I felt unloved. My mother compared me to a father she seemed to hate. She went around telling half truths, exaggerations. She threatened to put me out. She called and told my father and grandfather on me. She told on me in person. She talked to me however she wanted. She never listened. She let my sister talk to me any kind of way. My dad remarried. Because if the craziness post and prior marriage, and because he may be a little too saved, he put his wife and her kids and grandkids before me. Though my dad and step mother begged me, for a while I refused to move home and live with them. Well one day I decided to change some things, give away some things. I told my dad and stepmother what would probably happen. My dad told me to call the cops.
I wrote my mom a letter, telling the truth. It pissed her off. Not to mention me giving away my personal property. I refused to go take it back. At 22 years old my mother slapped me. And she slapped me hard enough to leave an impression long enough for me to call the cops, get a picture taken, talk to the cops, drive thirty minutes, text her for I don’t know how long. Maybe it wasn’t on there that long. The details are hazy. She put me out. Then she let me come back.
I went and talked to the first lady of the church I was attending. I almost lost my mind that night. I had been desperately trying to cultivate a better relationship with Christ, yet all hell broke loose. The first lady and the mother of the church told me the devil was attacking me. They wouldn’t let me speak. They sent me home to my mother. After years of being sent home, nobody helping me, nobody confronting her, the next day I had had enough. I quit my job. Packed my car and left. I went searching for a friend I let my mother talk me into throwing away.
I got lost on my journey. I changed my number. I told my dad and stepmother I was coming. I asked her not to give away my number. But she did. My mom tried to get me to go back. When the manipulation didn’t work she tried passive aggressiveness. I only lasted two months at my dad’s. My stepmother was a trip. She put me out. When my dad found out he asked her if she got the key. He didn’t come talk to me. He didn’t listen when I tried to tell him how she treated me, how she behaved. They wouldn’t let me drive one of their cars so I had to walk. Even though they claimed they would help me. And once I moved to my grandmother’s he came in twice. Never asked about me or came to my room. I will say my stepmother apologized. My dad hasn’t. I don’t think my mom has either.
Number 3 was there for me. Pushing and supporting me. But when I tried to return the favor that didn’t go over so well. I struggled to maintain friendships with those my age and younger once I moved. I was loopy and trying to sort through the turmoil and crazy that was my life. I said one thing but wanted another. The whole destruction of three relationships occurred not too long after this.
Number 1 was struggling. Another not so great friend was refusing to be there for him because he couldn’t forgive get over what Number 1 had done, and Number 1 had no idea. Number 1 ended up in crisis and the friend refused to help. I was incredulous. I had decided to start throwing away some things myself. I ended the friendship.
I could no longer be surrounded by people who didn’t want to me. I was no longer to beg, buy, borrow, or steal friends. If I wasn’t good enough for you to pick up the phone and call or respond then deuces. I could no longer surround myself with “Christians” who know nothing about the message of Christ. Or should I say who knew about it but weren’t trying to accept and display it. Again, I’m not perfect. But I try to forgive. That’s why I can talk to my family, though they almost destroyed me, and constantly threw away the pieces I gave them. I was already lonely surrounded by people. Why not celebrate, and embrace me? Why not actively decide to have peace?
So here I am today. Everything isn’t perfect. But I’ve tried to perfect accepting things. I don’t need people. I am fortunate with the few I have that accept me as I am and love me for who I am. I don’t think I accomplished all I set out to do in this blog as I attempt to wrap it up. Maybe I’ll do some ISSUES or WORTH blogs. I dunno. But as the Donald Lawrence and Company song “Happy Being Me” says:
“So happy being me, I’m regretting nothing
To busy living life giving love… freely
I’m so happy being me” http://www.azlyrics.com/lyrics/donaldlawrence/happybeingme.html
Ok. As promised, here is this blog. Throwaway, as a noun defined by google means: a thing intended or destined to be discarded after brief use or appeal. I’ve been thrown away a time or few in these short 28 years of life. The first time I actually remember being discarded was in fifth grade. I had been at the school for the past two years. I received the gift of salvation. I don’t recall being any different. But something must have been. What began was many years of hurt, betrayal, and displacement. I belonged to a group of girls thick as thieves. All of a sudden they turned on me. The wouldn’t be my friend anymore. I still remember trying hard to get the fearless leader to like me. I had been by her side all day trying to get into her good graces. I came back from the restroom. I overheard her say something along the line of being her pet. Dejected, I went to the cafeteria to eat lunch alone. That school year was rough. My mom had conferences with my teacher. It was also the last school year before I had to move. I didn’t want to. I had a life. I volunteered to stay with my dad though he wasn’t my favorite.
We visited the south every summer for my grandfather’s pastoral anniversary celebration. I knew of the kids. They knew who I was. I didn’t really hang with them because I had my cousins and sisters when we would go visit. Well, I hung with one set of kids and that was pretty much it. Once I got there permanently it was disastrous. I remember one of the boys asking me why my legs were so big. I guess I need to write a blog about WORDS.
I thought these kids were my friends eventually. A set of cousins seemingly didn’t get along. They played me for a fool and put me in the middle. I had a boyfriend, crazy but common in the sixth grade. He treated his friend, the one he was supposed to be with according to the “church” folk, better than me. He felt he could do whatever but let me do the same thing and it was awful. That lasted off and on for about two years. He didn’t treat me well. I promised to be done and that I didn’t need another bf. Well, I have had one since the ninth grade. And tons of infatuations that were fruitless…sad. (Sidebar-he tried to, in an email, get back with ya girl freshman year in college. I knew better and said no. And, though I don’t recall, he tried again later before he proposed to his wife. Again no. Glad he seems happy with his wife and kids.)
School friends got better eventually. The few that I had. At least in middle and high school. The “church” friends not so much. I tried with all my might to have friends by showing myself friendly. I was there when I didn’t have to be. All I wanted was attention in return. Maybe I attempted to buy their love. Maybe I was “too saved.” I admit at times I was. It took me a while to ever need GRACE. But when I did, boy did I ever.