MeliGoesRogue

We are taking a break from our way behind day to day series of blog posts, because today was a difficult day and this blog was meant to house the expressions of my experience and not just the play by play for the spectators (present company included). So I hope you'll indulge me and if not I'll see you tomorrow as I try to catch up on all the days and their adventures.

I have this terrible habit of having quite a few favorite movies and actors. I cant help it, movies are a part of not only my life but of my expression of my innermost turmoil…was that dramatic enough? The truth is that while most people see movies as a form of escape for me they are living expressions of the very things I struggle with, which is why I tend to like sad and chaotic movies. One of my "favorites" is 28 Days with Sandra Bullock not be confused with the horror (which I never do). Go read the synopsis I don't have time to run it down for you, its very late here in Scotland and I need to get this out before my lids close for business. The bottom line is an alcoholic going to court ordered rehab to recover, the court ordered part is important because it speaks to it not being a choice and their not being a recognition of the need, I digress. In the film something happens to our leading lady which has her counselor make her a sign requiring her to ask for help. As I mentioned before I like films that speak for me, this is one of my issues.

Let's break this down..kind of remember I'm tired. I hate asking for help, I mean really who does? No literally do you know anybody?
I hate asking for help for so many reasons, I find it to be a showing of weakness, I want to be able to do things "on my own" and I don't like to be indebted to anybody. It was in rehab that Sandra was faced with real life situations that were harder for her because of her control issues or lack thereof. I always find it interesting how we can be so desperate for control in our lives but then choose a substance which removes our control. These trips I have been taking have always brought out some things I haven't given control up of ( I hope that's proper english if not- bloody hell). When I was in Ireland I learned that being alone is not so bad, that it was nothing I should be ashamed of and in fact in certain moments the solitude was welcome and necessary for emotional work as my therapist would say. In Colombia I learned that their are people who will be there for you when you are literally down for the count, they wont resent you for it and in fact they might even show you a side of themselves you might not have otherwise seen. As I mentioned in one of my earlier posts, I expected to leave something here in Scotland but I wasn't sure what and wouldn't be until I left and could no longer find it in my luggage.

One of the actual reasons I can give as to why Scotland was one of the places I wanted to come, beside the natural landscape and quiet was the Fairy Pools. I happen to love Fairy's, I've had a long standing albeit secret love for them. It wasn't until a few years ago that even my mother found out about it. Anyways, Scotland has had a history of mysticism around fairies, there are even those who still plant certain trees to keep them out of their property. I had seen photos of these pools and heard wonderful stories of their adventures, so it was a must on the itinerary. Today was my last day on the Isle of Skye which is where the pools are located, naturally it was where I was headed.

I had made sure it was really the only thing on the itinerary today, as I wanted as much time as possible to enjoy them. I arrived to the car park and immediately found a space while everyone else parked on the muddy verges on the side of the road. I prepped my bag, tied my hair and wrapped my scarf tightly around my neck and headed for the path. Once at the start I could see the whole path before me, it stretched much further than I imagined, going higher than I imagined, but I was here and I would not turn back. So I headed down the very steep and rocky path. Having been reeling from my accident in Cartagena last year, I took my time watching each step my foot took and carefully choosing where to land. I made it all the way down to my first river crossing. Imagine a massive waterfall running down into a river and then a few rocks placed along the river for you to jump on to get across. I'm not an outdoor person who has had much experience with those kind of adventures, I nice hike with some uphills and some curves is about all I can handle. Jumping onto boulders over freezing rushing waters…um check please?!.

But once again my past experiences flooded my mind- you can do more than you think and people are willing to help. So for 5 minutes I was the alcoholic in rehab learning to ask for help. I waited till this young nice looking couple came to the crossing (I'd been there a few minutes literally trying to be my own hype man). I playfully said " Would you mind terribly helping me across" without hesitation he jumped onto the first rock and extended his hand. He was a Scot by the way …sounds about right. Anyways he took each step first and then guided me along. I thanked him and continued on not realizing this would not be the last river crossing. As I quickly approached the second one I tried to discreetly look behind me and hope he was there and perhaps willing to help again, there he was without hesitation. I laughed as I got the other side and said back to him " what will I do on the way back without you" He so tenderly replied " your brave, you just need to believe it and jump" I managed the next few crossings on my own with a couple of "there ya go" from behind. I reached nearly half way up the pools when the largest crossing appeared before me. This one with 6 boulders lining the way, they weren't gentle steps but confident leaps. I remained frozen…I literally couldn't move backwards or forwards. My fear had paralyzed me and my helper had gone.

As the wind battered against my body to seemingly push me forward, tears leapt from my eyes as my inadequacies were highlighted. I had come to see the pools and to make it to the top, but fairy's aren't real and they weren't whispering in my ear and encouraging me on. All I could hear was the wind whistling my return from whence I had come. But I feared the return too, I needed help forward and I needed help back. I stood at the crossing taking imaginary and artistic photographs, when in reality I was praying for a miracle. God could part the Red Sea surely I could close my eyes and he could return me safely to the start. But no clicking of my sneakers could get me home and time was moving forward without me.

I turned away from the pools I had traveled so far to see and prayed for the strength to cross the rivers home. I trekked past the easier crossings landing on my healed ankle and praying it would stay straight and not twist with the wind. I even managed the second crossing which had me nervous. But soon enough I found myself at the first crossing and there was just no possible way for me to cross. I looked up and around, deciphering whether it would be easier to walk up the grassy mountain at least a mile out of the way to cross above the waterfall and its rushing waters below. I was being unreasonable..I watched children and older women cross with ease.

I waited till it was clear no one around for at least a hundred yards in each direction, although now that I think of it if I would have fallen their distance would have been a problem. Much like a puppy going down stairs for the first time (YouTube it, its freaking adorable) I trepidatiously lifted my foot forward a few times as if the rock would come up to meet me. As many times as I did it no magic happened. I couldn't stay here, I mean realistically I didn't even have gear (as if I would ever have "gear") Finally and ironically the fear of never leaving overcame the fear of falling and I leapt and leapt and leapt until finally I was on solid ground again. As I turned the corner I remembered that damn steep and rocky path except this time my breath was as fleeting as the wind and as I took each step pushing myself higher and higher. I stopped multiple times turning for the view but really I was fighting the tears from those coming down the path. After each break I continued just a bit more until finally I could wait not more, I wanted to be done, so I told myself to not look up, a trick I learned in Ireland and my first hike. I only counted the steps and breaths I took and soon I was making the final steps up the rocks and onto the asphalt which would lead me to the refuge of my car.

As you've noticed I haven't posted any pictures during this rant, truthfully the pictures as I look at them now are full of fear and I am as disappointed in them as I am in my inability to make it to the top of the pools. Back in my car I took off my muddy shoes and tried to calm myself. All those hours driving alone, sleeping alone, asking for that table for 1 and yet I had never felt as alone as I did in that whole trek. I sought solace in the best place, my darling mother, but we couldn't talk so instead I recorded a video and said to myself the things I thought she would say. Growing up Winnie the Pooh was my favorite story, I watched his Grand Adventure well into my teenage years. Well my mama is my Christopher Robin and even though we weren't together- it was her belief in my strength and bravery that pushed me over those rocks and as I drove away and the disappointment began to eat away at me it was only her voice that kept it from succeeding. While I'm not totally lost without her like PB with CR I sure like to think that even when we are apart we will always be together…

For my Christopher Robin