Leaving Tracks

The things people say to us leave tracks. And really, so do the things they don't say.  Sometimes silence speaks just as loudly.  In difficult times, things can get said and maybe they are said and not meant but maybe they are.  Unless the person who said them addresses those words after the fact, what is a person to do?

Are we to assume that they were not meant because of the conditions under which they were said?  Are we to assume that they were a joke or being said sarcastically?  Are we to assume that the person really meant what they said?

I don't like to be left assuming.  Assuming gets us into trouble sooner or later.  And one thing I know from experience is that tracks left from hurtful words left unaddressed don't go away...at least for me they don't.  And when I have had the most horrible of things said to me, I have actually been the one to try to talk things through every time...and nearly every time, that person wants to avoid the conversation.  So, the tracks are left there and they still hurt right where they were laid.  The silence, the conversation avoidance, it leaves tracks, too.

So, when tracks are left by someone who says something horrible about one of your children, or when a parent casts you aside,  or when you ask someone what they would have done differently to change the way a week went and you get a response that cuts you deep....and you wait for the tracks to be covered and all you get is silence...what are you to assume?  I don't like to assume....there are too many possibilities...

People who leave the tracks should be responsible for clearing them if that is what they want...otherwise, their silence tells me that the tracks were meant to be there and there they shall stay.

I Don't Know What to Say...

My dad died in May of 2004.  He had been in a car accident and lived for three weeks after it.  I had things I wanted to say to him but I did not know what or how to say them.  We never had a relationship like that...so I said nothing.  Even when we went to visit him on his death bed just days before he died, when he was in a coma and couldn't even respond, I said nothing.

My father was an alcoholic.  I didn't realize it until I was 8.  When I was 8 years old, I went to spend the night at a friends house and asked her why her dad was not at the VFW like mine was.  She looked at me funny and said her dad doesn't go there.  Apparently her daddy stayed home with them on the weekends.  It was then I knew my family was different.

As I got older, I stopped having friends over to my house.  Things got worse...I won't go into that.  No one knew how bad it really was and my friends certainly could not know.

I kept a good outer image up...always have.  Best at everything I ever did...all on the outside.

My mind races all the time.  Trying to not let the past interfere but I haven't figured out how to not let it happen in the moment.  I feel like I am still 8 sometimes and realizing that life for me is not what it should be...I wanted what other little girls had...I wanted to be the little girl whose daddy tells her that he loves not the one whose told her to go away and die.

Harold & Jason

Harold and Jason are guys I knew for almost eight months before I gave them a chance.  Well, at least that is my version of the story.  I was pretty closed off from people for that amount of time and it was not until this past May that I became more like I used to be and let people at school see who I really was.  What happened is that I had started to laugh again...I had found something in my life that made me smile and laugh and I felt good again.

So, I was relaxed and having fun and I gave people a chance to be close to me again.  I am glad I did because if I didn't, Harold & Jason and I would not be the friends we are today.

Harold tells it to me straight.  He makes me face the most difficult thing I have to face in my life and that is me.  And honestly, at times I really hate him for it because I really don't want to face me.  The thing is that Harold says that I have to get comfortable with me...and I don't like being alone.  It is much easier to go on doing what I have always done...projecting the totally together exterior.

A few weeks ago, Harold and I got locked in a fenced in parking lot.  He hopped the fence to go get help to get me out.  I asked him, "You're gonna leave me here alone?" And the truth of the matter is that I was not so much concerned about being physically alone there so much as I was concerned that I would have 20 or 30 minutes of time alone and my mind would start to be filled with noise.  All the noise that drives me crazy and makes me not like being alone.  The stuff that comes to mind and makes me have to deal with me.  I would have rather been stuck in the parking lot the whole night with Harold than spend 30 minutes alone with myself thinking...I think it would have been fun, actually.

Nevertheless, Harold is right...he is always right.  I have got to get comfortable with me.  I have got to fix broken me and I am the only one who can do that.  And, sadly and scarily, the only way for that to happen is for me to spend some time alone during the day working on me.  I need to give people a healthy me...not a broken me.

Jason gets me, too.  He and I just learned last night that we share a common thread in our personal histories.  He said that he knows people like us can go through life and no one would ever guess our history that we hide it so well.  It is true. I would not have guessed it of him.  But now he understands me better and it is good to have someone who can validate that they know exactly what my needs are and why and also why I am they codependent person that I am.  I appreciate not being judged for that...

So, for friends like Harold and Jason who tell me that they care...I know you do because you not only tell me, you give me your time and you show me in your actions.