Suffocated and breathing free.

Just a second ago, I read a note from someone my sister knows on Facebook. It was incredible and I almost cried here at my desk at work. It was about how she had been trying to be someone else her whole life. Trying to fit into another persons skin. My sister was inspired, and I am inspired.

Fitting into my own skin- This has been the hardest thing for me, my whole life I’ve wanted to be someone else. When I was little, I didn’t care who I was, as long as I wasn’t me. I wanted to be Mulan or Pocahontas, maybe Ariel. Because all of those girls are strong, brave and beautiful. The guys fall for them, and they made names for themselves. That’s who I wanted to be. When I was younger, I was constantly told; “You are mean.” or “You aren’t nice!” or “You are fat!” Even by my own mother. Which for a child is brutal, it hurts, even when a person doesn’t mean for it to hurt, it does. I remember an incident when I was 10 or 11, where my friends mocked me and made fun of my weight and everything I wore. I was horrified, I screamed at them and ran into my house, I flung myself down on the couch and sobbed. My mother was in the room, she sat at the computer, her back to me. She said; “Did you fight again?” I replied, “yes.” she sighed, “you can’t let what they say get to you.” I looked up at her, and tried to hear those words, let them sink in. But all I wanted was for my mother to turn around, smile and hug me and tell me I was just fine the way I was. That never happened.

She never turned, she never smiled comfortingly at me. In my moment of pain and self-loathing. She didn’t offer any physical comfort. Because you see, when someone tells you, that you are fat. You think; “Gosh, it must be true! My friends said so.” I don’t hold those words against my friends, we were kids. But it left a deep wound, a wound so deep you could see my heart if anyone had bothered to look. And no one did, I suffered in silence and became a very, very, very angry child, preteen and teenager. I rampaged whenever I felt like it, because I wasn’t happy with myself, my family or anything. And even though I tried to find comfort in other things, I never did. I was rarely happy, I rarely smiled and I rarely ever said a nice thing without my tone being harsh and cruel. I didn’t particularly care, mostly because that’s how I heard my dad speak and sometimes my mom.

Being with friend’s – When I was online with my friends, I was at my best. I was in my comfort-zone, the place I could be me and not have to throw up a wall so solid that no one, not even my own family could see me, my pain and my shame. They were my family as far as I was concerned. I lived on that computer, when I wasn’t on there, I wasn’t alive. I found my deepest comfort there. And in a person that I have lost contact with. At that point I was too young to know when a guy is making a move at you. But he broke off conversations with me. I never did find out the real reason why. I had other friends though, good friends. People who talked to me. People who comforted me. And even though I should have been trusting in God. I pushed Him away and threw myself at Superficial things.

Finding a place – Only last year, did I find comfort in God, I finally threw my whole life at Him, I broke down and wept for hours upon hours, letting go of all the pain I had held captive inside, not daring to trust God, because everyone else had wounded me. Not knowing at the time, that God would never wound me the way another Human does. See, for years, I wanted to be my middle sister. She was everything I wasn’t. She read her Bible, went to youth group, made friends and guys liked her because she is beautiful.  I was jealous, envious and always in pain because I could never match her standards. I was the smug, youngest sibling who had a temper problem and didn’t know how to forgive, I was not soft-spoken, tender, kind, sweet, or anything people seemed to think I was. My sister, oldest, still calls me “mean” even when I’m only trying to help her.  Understand, I had no friends at Church, only a few adults. I loved going, but I hated going to Youth Group and the Morning Sunday School. The girls, disliked me, and the guys didn’t really care.

This all sounds rather dramatic, but its all true. And sure, maybe you’ve heard this from millions of others. But my pain runs deep, and even now, even today, I struggle with being myself and not someone else. I sit and think; “Why am I not as perfect as that person?” or “I am just a sweet face, once I’m gone, no one will remember me. Because people are remembered for their meanness or spunk.” At least they aren’t forgotten right?

Stupid. Childish. I am still not trusting myself fully to God. And I still hate myself. But with my sisters and my friends, I’m slowly giving in to the Sunlight that is God. And letting Him let me grow. Maybe someday, I’ll finally be me.

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