True Sadness

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"MAMA DOESN'T LOVE ME! SHE HATES ME! SHE, SHE DOESN'T LOVE ME..." I lay on the couch half screaming, half crying, curled under a blanket in my underwear. Both my sisters sat beside me, one held my hand and the other rubbed my back. They both spoke in low soothing tones. They told me Mama loved me, they told me Daddy loved me and would die for me. And, because they were speaking to a drunk person who was quite illogical and incapable of seeing the obvious, they assured me they too loved me.

What consistently amazes me about both of my sisters is their pure unconditional love. They care about me. It hurts them to see me hurt. They say when you are drunk, your true person comes out. It turns out, as if this were any news flash, I am a very funny, but sad person. Once before I have gotten this way--that is drunk enough for me to function without any inhibitions whatsoever. The real me. Without the facades, without the emotion control and without the tough shell. I cry alot. I beg people to love me. I become like a hurt little girl, again.

I don't remember everything, or alot, for that matter. But I do remember bits and pieces. They told me more, but not all of it. I have a feeling some of it was too pathetic to recount. I remember sobbing brokenheartedly as I swore my mother didn't love me. I remember choking on sobs because I said Daddy didn't love me. I remember hyperventalating. I remember vomiting. I remember being concerned this was a indicator that I was a lightweight.

Last night, was a reality check. I realize that I cannot go through life faking it. Acting like I am alright. Life hurts. I hurt. People love me. I ignore that. You cannot hide behind humor forever. My humor masks pain and insecurity. Alcohol is a crutch. It's one more thing to distract from who I am and what I am lacking. One more excuse to not own up to my lacking relationship with Christ.

You know how parents say they have to let you make mistakes so you will learn? No matter how much it hurts them, they want you to learn for yourself? For the first time in my life, I fully realize the value and the pain of that lesson. Seeing the looks on my sisters faces when they talked about how unbelievably sad and scared they were for me. They didn't judge. They just told me they loved me. The pain and concern that was lurking in their eyes spoke volumes.

I don't want to change for them. I realize the weight of my actions, not the consiquences. But it is their love, which reflects the love of Christ. Unconditional. Unchanging. Undeserved.

If there is a way for them to completely understand the way they have lived out Christ, for me, I hope they will. Perhaps they will in heaven. Perhaps they will never know. But I will know. I will be able to look at them and remember their lives forever changed mine.

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This odd narrative is my life. I ended up in Pittsburgh, of all places--from the beach. I have no hobbies, other than cooking excessively and eating microwave popcorn. I enjoy shopping, the Food network, hiding the remote so the Food network cannot be turned off, find ethnic food stores and restaurants and reading voraciously. My life is decidedly pedestrian.

I worked in the car business where I was required to be ruthless and soul-less wench, which is when I started this project. Since then, I've kept it up because secretly, I've always wanted to join the military. Every male in my mother's family has joined and I quietly entertain thoughts of joining. I haven't yet and don't know if I ever will, but sending the troops cookies keeps me sane. it makes me think I still have a shred of human kindness left in my withering soul. it's a small way for me to salute the men and women who are brave enough to fight for freedom. And makes me feel like I'm contributing toward troop morale--even if I'm not. So if you want to help, send me addresses of troops you know stationed overseas. you may also contribute toward the cost of chocolate chips, but don't feel obligated, that link is here only by request.

the past


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