"I Am, I Said"

 I was just listening to “I Am, I Said” by Neil Diamond and was reflecting on how much the song meant to me when I was younger.  I was looking at YouTube comments for the song and I saw one from a person who said the song saved her live; she’d had some kind of trauma and was having some self-destructive thoughts.  She heard this song and said it saved her life.

 

I know what she means.  When I first heard the song, it became “my” song.  The part I most related to was the chorus:

 

I am, I said

To no one there

And no one heard at all

Not even the chair

 

I am, I cried

I am, said I

And I am lost

And can’t even say why

Leavin me lonely still

 

Wow.   I’d been having panic attacks for years.  When I was about 16, I told my parents I thought I was going crazy and thought I needed a psychiatrist.  They were horrified and said no.  Too embarrassing if the deaf community found out.  I went to my psychology teacher and tried to describe the panic attacks.  She said that all teenagers going through this; it was an identity crisis.  Her reassurance calmed my fears somewhat but they didn’t make the attacks go away.

 

The first time I went for therapy, I was about 22.  I told the doctor about “I Am, I Said” and how much it affected me.  He wondered what it was about those words I so strongly identified with and I had to think about how to describe what I felt.

 

“I am, I said to no one there and no one heard at all, not even the chair.”  Who was I, anyway?  The good girl, “hero” of the deaf family, interpreter, helper?  As an interpreter, I had no voice of my own.  If I spoke, it was with my parents’ words or, later, the clients’.  Did anyone really know me?  By the time I went for therapy, I was pretty withdrawn.  I didn’t go out much or socialize.  I was alone.

 

I started writing when I was a child.  Once my mother found a story I was writing.  The story had an “evil stepmother” in it and Mom was furious.  She felt I was really writing about her.  She was right, of course, but was so angry I was frightened and said no.  I hid all my writing after that.  I think a lot of “I Am, I Said” came from hiding who I was and what I wanted to say.

 

 

“I am, I cried!  I am, said I, and I am lost and can’t even say why – leaving me lonely still.”  I am who I am and why isn’t anyone listening?  I am me, aren’t I?  And am I not worthy?  I didn’t feel very worthy at all and I did feel lost.  What was my purpose in life?  Was it to be the voice of the deaf community?  An advocate?  But what about who I was inside, that inner child trying to get out and be.

 

Eventually I was diagnosed with panic attack disorder.  They would come and go without warning, usually when I felt “trapped”.  There was a high school math class, geometry, and I was interpreting for a junior.  At about the same time, the attack would come and I wanted desperately to get up and run.  Of course, I couldn’t.  I stayed and suffered through the attacks, trying not to let it show.  Once the student asked why I was blinking so much and that was the only clue something was wrong.  I would get panic attacks driving on highways or over bridges.  I probably could have pulled onto the highway shoulder to calm down but didn’t.  There’s no safe place to stop going over a bridge!

 

Now that I’m retired, I have a panic attack only once in a blue moon.  I believe it’s because I don’t have that feeling of being trapped anymore.  I am free to do as I please and be who I am without worrying what others think.  I am happy in my skin as an advocate for groups being mistreated, as a wife, mom, grandmother and great-grandmother. 

 

I am a writer and love it.  I can write freely now and am not afraid to share what I write.  It feels good to be me now.  “I Am, I Said” isn’t my song anymore.  I feel heard, at last.