the middle of a raucous time, my soul seems to take a gigantic dip downward, like what a stomach feels as an elevator begins its descent. I'm depressed. I'm terribly, indescribably sad, and the fear of being stuck in that sadness overwhelms the original terrible sensation. Desperately, I try to connect, searching the faces of my friends for the joy I'm supposed to feel, and emulating that joy until I can convince myself that the dark feeling has disappeared - at least for now.