Running Scared

Loosely based on real events. Very loosely.

It was one of those memorable nights, the smiling moon and the cool night air setting the perfect scene. The question going around the bonfire was "What did you learn this year?" I couldn't think of anything else. I guess it was time to talk about it. It was my turn to answer; everyone was watching me. Ok, deep breath. It's now or never.

"So this past year, my best friend decided she no longer wanted to be my friend. And she left, just like that. No goodbyes, no explanations, nothing," I said, determined to keep a strong exterior. My heart pounded against my chest as I continued with my story. I tried to keep my tone light and the details vague; no one need know just how much this has affected me.

But then the truth takes over as it hits me. Here it comes. I've been hiding it for so long and it's finally done. I can't lie to these people. If I can't tell them the truth, who can I tell? It's time I let myself feel. So the truth came out through my lips and with it, a steady stream of tears. That much hurt buried for so long gains momentum; like a rock blocking a waterfall - eventually the water will build up so much that it will simply shoot the rock out of the way and crash down the fall with more strength and ferocity than before. You can only hide the truth for so long. And so I tell them; I weave for them a tapestry of the loss, the pain, the disabling fear, and the hurt of not being enough. And then I tell them what I learned - rather, what God had taught me. God had taught me that you mustn't put your faith in people. They will always disappoint you, no matter how wonderful and good they are. The only person you can trust to always be there for you is God himself.

"It was a hard way to learn the lesson, but it is a lesson worth learning." I stare into the fire and let the last tears fall as I wait for the response. The silence weighs down the air around me and I wait, afraid to even breathe.

"Listen," I hear someone start and look to see him speaking, "I love you," he says, his tone completely serious. Ok, I expected some interesting responses but...what?

"And I don't mean that in a cutesy 'oh let's be BFFs' way. I mean it in an I'd-take-a-bullet-for-you way. And I know that there are so many people here who feel the same." All right, that might be taking this a little too far.

"You are an astounding human being the likes of which aren't seen very often on this earth. Not to mention you're a sensational friend. Just because one (clearly insane) person decided not to be your friend, you shouldn't write yourself off. You're amazing and I for one would love nothing more than a friend like you."

Wow. I smiled shakily at him, then looked down at the ground. I didn't know how to process this. A few more people comment, most agreeing with him, but I didn't really pay too much attention. I was still absorbing everything that he just said. The question continues around the campfire and I sit and stare at the flames, lost in my own thoughts.

I wasn't prepared for that, it wasn't what I expected at all. I'd been so caught up in what I didn't have - that one friend - that I forgot all about what I did have and the people I could be friends with. And that those words - words of admiration that I couldn't believe were directed at me - should come from him, this wonderful young man who I barely knew, well, I didn't know how to handle that. How could anyone think so highly of me, especially someone I hardly know?

The fire is dying, and it's decided that we should head in for the night. It's well past 2 a.m. and we're all tired. I stand up and slowly brush off my jeans, not really aware of what's going on around me. I grab my blanket and look toward the house. Everyone's already halfway there - or, almost everyone.

"Hey..." he says, coming toward me.

"Yeah?" I say, trying to keep my composure. I don't know what to expect after the speech he just made. He's been surprising me all night.

"I just wanted to let you know," he begins, continuing to step closer, "that I meant everything I said. I know it's a little unorthodox, seeing as we don't know each other that well. But - I mean - I can't explain it, but I feel like I've known you my whole life. It doesn't make sense, but it's how I feel."

I can feel the blush rising in my cheeks and hope the firelight is too dim for him to notice. I concentrate on brushing off and folding my blanket so I don't have to look him in the eyes.

"I appreciate it," I say, "It's not easy to be honest like that." What am I saying? What kind of response is that?

"No," he says, taking the blanket out of my hands, "it wasn't easy. But that's because there were so many people around. I would've preferred to tell you in private. But I can't seem to get you alone. That is," he looked around, "until now."

He smiled at me, his eyes searching mine for their response. I can't imagine what they're saying, I'm feeling such a mess of emotions - vulnerability, fear, excitement. I think I know where this is going, but I don't know what I want to do about it. He's forbidden fruit.

"Yeah, it looks like it's just us and the wild animals," I joke, trying to keep the tone light.

He just looks at me, knowing that's not what I want to say. So I go for it.

"Thank you, for what you said earlier. I needed to hear it. And...well, it really meant a lot." My eyes well up again and a single tear runs down my cheek.

He gently wipes the tear from my cheek and then pulls me into a hug, his strong arms enfolding me, my cheek pressed to his chest. I don't know for how long the embrace lasts; I'm lost in the warmth of his body against mine.

After my tears subside, I pull away from him, but he puts his hands on either side of my face. He looks at me imploringly, and then pulls me closer so that our foreheads are touching. Suddenly, and inexplicably, I feel fear rise in my chest. I instinctively know that I'm not ready for whatever is coming next.

"I really, really like about you," he says, holding my gaze, "And I want to do something about that. I know this is all happening really fast, so if you need time to think, I understand. I just wanted you to know."

My heart is pounding in my chest, like it's trying to run away from my body, to run away from him.

"I - I don't know what to say."

"That's ok," he says warmly, "I know it's a lot to take in."

"No, I - well, I really care about you. I do. It's just - you're my best friend's cousin." How do I say this? "You're so wonderful, and I couldn't ask for anything better, I just - you're off limits. I can't do this. I'm sorry."

I take his hands from my face, grab the blanket and race away.

"Wait! Please - wait!" I hear behind me.

But I don't stop. I continue to stumble away, my tears blurring my sight. I get as far as my legs will go at a run, and slow down. When I get to the fence, I look back just once. He's still there, frozen by the glowing embers of the fire.

Weary 2: The Actual Letter

I thought you might like to see the product of my last post: a letter written to the person to which Weary referred. It shows the difference between not only my emotion vs. more rational writing, but my private writing vs. what I would put in a letter to someone. To be honest, I'm quite proud of it. Here goes. (the blanks are name omission)

Dear _____,

In lieu of an angry speech that would probably be the best I would ever regret, I have decided to write you a letter. I pray it will effectively communicate all that I wish to say to you and, perhaps more importantly, the feeling behind the words. Know that these words, while written with a tumultuous state of mind, are not products of the heat of the moment; I have spent many a day mulling over my thoughts and feeling to make sure that the message I send you is one of truth to the way I feel.

I am disappointed. I had sincerely hoped this Christmas break would give us a chance to reconnect and recharge our friendship. Neither has happened. I will be the first to say that some of the blame lies with me; I was not diligent in contacting you or even in letting you know of my wishes. But, as I'm sure you know, communication is a two-way street and you, too, were hardly in contact with me. However, where the blame lies is beside the point. The fact of the matter is that Christmas break is now over, you and I saw each other but once, and our friendship is on more uncertain ground than ever before.

The issue at hand is not that we spent so little time together this break, though it is a tragedy. No, the problem is one that has been gathering momentum since our last summer before we became college students: We take each other for granted. I know there are other issues but this is the one most glaring to me. Last summer you were angry with me because you felt that I was spending all my time with ______ and no longer cared for you. Over Thanksgiving, I expressed my frustration with you for not being more diligent in talking to me. In both situations, the other was completely unaware of how they were making the first feel. We simply were not keeping track of how our actions were affecting each other. Had I seen you over New Year's, that would have been my wise lesson for the year.; it is imperative to be aware of the consequences of your actions, especially how said actions affect those around you.

One of my favorite Bible verses is 1 John 3:18. It says, "Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth." It serves as a good reminder to me that many times, words simply aren't enough when dealing with things like love, loyalty and trust. Words aren't enough anymore, ______. I cannot continue to cling to old promises in hopes that they will one day be fulfilled. I need you to prove to me that this friendship matters to you, no by saying anything but by doing something. For this to work when we are so far away from each other, we are both going to have to maintain it. I feel that I have done so (please correct me if I'm wrong) but that you, unfortunately, are lacking. If you feel, as I do, that this friendship is worth fighting for, you must put in more effort.

I am not saying any of this because I wish to end our friendship or to say that I think you are a bad person. On the contrary, I want quite badly to be your friend. Much more so, in fact, that I think you wish to be mine. It is with that motivation I say what follows: I want you to be my good friend but until you start acting like one, I no longer consider you as such.

Again, please do not take this as a resignation - I have yet to throw in the towel. You mean too much to me; meeting you turned my world around and I know that God has much more in store for our friendship. I am merely stating that I am weary. I have invested so much in this friendship - my time, my energy, my emotions, my heart - and right now, I do not feel like my investment is being returned. For the time being, have ceased to invest. And I will not begin again until I see you investing in me. I give the reigns to you now to do with what you will.

I pray that you are well and that this letter meets with no misunderstanding.

Most sincerely,

Your friend,

Weary

I'm so tired, so very tired of this. My emotions are sent on a roller-coaster ride with you, and it's no longer fun and exhilarating; it's monotonous. I feel like I'm upset with you for the same thing over and over again. We get over it and appear to move on but then find ourselves back, having fallen again into the same rut. I don't know how to break out of this exhaustive cycle.

I'm so sick of being disappointed by you. Yeah, maybe I've put you on a pedestal but that's only because you told me you could handle it - you said you held yourself to a higher standard. Well it's a standard that you are no longer meeting. Disappointment creates fatigue and fatigue is ruinous to a friendship.

Nights like these enervate me; I lose interest in everything. I just want to close my eyes, fall into a deep slumber, and wake up to find it's all been a bad dream. But I know that can't happen, it's all too real - the tears are too real, the chagrin too real, the heartache much too real. I guess that's what this all boils down to. I expected too much of you. I wanted you to be my superman, my knight in shining armor and you've fallen flat. You're nothing that I wanted you to be. No, that's not true. You are so close to being everything that I wanted, and that's worse; to have all that you've been dreaming of right at your fingertips only to find that it's just too far to grab. Maybe it's all been an illusion - I created you into what I wanted you to be but now the glass of my perfect picture has shattered. And I'm left holding the shards, lamenting that my fairy tale couldn't be true.

I feel like I've been such a good friend to you. I've invested so much time and effort and emotion, but you're not holding up your end of the deal. I want to mean as much to you as you mean to me. But the fact of the matter is, the only people I should make a priority in my life are the ones who make me a priority in theirs. I need you to prove that I matter to you. I need you to show me that this friendship means something to you. I need you to make that effort. One of my favorite Bible verses is 1 John 3:18: "Dear children, let us not love with words or speech but with actions and in truth." Words are no longer enough. I need action.

I want you to be my good friend but until you start acting like one, I no longer consider you as such.

You've let me down, and I am weary.

Creating

Sometimes I see things in words, and sometimes I see them in color. Sometimes putting pen to paper is the only way I can describe my feelings and other times, only a paintbrush and canvas will do. And for some reasons, these two mediums coexist so harmoniously within me that each knows when to take control. Right in that moment before deep sleep and dreams wash over me, creativity whispers my name, and something will dance across my mind's eye; sometimes it's a stanza of words strung together in flawless unity and empathy, and sometimes it's emotion and peace molded into color and form. Neither is too dominant - it just depends on how much I remember when I wake.

The Simple Answer

"Everybody good?" he asks.

No, we're not good. We're not good at all. We have no idea what we're doing or where we're going. Some of us are aware of that and are scared out of our minds. Others don't even notice. They just follow along, doing what they thing they're supposed to be doing. Following the people they think have it down. Truth is, no one has it down. We're all scared and confused and lost.

Me? I've got nothing down. I don't know anything for certain. And I may look like I have everything together, look like I'm strong but really, I'm weak. I'm buried under the load of an emotional mother, the load of a distant father, the load of being a good sister, a good friend, a good student, being connected to my faith, listening to God, obeying and following God, the load of diseased friendships, the load of schoolwork and school responsibilities, the incredible load of money and the worries that tag along with it, the load of insecurity, low self-esteem, the load of my future, my past, and my present. I'm weighed down by all of this. So yeah, I'm a good actress, but don't look to me for answers. None of us know what to do, but we're all in that together.

But all that's too much to say. So, "yeah, we're good."

Unfocused

The last time I based a post about the design of my blog, it was a hit. So I'm going for it again. It also has a little bit of dream in it too.

Everything is fuzzy. I feel as though I can't really see anything clearly anymore. I thought I knew what I wanted, knew what I was doing. But it's pretty clear that I was wrong; that's the only thing that's clear these days.

I showed up here with a set path. I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life and how I was going to do it, at least up to the point of graduation. I showed up so focused, so set on where I was going. But someone pulled a sheet over my eyes when I wasn't paying attention. The ground that once was crystal clear is now a blurry opaque. I kept walking, thinking maybe I'd get somewhere. But it appears I've been walking in circles. They said I'd change, they were right; I hardly recognize myself these days.

Looking around I realize that there's not a sheet over my eyes like I thought. I'm standing in a glass box. The glass is foggy and obscure and everything around me in unclear; where I'm going, where I've been, even where I am. I keep turning in circles and the only thing I see, besides blurs of light and color, is my own reflection staring back at me. Except, she's not quite me. The expression on her face is ambiguous - is she confused? Mocking me? I can't tell. I look closer and she leans in with me. And then I realize what it is. She's scared. She's terrified and she doesn't want me to move on. She wants me to stay right here, in this glass box, where it's safe. So she entices me with thoughts and temptations that will keep me put: parties and booze, men and seduction, friendships and fun. That life, a life of glamor and excitement is alluring; no worries, just dancing and alcohol. But no, no I won't be tantalized by these lies anymore; those friendships are false, dancing an escape, alcohol a momentary bandage. Don't lie to me anymore. I'm done.

I look around at my surroundings again and I find myself standing at a fork in the road. Except this fork has many prongs - too many prongs. And none of them are very clear, my eyes are still unfocused. I can only discern vague outlines and colors of each of the different paths. There are so many ways I could go and I have no idea which one to choose. But look, there's something - a few paths. Their colors are brighter, stronger; their pathways straighter, better paved. I look to those paths.

Storytime

At least I look pretty when I cry. That's what I thought as I looked into the mirror once I'd gained enough energy to pull myself off the bed. The redness around my eyes makes the blue stand out even more strongly. And the expression on my face - it's vulnerable but like I've given up, too. Giving up. There's something sexy about finally just letting go.

I'd never meant to fall in love with him. In fact, I didn't even know I had until I'd already been in love for some time. It was like my love for him had always been there, hanging out in the background. Until one day it just decided to jump out from the side and tackle me. It hit me like a truck. And that's when I started crying. The floodgates opened because when you're hit with that many memories and that much emotion, you have to let it out somehow. So the tears fell. And fell. And fell until all the water was used up and I just lay there sobbing, my eyes bloodshot and dry.

I don't want to love him, I don't even want to think about him. But that doesn't stop my foolish heart from obeying itself.

I love him. So love him.
But I don't want to. You don't have to want to. Just love him in your own confused, convoluted way. And then let it go.