Forgiveness?

                   This is how I tried to present myself, as slim as I could.

 

And in this picture I believe it shows the stomach I was carrying around.  I did not wear pants very often.  That stomach is now gone.

 

I started this post before, but I pushed it to the back burner.  The content was how I had found forgiveness from my childhood.  I recently had a birthday and with that birthday came a bunch of phone calls.  I have spoken more this last week then I have in a year and with the conversations came some realizations.

I have not forgiven.  I have accepted.

What's the difference?  I think with forgiveness a person can heal.    I do not feel healed.  My scars are just as jagged and ragged as they were when I received them.  I do believe I have progressed.  I have tried to conform more to the box of social nicety, but I do not enjoy it

Who do I forgive?  No one person abused me.  No one person physically abused me and no one person emotional abused me.  It came as a deluged from all sides, from all people and I desperately search for the triggers that meant an attack was coming.  Unfortunately the people with in my circle, whether they wanted to be or not, were hit by the splash back.  I don't blame them for abandoning me. when I look at the situation from their point of view,  Unfortunately, for me it became was an emotional betrayal that I was unable to heal from.

As has been pointed out to me I am socially stunted.  In many ways I am still the 11 year old girl attempting to make friends.  I did not have others to tell me that I shouldn't say such things.  I have not had a boyfriend to guide me in what was appropriate.  I have not developed the facade of public interaction.  I feel the facade is a lie and I can't stand the lying.  People lie constantly.  They lie to themselves right along with their neighbors.  I have come to understand that it is mostly sub-conscious with the general population.  The behavior so ingrained that no one seems to notice that they do it.

I do not lie, no matter how harsh the truth is.  I believe in getting to the heart of the matter and sometimes that means being politically incorrect.  It means I come off sounding harsh and unfeeling.  My own mother called me a snob.  She said I was being an elitist and I should be ashamed of myself.  Her comment has stuck with me because I did not mean my words to convey that thought to her and I despair because if my own mother did not understand what I meant, then how could anyone else?

It happens to me all the time.  I try and say my opinion or something important to me and my words come out misplaced or the tone of my voice is wrong.  I can see I have a negative effect and I try to back track, but it doesn't work.  Why aren't I forgiven?  Why am I not allowed to fix my mistake?  I see the end of the conversation and I know that I come off looking bad.  It is a bridge burned.  Why can't I be forgiven?

So I hate free-for-all conversations.  Parties, bah, I have almost never had a good time unless people were drunk.  Social gatherings are horrendous.  I only kind of can handle book club and that is because we are there to talk about a certain subject and it is loosely guided.  I only seem to do well in one-on-one conversation because I can concentrate on that person.  With one-on-one conversations the person is more forgiving and I am allowed to express myself or if they are not interested I can stick to safe topics of conversations.

I hated family gatherings almost beyond my ability to express.  I did not hate my family, but they had to have every relative possible in the same room.  It was hot and noisy and I did not have anyone to talk to.  They were just as bad as strangers and it seemed to hurt even more because they were family.  I knew a lot of it was my fault and I have tried to have some kind of personal interaction with each of my extended family, everyone should be able to mention a time when I visited without my mother.  That was very hard for me and I'm sure I managed to offended someone in the process.

I rub people the wrong way.  I know that.  I see the evidence of it and yet I am still pushed to be a social animal.  Why?  Tell me the reason?  Is it because it makes you happy?  I have to admit that is one of the few benefits of being sick.  I am left alone.

I have accepted my fate.  I have no idea how to change how I am treated unless I change who I am and I refuse to do that.  I see the same reactions in people over and over, but it feels wrong to be anything but myself.  I do not understand why I am punished for that fact.  I do not find joy in the same places as those around me.  I dislike the anxiety I feel in connection to people.  I hate giving of myself only to be dropped like a hot rock.  I have lost people who I thought were my friend and while that maybe perfectly normal I can't stand it.

I thought there would be one person on this earth who I could trust.  I do not think I wanted too much, not only someone to love, but someone who understands me.  That is what I prayed for, one person who I could release the hate and self doubt with and he would still love me, balance me and smooth out the rough edges.  Apparently, it was wanting too much.

I guess I need to ask for forgiveness.  I need to say sorry for all the stupid, hurtful things I did.  I hope with my earlier posts it has become clear why I reacted the way I did.  I learned that I only had myself to depend on and I could not allow most things into my well maintained defenses.  I did not mean to be a jerk, but I know I was.  So please forgive me.

I feel like the only reason I have survived through this mess of a life is because of my hope.  I had the absolute convection that I would find a safe haven.  I did not with a peer, instead I found peace in a historical figure that I was promised could become more.

When I felt acknowledged by Jesus Christ I poured everything I was into continuing that connection.  He is the only name that I can point to and say that I feel loved by him.  I know in my brain that others love me, but it is hard to priece my heart. I seem to speak a different language when it comes to love.  My mother proves her love everyday to me, but she has shattered me many times.  I feel that I must be on guard for a well placed verbal jab even though I know she doesn't mean it that way.  I do not feel that way with Christ.  He lets me be wrong.  He lets me be stupid, but in the end he lets me work through the negative feelings and resolve them.  That love is my whole world, unlike the people around me, Jesus Christ has full filled his promises to me.  He has given me comfort and knowledge in a way unlike fragile humanity.  I pursued his teachings.  I pursued his words.  I pursued Him because he is the only presences that I felt as a constant.

If Christ loves me that means that I am special. 

The ironic point is that I know he loves everyone in existence, but that doesn't change my view of being special because I can feel that love.  For along time I wanted others to feel that love, but I have come to learn that it is a very personal process.