Wednesday morning, I wake up at 5:20 am. I have a small headache and some congestion, but I figure I can get through the day at school. Later that day, I feel even more sick so I go home early and rest.
You know those days when you wake up and you only see the tip of the iceberg of pain, and you don't see the monster underwater until you hit it? Those moments suck because you just can't do anything to prevent something that is in the middle of happening. You can't stop a car from rear-ending you when their bumper hits yours, and you can't stop a painful experience when it's already smacking you upside the head.
Well, after I got home and rested, I still felt sick for the next few days, bleeding into the weekend with fits of coughing and constant congestion, Being sick sucks.
But this entry isn't worth the effort if it's only about the runny noses and disruptive coughs. No, there is something deeper. Something much more painful.
Tonight was the first time I've cried in a long time because my heart was hurting. The stress of one thing layered on top of another built a flimsy wall around my heart until insults and mean comments poked holes and opened cracks. Then, something made the whole "shield" tumble, and tears expressed what my heart wanted to say, but couldn't.
Let's start with Saturday night:
For years, I've been struggling with breaking out, getting pimples all over my face, and red sores sticking out like they own the face. It's not normal for teenagers, or anybody, to get as much as I have, and still do, and as much as I'd like to think that every other teenager (or, once-a-teen) can empathize with me, they can't. Only a small handful who have gone through, or are going through, what I am currently struggling with can really know my struggle. Every day, I take a considerably long time making sure I look "minimally acceptable" today. Some people think they get away with looking at me and looking at my scars, and that I actually don't notice (No, if I'm making eye contact with you, I can tell when you break that eye contact and you look somewhere else on my face). I'm also sure that I didn't make certain friendships because I look like a freak most times. Some people don't know what it's like to have your face constantly hurting. Thinking what it's like to be in my position by being in my shoes can't work unless they're the same size. The constant prejudice, staring, and awkwardness gives me stress. Stress = more acne. Oh, cool.
Now, Saturday night, I was with some friends when one of them decides to say, in front of everyone, "Hey, you're clearing up, kinda." While the gesture is somewhat nice, it's bittersweet. Yes, I do appreciate the fact that whatever medication or method I use show progressive, kinda, and you notice that, however, I do not appreciate it being said in front of other people. Even friends. It's like what my old pastor said before when the same thing was said to me by someone else, in the same situation: "It's the same as saying, 'Hey, you got less ugly!' " In a harsh, but truthful, way, it pretty much sums up why I don't like people saying that to me. I know, that person may have not meant to say that aloud, or didn't mean it in that way, but that's just how I get mail.
To add on to that, after my friend shared their little statement of notice, my other friend said, jokingly, "Haha, no, it's just the shade."
...
Are you serious? Even as a joke, that should never be implied. That sentence should never be used in that context. My heart sank, but I brushed it off as a joke and joked back. But I am deeply wounded from that statement. It was a stab to my pride and self-esteem, and they didn't even apologize sarcastically or jokingly. "Just kidding" doesn't cut it. That just goes to show that they meant it at the very center of it.
That's okay, they just don't know my pain, and I can't blame them for that.
Now, Sunday morning:
Softball is arranged to be played every Sunday, and although I love playing softball, I didn't get to touch a single base for three hours until I was a first baseman the last five minutes of another game that I didn't even get to bat in. And in the previous game, I was an outfielder and a pitcher. I was picked to bat last by default. As an outfielder, literally one ball came to me. And I didn't catch it. No, I got injured instead. In fact, I got injured by a softball three times (I don't know why they call it a softball, my bruises say otherwise). I was just a filler today. But that's okay, people expected that out of me. That's why I was picked last. Again.
Here's Sunday night:
I was dropped off by two of my friends, and we had this conversation that led to us telling secrets. After I told mine, the other two jokingly made a witty agreement that they had successfully got me to spill my beans by making up their own. This angered me because I had given them my trust, and they seemingly abandoned it. I wanted to know the truth, and so I bugged them and annoyed them until they showed me proof that they were actually telling the truth. As I was having a very minor tantrum, one of them made the comment that I wasn't cute. The other said that I was too old for my behavior, and too big for my actions.
It's just one of those moments where you know you aren't cute (or funny, smart, or whatever), and you're not trying to be, but someone decides to have the audacity to point it out to make you feel bad, as if it weren't already obvious.
The distrust and mean comments sort of... broke me. Of course, I didn't show them that. I didn't let them hear my sobbing. I didn't let them see the tears.
I may be a bit more sensitive and emotional than I should be, but I feel what I feel. I'm sad when I'm sad. It's not rocket science.
And now, as I feel like no one's with me, I look to my Savior, the One who is always with me. But I don't feel like He's with me. I feel alone. But it's during a battle that you don't see your allies when you're dealing with the enemy. But they're there. He's there, praying for me.
For me.
If you're struggling like I am, pray to God because He will help you. He won't give you what you can't handle.
Remember, a teacher is quiet during a test, but they're always there when you need help.
Stay faithful, friend.
- Joseph
P.S. Let me clarify something: I love those people, my friends that have made me sad this weekend have also made me feel welcomed, loved, cared for, happy, etc. Don't take it the wrong way, this past weekend just happens to be very conflicting.
No comments:
Post a Comment