Valueless

I had already started to block the abuse from my mind, gradually thinking about it less, worrying about my guilt less.  That isn’t to say that I forgot it happened, but somehow my brain made the memories less real and easier to handle, somehow less distressing. 

I still pretended to be someone I was not, because already I was developing the absolute certainty that I was a worthless person who had absolutely nothing to offer to the world.  So it was important for me to be someone else that was worthy of living on this earth.

I moved away from dancing, as the expense of lessons in South Africa were well out of my parents reach, especially as the foreign currency restrictions in place in Zimbabwe were at their height.  But the stage still held its sway over me.  I joined the choir, the drama club, public speaking club, debating society, in fact anything that allowed me to adopt a different persona and be someone else for a while.

Slowly but surely, my grades at school slipped – never so drastically that my parents became alarmed, but enough to leave me with regrets that have stayed with me to this day. 

The only time I was truly happy was when I was on the stage.  Any role would do, but tortured or demented characters held a strong appeal.  Or those who were just that little bit nutty or abnormal.  If only someone had questioned this leaning, maybe my life would have taken an entirely different path.  But it wasn’t to be.

Instead, I lived for the stage.

I threw myself into my various dramatic pursuits with a vengeance.  The stage was the only place where I could be someone that had a value.