I remember
those cold winter nights when you and daddy would be finished yelling at each
other. You would sit on the top bunk of my bed with me wrapped in your warm
arms just waiting for me to settle down. You’d tell me to wipe the tears, take
deep breaths and it was only because you and daddy were both tired and you
haven’t had any time to spend with each other lately.
Being so young,
I didn't even think about it and just accepted what you had told me. As I got
older those cold winter nights when you cuddled with me and told me that
everything was going to be all right seemed slowly seemed to fade away. Life
got busier; the days got longer and the homework load just got bigger. The love
of a sport had entered my life, and a boy had my eye. Life in general, had become
more important than anything else had.
As I got older
the “oh we are tired” excuse no longer worked and I started figuring out family
secrets. Suddenly my whole life had become one big secret. When I was anywhere
out of the house it was an escape. Anywhere but home was fine. The only problem
was I had to fake it. I had to fake that my entire life was fine. I had to fake
that home was just fine that my parents were okay. Everyday I went somewhere
with that fake smile on. The one day I didn't go to church with my happy face
on was right after a fight between you and me. Out of my anger I told my best
friend part of the fight and showed her some evidence that the fight had taken
place. After that, it got even harder to keep the happy face on because my
whole life was flipping upside down. Even then, all you and daddy spent your
time doing was argue about our options. Since then I've been so careful on who
I tell what. I don’t want anything outside of home to change, and if the wrong
things got to the wrong people, my home would change, and so would everything
else.
So I've kept my mouth shut. Not many people know anymore and I’m
so scared to talk to youth leaders, even the ones I trust the most. I won’t
tell them when something happens. Therefore, I talk to you about, most things
anyways, I ask you for advice on what to do about that guy who I have liked for
a while. I ask what to do about me losing my friends, and things changing at
school and church, but I can never talk to you about how I feel when you and
daddy fight. Now I only have about two people I can talk to and no adults.
On those cold
winter nights, I used to cry in your arms and you used to comfort me, now
things are different. You used to tell me it would be okay, but now you’re the
reason I’m crying. Then when I am crying, I’m crying alone, on my bed, or in
the back of the youth. While I cry, I wish that people like the guy I like knew
what it was like to constantly come home to this. Maybe then, he’ll stop
wondering why I constantly have my headphones in my ears. When I’m in youth I
wish that just one youth leader would realize I am crying and come over and let
me talk to them about it all, but nobody knows, and with those who do I feel
like I talk about it too much. Therefore, I put on that happy face and
everything is good.
There was something about back then, when I was younger, when you
used to hold me and just let me cry. It felt real, mostly because I didn't know
how to be “fake” because I was young and I didn't know. Although for years now, I've been pulling it off. At least I kept thinking I was pulling it off, I made
it appear I had everything together when I really didn't The day that it all
went down was a few weeks ago, you commented that the skirt I was wearing didn't make me look skinnier, in matter of a fact it accented that little pouch
of stomach that most girls have. You told me that it would make sense to have
that little pouch if I had been pregnant, but no, I have not been pregnant. In
matter of a fact, I’m a full time gymnast. That day I walked in, my best friend
asked what was wrong and I let it out. She dragged me to the bathroom and I
just cried.
For the first
time in years, I didn't feel like I had to fake it right there and then. I
could tell her anything and everything. So I did, I told her how things have
changed, I don’t fit into half of my cloths anymore since I had temporarily
quit gymnastics, my body had changed. I just cried, and told her everything
that had happened that morning. It was so easy to do because we were alone in
the bathroom; nobody else was there and for the first time I felt like I could
be real. There was relief that I didn't have to fake any of it, because it was
just her and I or so we thought. We heard the toilet flush and out walked His
mother. She had just heard it all, she heard me crying, she heard me telling my
best friend about everything you had told me that morning. Later His mother
stopped me and asked how I was doing and if anything was new. I just wanted to
cry then, I knew why she was asking, I wanted to tell her that everything she
heard in the bathroom was true. At that moment, I looked up to see you standing
there too, and instead of letting it all out, I just mention how my weekend
went. Yet again, I acted as if everything was okay. For the rest of that day I had
that fake smile on. I tried many different ways to deal with what was said that
morning. By my best friends and by you, I could not sort it out in my mind I
just wanted to cry. By the end of the day that fake smile crept in and took over.
That
Wednesday during youth, I head to the back where I usually go during praise and
worship and I sit down, think about Sunday, and try to sort out the lies from
the truth. I lean my head back on the cold wall and I feel the hot tears start
to rush down my cold face. “You can tell me anything, I hope you know that
right?” I look around for who said that, but I realize nobody said that. Nobody
that I could see, “your Facebook says it’s not a religion it’s a personal
relationship, so why are you pushing me away and making it a religion? I
haven’t heard from you in a while.”
Well you
already know everything that’s going on, you are the one that planned this for
my life, remember? “So I still want to hear it from you, just because I know
things doesn't mean that I don’t want to hear it from you yourself.” You’re not
even like a real person to talk to; you’re just in my head. “I’m supposed to be
your very best friend, your Facebook says you are in a relationship, and when
people asked who you used my son, who through the trinity is me, but what I've seen isn't a relationship. Tell me about your mother.”
I'm hesitant
for a second, then the music slowed down and got quieter and I saw that boy
that I had liked for so many years up on stage. He slowly grabbed the
microphone and looked in my direction; it felt like he is staring right at me
who was sitting on the ground crying. Looking away he then said, "Okay
guys I hope you realize that the God we are worshiping tonight is real. He his
not fake, he's not something we can touch or see, he's not that chair in front
of me or that wooden board behind me. He is real, we can talk to him, and I
feel as if some people are holding things back. So treat him like a real person
and talk to him. Tell him everything. He may already know it, but he wants to
hear it from you."
I looked down,
whether it was directed toward me or not, it applied to me. So I start telling
him about you. For once I could cry and not worry about what the person was
thinking, or if I was boring them because I had told them it all before. I
could tell them all my problems. The next thing I knew I was curled up in a
ball in the back of the family life center just talking with him. It had become
warm and it had felt just like it had when you had held me so many years ago.
That had been the only thing I ever wanted to feel for the longest time, and
there it was, you were nowhere near I and I felt it on a cold winter night.
