I lost her, my Inner Child. I could feel it, this gap in my chest where juvenile joy once called home. I used to revel in the delights of everything frivolous and nonsensical but when my Daddy-dearest died, it felt like she died with him. Even during his cancer treatment, my inner child suffered in silence, hiding at the back of my mind, not making a peep, I missed her. She was the cookie crumbs of my life, guiding me across the hopscotch pathways, ensuring I didn’t step on a crack, fall and break my back.
In 2008, when she went AWOL I worried she’d never return. I was scared because the place in my chest, where she used to frolic in, had new lodgers; Mr. Grief and Ms. Bitter-Logic. One of my biggest worries had always been that my inner child would never return. It was like losing a best friend. I didn’t need the company of anyone else when she was around because we could happily occupy each other with our fantastical imagination and simple pleasings.
Occasionally, I used to think I could see her, when I had drunk too much rum or had a little excess sugar, but unfortunately by the next day she was just a distant memory.
However, this story doesn’t end on a sad note; she came home last Autumn. It took a long time and a complete renovation of her home. Trying to evict Mr. G and Ms. BL was a challenge in itself, they were stubborn bastards but I got there and two tow trucks later, Inner Child returned. Oh, how I had missed her, her spontaneity, her laughter, her fascination with all things peculiar and light-hearted.
It feels good having her back in my life and although she does occasionally like to go on vacation, I know she will return back to me, complete with a souvenir.
Welcome home IC, you’ve been sorely missed!