I have updates, but they’ll wait for now.

I just watched “Captain Fantastic.”  Several friends had recommended this film to me and thought I would enjoy it.  I did, some… but mostly I felt sad and angry. The movie touched a number of very tender spots; spots that are maybe best left alone.

The northwest is my place. I didn’t really know anything about the setting of the movie, but recognized it at once.  The lush green of the towering trees next to rivers and stark mountains, yes. The quiet, yes. The isolation, yes. My dream, starting in elementary school sometime, was to live on the side of one of the Cascade Mountains in a cabin deep in the woods, reached only by foot or by horse. I designed the cabin, knew exactly how it and my surroundings would appear. Numerous animals (especially dogs) would be my companions, and only dear and occasional friends were allowed to know my location for visits. Thirty-some years later, that hasn’t changed much.

In many ways I am still that kid. I dream hard and still identify strongly with forests, animals, rustic living, and simplicity. What has changed is knowledge about myself. Isolation draws me, but it likely would not offer continual solace. I am too prone to depression, to unhealthy thinking, to sometimes destructive coping methods when I am not taking medication and or under care. People do matter to me, even though that makes me feel uncomfortably vulnerable. My dream changed over the years mainly to include children and/or a partner. I did parent for a while, but none of the children were able to stay. I have not found my partner.

Being near joyful families of any type is something I like, and something that is often deeply painful. I wanted that. I want that. That movie had a lot of sad, but it had a parent with healthy kids living in the wilderness, then on a homestead. They were strong and agile and grounded and themselves. They had a parent, who, however misguided, loved and supported them each as individuals. They were awake and outside and learning.

The mother in this story died due to complications of mental illness. She had wanted to be in the woods with her family, wanted the forest to help her heal. I’ve wanted that. I do want that. I believe nature has that power and I know that it is not always enough. That makes me angry. I want it to be enough. I want to retreat with my animals into the quiet woods and heal in my way, in the quiet, in the forest, living simply. (I do know living simply is not living easily.) I do not want to be on meds the rest of my life. I am actively working toward healing and building my skills, but it will never likely be enough for me to wisely live without human companionship.

I worked to be in the space to acknowledge my desire and need for people in my life. That was hard. I have (mainly chosen) family, and I love them. I do not have kids or a partner. I am not looking to find my identity or my safety or any dependence on immediate family, but I do desire them.  They are not here.

Other dreams may partially fill those desires, someday. That movie, though fictional, cut way too close to home.