Living Haunted

There are many times that I sit down to write something on here, and a thought passes through my head : "Why would anyone wanna read about my garbage?"   And strangely enough the answer to that is always, "because I'm not alone".   I am just a voice for many who are asking the same kind of questions about their own lives.  We are all struggling to find the faith to keep it together for another day.  And I know that some of my readers have started their own venue to speak out and be real to others.  I think it's time we all stopped hiding behind our political socially acceptable Sunday School faces.  It's time to stop being afraid; allowing fear to control our relationships and our decision to trust.
Maybe you don't think this applies to you...

These are a few ways that fear may affect your life:
Fear makes loneliness
Fear builds walls
Fear keeps it all inside
Fear says that I'm better off alone
Fear whispers lies

Fear keeps me hurting
Fear provides a place for the ghosts to thrive
Fear keeps me silent
Fear leads me to places that I was never meant to be

Fear scares away reason;
"I'm alone because I'm afraid of being alone."
Fear searches for an excuse to keep being afraid

Fear hides itself
Fear puts on a face
Fear acts like everything's okay

Fear won't let me accept forgiveness or grace
Fear records my failures

Fear and Faith can not be friends.

I've let Fear make my choices.     Not anymore.
 I refuse.

I put aside my fear and went to the woman's retreat (refer to previous post, "Retreat!").   Not to say, I wasn't still afraid.  I was.  In fact the night before, I barely got a wink of sleep in.  If my tanks hadn't been filled to the top with nervousness and anxiety, I would have been running on empty.  The day went as well as could be expected.  The speakers were great and seemed to be perfectly aimed at my heart with their message.  I tried hard to hide my enthusiasm about all of it though; I was still too nervous to let my true emotions show through.

The night was coming quickly and the sleeping arrangements seemed set in stone -Two double beds in each suite along with a fold out couch.   We had only 4 ladies in our room so I was sure that I could take the couch if I wanted to, but I didn't want it to look like I was scared to sleep in the same bed with someone else.  I didn't want to show my discomfort.
I paid my portion for the room and then proceeded upstairs.  Greeting me almost immediately after I opened the door was the only lady that I considered a friend in the room.  She spoke up quickly and told me that it had been decided that they would all sleep and share the beds (everyone except herself-she didn't have to share) and I would get the fold out.  The sheets were already laid on top waiting for me to make it up.  Immediately, like someone had just tossed me into a dumpster, my spirit was broken.  The couch was in a separate room from the beds, and that's how I felt -separated.  Segregated, because I was different?  Because I'm weird?  Because I'm not like them?  Can they see all that?  Do I really make them feel all that uncomfortable?  Why am I always the oddball?  ...the outcast
It was happening again.  I was a kid again in the room that night.  Alone in the dark, left alone in my inescapable misery and thoughts that it would always be this way, I was born this way.  I can't get away from the voices of my past.  There in the dark they continuously  yell inside my head.  "You're a freak!"  "What did you expect them to do?  Sleep with you??"  "You're a mistake!"  "No one wants you!"  "You should have never been born!"
 I cry out into my pillow because even my Mp3s could not drown out the sound of their taunts and my breaking heart.  I tried to listen to reason.  I don't really think my friend was trying to push me away.  After all, I got what I wanted in the first place.  It just bothered me that she chose it first.  But all the rational thought in the world would not keep the ghosts out of my head.   I cried myself to sleep that night.
   
The next morning was awkward.  I wanted to put it all out of my head, like a bad dream.  But they could tell that something was off about me (I could see it in their eyes and they way they tip-toed with their words) and that just reminded me again that it was real.  I knew that this day would not end soon enough.  I longed for my home, full of chaotic child rearing and dysfunctional marriage; it all was sounding better to me right now.
More speakers spoke but I couldn't listen anymore.  My attention was elsewhere, waffling over whether I should confront my roommate or not.  I weighed the pros and cons.  Pros: I could talk it out and stop feeling this way.  I wouldn't keep associating this experience with her, and could put aside the resentment that I still felt.  Cons:  She didn't do anything wrong.  I should just leave her alone.  What would I really want to say to her anyway?  I can't tell her the truth!  I can't tell her that I'm awkward around other women because I'm secretly attracted to them and I feel inferior to them because of that.  This was my problem, not hers.
After this lengthy debate in my head, I took a moment to do the smartest thing that I had done for the whole weekend.  I prayed.
At break time, I asked my former roommate aside to a nearby stairwell.  Still unsure of what I would say, I took a deep breath and started with "It's not your fault.  I want you to know, you didn't do anything wrong.  But I need to explain something to you so that I will know that you know and I won't continue to feel bad about us."  I told her about that night and how I cried myself to sleep.  I told her that my feeling were hurt because not of what she had done or said but because of the painful past that it triggered.  I told her about the kids who made me like a freak of nature.  I talked a little about my father.  By the end of it, I was in tears again, but I knew it was over.  The storm had passed,  And I was able to look her in the eye again- as a friend instead of foe.  Her response to the conversation was that she saw me as a strong and independent woman.  She saw me as someone who thrives in loneliness.   I shook my head in disbelief, because I knew why she had that impression of me.  It was fear lived out in me.  I kept everyone away because I was afraid.  In my fear, I had made myself unapproachable and hardened.  Ironic, that I would allow fear to come in the door while I toss out my friends, when not having any friends was what I'd feared.

Fear would've wanted me to never approach my friend about that night.




_____ (to be continued, because I have more to say)_______