The Healer Within. Mariena Foley
The conformist is in no way a free man. He has to follow the herd.”
Almost thirty years into this life, I finally came to recognize that I don’t think like other people and they don’t think like me. My expectations of myself have not really softened at all, but in this discovery, I am far more generous, patient and indulgent in my expectations of others.
I am an Indigo child. When I read The Indigo Children by Jan Tober and Lee Carroll, I experienced two things: recognition and relief. Not only did someone understand that I didn’t think like other people think and didn’t seem to have the same social filters, but also the specialists referenced in the book actually saw merit to this! If you understand or have read about Indigos, then you’ll be able to laugh at, and comprehend somewhat, the audacious existence that has been, and is, my life.
Of course, it would have been a lot easier if during my childhood we recognised Indigo children and their differing natures. But my mother was blind in the wilderness to this strangely independent, very strong and apparently defiant child, a child who knew change was necessary and always pushed to make it. She was told to “discipline her,” and when that didn’t work, “discipline her harder.”
I appeared awkward, I was painfully shy, and the majority of my family just couldn’t fathom how to communicate with me. And I couldn’t fathom how to get through to them, either! I threw tantrums that to this day, only my own children can compete with (sadly for them, as they are dealing with the master). I was grotesquely intolerant of idiots, but rather than let them know it, I simply went within myself. Just didn’t answer. I see my son do the same thing now. My son has a physical disability and people, not knowing, assume it must be something to do with his disability. Having been there myself, I see him just choose not to bother himself with such small questions. He, too, just goes within.
Not unhappily intrinsic, either. It was (and still is) blissful to escape within and concentrate on the incredible influx of information that I gathered throughout the day from moment to moment. It was enjoyable to filter, refine, comprehend a little further or abandon information from various interactive and even multidimensional information feeds. A whole separate adventure lives within our own minds.
I used to, and actually still do, love watching people. I often recall looking at a group of people that I was amongst, from a distance. I could make myself be outside that group when physically I was amid them. I could view a moving kaleidoscopic portrait of them, and I would watch. And smile. And learn.
It wasn’t an easy childhood, and a bevy of forces were at work at any moment to assure that status. Bad things happened. Bad things. Any single one of these things could have created a victim of me. My apparent social ineptitude made me ill equipped to handle them. Remaining intrinsic, for me, was a defensive action in the face of the mind-chattering chaos of absorbing all the peripherals, as well as dealing with the obvious.
This absorbed, non-communicative existence prompted me to hear the phrase, “The world doesn’t revolve around you, you know!” more times than I care to remember. Every child hears this phrase at some time. I had it hammered in. However, it actually wasn’t self-absorption; it was an quiet essential for survival.
The downfall of my silent defensive strategy came to a head when I started school. Apparently I hadn’t been openly communicating much at all. Despite the fact that an extraordinary amount of activity was always going on within me, I hadn’t actually shared a lot of it. As such, when I was at the appropriate age to start school, my mother had placed me in a remedial prep class, as they had come to the conclusion that I had some sort of learning disability. I was only in the Prep class for two days before the school put me into Grade Two.
I had been reading since I was three, only Mum hadn’t noticed. I certainly hadn’t told anyone. Having to speak to people was horribly uncomfortable, and did I mention I was painfully shy? I have an extraordinary memory, a true gift that means learning comes easily. (When we meet, this is worth remembering, for my memory is long.) Again, in my naiveté, I had assumed everyone shared this. But alas…
The self-discipline to sit down and study was another issue. You would have hated me at school, not studying, getting good grades. But I was so bored and frustrated and despised being there. Unless I knew I would enjoy the task, I simply refused to complete any assigned homework, and in the face of this my marks did suffer. Homework seemed a pointless exercise of little benefit to any party involved, other than to tax one’s time.
I did everything extra curricula that I could during school, to stem the boredom and quash the frustration I had at such an inefficient and ineffective institutional system. As such, I play a number of musical instruments, speak various languages, etc. The number of rehearsals I attended for jazz ensemble, orchestra, senior band and various types of dance, not to mention sports, rivalled the entire number of scheduled school classes I had. I was eleven years old when I developed a plan that would make general education less generic and more effective for the individual. I couldn’t understand why the school faculty wouldn’t listen, although I do recall the principal saying, “There’s something wrong with that girl!” as I left his office.
(I recommend reading The Indigo Children by Lee Carroll and Jan Tober. This weird existence will make a lot more sense, and you’ll know me a lot better. There are many, many written titles on the topic but still I find this particular title a great introduction.)
Yep, I was the “troublemaker”. Not intentionally, but I was certainly perceived as such by the strict faculty at the Catholic school I attended. “Triple F”, Father Fred Franklin, the principal of the school, belonged to an order of brothers that had only run all-boy schools. This was their first co-ed school and he was simply bewildered by me. In a Year Eight report card, my maths teacher wrote, “Melissa has incredible potential. The rest of the class might have too, if she would stop talking to them all throughout the lessons!”
Ultimately I became the school captain. Poor old Father Fred was stuck with me for a whole year. Clearly, everyone enjoyed watching this poor man’s tortured struggle!
My final year in high school was a nightmare. Most people did five Higher School Certificate subjects in their final year. Because I could, and they were trying to keep me busy, I did four the previous year and another six in my final year: ten math/ science subjects because, according to my teachers, that would “take me further”.
School started in February, and one week in, I was diagnosed with glandular fever. A month later, I was raped by a young man who apparently had been stalking me for some time (you learn that in hindsight, of course). In April I was diagnosed with Ross River virus, which is quite similar to glandular fever, except it also feels like you have hot sand in all of your joints. I wasn’t well. I was sleeping 14–16 hours a day, just trying to stay alive. School took up all the rest of my time, and what a waste of time it felt like.
Aside from the emotional hurt, I sustained significant physical injuries from the rape. This guy had planned the whole thing for months, so he was pretty organised in its execution and ultimately tried to kill me with a piece of wood, through the end of which he’d hammered nails.
In Australia, if you suffer trauma or serious illness during your final year at school, they can give you “special consideration”, which gives some official room for excuse if your marks aren’t too hot. A guidance teacher recommended I apply for it. I was rejected because the rape “didn’t occur during an examination period”. As for the illness, well, I might get over it before the end of the year.
Regardless, I graduated and got a university scholarship into engineering. Great course; just not for me. I was so sick of memorising formulae. For the first time, I seriously addressed my career. I had never actually given any thought to what I wanted to do with my life. When I had had that all-important appointment with a guidance teacher and she asked me what I wanted to do when I left school, I answered, “Nothing.” These days I’m inclined to think that it was the correct answer. Nothing can be very pleasant, provided money is not an issue.
But I was cruising. I was following the script, the expectations of others. Damn it, I was conforming! Conforming, because it was easier than identifying where I needed to go. I left engineering