Feeling trapped...

One of my blog friends mentioned, today, that they were feeling out of sorts. I wanted to be supportive not hijack their awful day. You know what that's like. You tell someone you're having a rough time of it, and in their effort to be supportive they share a horrible time in their life. But suddenly it isn't about you anymore, it's all about them, and there's that sense that somehow you aren't important and your sadness doesn't matter. Unfortunately, I've done that. More times than I care to count. I'm endeavoring to learn to NOT do that. I'm not saying that we shouldn't share our own experiences. It's helpful to know one isn't alone. That being said, too often the conversation becomes about the other person, and then moves on to other things, and the person who is struggling is still struggling, but now they have this unspoken directive that it's time to GET OVER IT AND MOVE ON. They haven't even been allowed to fully experience their own pain, and they are expected to forget it and go on. Too bad; so sad; so what... it isn't said, but it's frequently felt: Who cares?

Most of my life, I wasn't allowed to own my feelings. I was punished for crying over being hurt. I was punished for being too exuberant. I was punished for being too withdrawn. I was punished for being too sullen. I was punished for being afraid. I was punished for not being careful. I was punished for caring too much and punished for not caring enough. I was punished for being angry. I was punished for spacing out. I was punished for getting physically hurt. I was punished for not being outgoing enough, reserved enough, smart enough, pretty enough, skinny enough, grateful enough. I've been punished for things I've done wrong and punished for things I've done right. Sometimes the punishment was physical and sometimes it was verbal, sometimes spoken and sometimes silence.

Last night, I was terribly sad. I felt trapped. Trapped by my own choices, over the years. All those pivotal decisions that would have changed my life, if I'd made a different choice. I'm no one's idea of success, not even remotely, including mine. This isn't a new line of thinking for me. I keep hoping that I'll make a better choice with the next pivotal decision. But what brought this feeling to the forefront, right now? Of course, it was several things that happened at once.

My high school class is planning a reunion. If I attend, then I must deal with people who knew the me that was more lies than truth. I do not want to walk back into the lies. I worked so hard to recognize the lies and embrace the truth. And, I admit (vanity thy name is Judy, though I have nothing to be vain about), what do I have to show for all these years? I've learned to stop lying to myself. Yep. The sum total of all these years. That's it; that's all. Really.

Add to this, a lovely day spent with a friend, when I finally admitted that though I've always wanted to marry and have children I can't step past the abuse. It's really creepy when a guy you're interested in touches you or looks at you like a family member did. The ugly truth. How did I realize it was so much worse than I thought? This past weekend was the Arizona Dreamin' conference. I wanted to attend. I didn't. Jimmy Thomas, a cover model, was a guest. He's gorgeous, thoughtful, and kind, in case you're wondering. He took pictures with the guests. One of those in attendance talked about how nervous she was and how comfortable he helped her feel. I wondered, only for a second, how I would have responded. My first thought was that I would have thrown up, and hoped I'd have made it out of the room first. Isn't that attractive. How in the world did I ever think I could marry? Ever. The ugly truth I never wanted to look in the eye.

I was brutally taught that where I'm concerned there are two types of men: the kind that want to use me, and the kind that couldn't be interested in me because of how I look. I learned on my own that there are the kind I can be friends with, as long as I think of them as little brothers. My little brother is awesome. If I think of the men I meet in terms of him, I'm able to behave in a reasonable manner, sometimes. But little brothers never become boyfriends. If a man manages to slip past my guard, to the point that I actually think I might be interested, I immediately find every flaw, so it doesn't matter when he notices mine. And there I am. Trapped.

If that weren't enough, I'm putting everything on the line for what? To be a romance writer. Isn't that joke? I've failed at virtually everything: I'm living at home, living on savings because I lost my job, again, haven't dated in twenty years, haven't been kissed in thirty years... it's all so pathetic. And yet, what's sitting on my desktop but my current manuscript. I know that by putting all this information on my blog I could very well be setting myself up for more ugliness... what's new? The secrets are becoming so heavy. They protect me from those who enjoy hurting me, but weigh me down like armor. Sadder still is that there are those who don't believe me. I'm ridiculous, over-reacting, drama queen, melodramatic, hypersensitive, just like your mother...

In all the insanity I grew up in and fear I learned to emulate too well in order to survive, I learned one more thing: No matter how much my abusers isolated me and tried to convince me that I was alone, I knew God was with me. It wasn't always a comfort. I mean, God was with John the Baptist who was beheaded and Job who -- well, what didn't happen to Job -- and Peter who was crucified and Jesus Christ, my Savior, who was scourged, tried unjustly, and crucified. Not that I put myself in their realm. But I figure if God loves them, and they go through that, what's the little bit I go through?

Why share all this now? I don't know. I only know it's what's crowding my mind. Maybe there's something here that someone needs to read. Or maybe I needed to claim a little more honesty in my life. I feel a little less trapped. If nothing else, I will take another step forward, which means there's an open path before me, no matter how narrow.