Drive-ins, Swimming, and All Things Summer

I'm not an easy person to like. I say that a lot. Most people see that as fishing for a compliment. I say it with the self realized evidence of the past several years. The one thing my Husband has admitted about first meeting me? He didn't really like me. He thought I was a "know-it-all". Most of the friends I have that stuck through the awkward stage? They'll say it took some time to "warm up" to the idea of being my friend. Most people will confess to me that they weren't certain about whether or not they could deal with me when we first met. . . Let that sink in for just a moment. Imagine being told for the better part of your late 20's early 30's that you are not the ideal, personable human being people befriend. Imagine being told regularly that you're "difficult" to enjoy. Now think about how that sits on the psyche. There's a good reason I don't reach out to people. There's a reason I don't go out of my way to go places, or throw parties, or even attend parties. Several reasons actually. The big ones come from what happened to me in my early 20's. The "little" ones come from the fact that I can't even get my own family to enjoy me, let alone strangers; so I just stay home. My children are difficult to like as well. Mostly because we spend so little time with people outside our own home. It's difficult to have play dates when no one wants to sit and talk to you as the adult. I stopped pretending I understand people in the middle of what was going on with me before. I stopped paying attention to whether people mattered when the Major was selling me as a commodity. It makes me difficult to like. I don't understand the purpose of small talk. I don't really care about gossip. I'm not all that interested in fashion, and the latest craze ( which should be evident by my inability to dress myself.), I don't know how to not be awkward. Awkward is kind of my default setting. I am out of place in the world. I don't fit in. I do better when I keep my mouth shut, but I end up dying a little inside because no one really knows who I am. I get an uncouth exuberance when a subject I know about is brought up. I feel personally insulted when people won't let me help them; because it happens so rarely that I can be useful. I feel a great deal of pain at the fact that my children are the wierdos because I can't make enough friends with children their age for them to have playmates. My heart breaks when they desperately want to play with someone, and I have made that impossible. There is a silent amount of guilt killing me because I am difficult to like. Yet if I pretend, and become likable, I also die a little inside. So, Parenting catch 22. Do you die inside because your children are lonely and unlike, or do you die inside because you're faking it? Maybe someday I will know the answer, and my children will forgive me for failing them in this area. Maybe.

0630

Staring in horror at my phone as I recognize a number I had hoped would disapear with the rest of my mistake to become a faint memory, and severe warning I am frantic. I can't bring myself to touch my phone let alone silence it.Even with out the name attached I knew who it was, and I was gripped by both horror and terror. I continue to stare at it with trepidation as the notice about a voice mail pops up and sounds. This isn't happening. All my progress! Everything I've done to weed this out of my life! It's only been a month granted, but still! This is NOT happening! I sit questioning whether to listen or just delete the voicemail. I listen. "Ma"'s toxicology report say's over dose on a narcotic painkiller, and an alcohol level through the roof. It wasn't "him", but it was that family. That woman was the only thing tying me to that family. I loved her dearly. I have no reason to still love, or desire that family, that coast, that person. Only Ma. . . and she's gone now.
I rememeber the first time I set foot in that apartment. three empty Bailey's bottles on the table, and a half finished bottle of Absynth. Three bottles of prescription pain killers on the table. I looked at 'him' and whispered " she'll kill herself is she keeps that up". She was an alcoholic and everyone knew it. They even made fun of her a bit about it. I said it not because I knew this phone call would come but because I knew what those things did to you as a human body.

I sat staring at the end of my bed for almost 30 minutes before I got out of bed, walked my dog, and got in the shower.

Someone asked me once what brought me back. Why did I come back to church after everything I did, and everything that happened. I couldn't answer. I tried to come up with something profound. There isn't anything profound about what happened. I just knew. I knew and so I couldn't stay away. The true conversion happens that way. Much like those in history who have looked back and said " I always knew". . . I knew. I KNOW. I've never been able to honestly say I didn'tknow. I wanted to not know. I wanted to have some great conversion story with heavenly lights, and angelic music, or profound life altering revelation! yeah, not so much. I've always prayed. I've always known. Perhaps that's the key. I've always prayed. Even when I was so drunk I couldn't think straight I could muster a " Father. . . I'm drunk. please. . " and then I'd lose conciousness. Even when I was higher than a kite I could still hit my knees star at the cieling and say " well you know. . amen". I have ALWAYS prayed. I will never have a profound decliration that envelopes my entire being. I will never have some cool story to tell the youth at a fireside. I will never be asked to speak on my conversion in sacrament meeting. But I will be able to look someone in the eye's, and say in all honesty, "How could I deny what I know?". Am I going back to that family? Never! Will I become the person I was, and hide and lie about what I know to be the truth? Never! And I believe I finally understand that the people who will truely love me are the ones who will never ask me to deny what I know in action, words, or deeds. They will support me in this lifestyle, and love me all the more for it. To a little brother who scared the crap out of me this morning. . . not cool dude, but it was good to meet you and I wish you well. To the person who brought Ma into my life. . I wish you the peace you desire, but seem to always fall short of finding. To the coastline that almost reeled me in. . . Maybe someday I'll have a reason to go back, but today is not that day and tomorrow doesn't look good either.
I know who I am. I know who I have always been. . . I was just hiding.