“It’s cold...”

[trinsy]

So there’s this thing for Juniors and Seniors this weekend. A sort of camping trip my school’s having. I’m not going. No one I know is going, but that’s not the reason why. It’s just, I hate camping. But today Jeremy came in during lunch and asked us all (me, Christi, Weston, and Judie) if we were going. And we all answered no.
     “Why not?” he demanded.
     “I want to, but I have a bunch of commitments involving my brother’s wedding,” Judie explained.
     “I have Yoga,” said Christi (don’t worry, Jeremy apologized for laughing).
     “Basketball,” Weston mumbled.
     “And Trinity won’t go because she’s too shy,” Jeremy finished, before I could explain about how I haven’t “done” camping since my twelfth birthday, when my mom made me go to Yosemite with my church and, well, it’s a long story, suffice it to say I don’t “do” camping.
     “I’m not shy!” I said indignantly.
     “She’s not shy,” Judie agreed. “You just have to know her a few years to know that,” she added, which Jeremy seemed to think proved his point.

It’s always interesting when you find out how someone else views you. I mean, I know that’s how people perceive me, but it’s weird to have someone say it to my face. I wasn’t lying to Jeremy though. I’m not shy.

Oh, as a child I was shy. But that was before the divorce. Before my world crashed in. Now I’m just scared. The problem is, I don’t know what I’m scared of.

There was a time when I would have said I was scared that they would stop loving me. But I know now that’s not true. Because they never started loving me. I never gave them a chance to. I’d say I’m scared of their dislike; but that would mean admitting that I’m so afraid of dislike that I’d rather accept their indifference than run the risk. And I hate their indifference. I hate being forgettable. But I am, and I know it’s my fault.

It took me sixteen years to find myself. But now that I know who I am, I don’t know how to show it. I’m used to hiding, because for sixteen years I was trying to hide the fact that I didn’t know who I was. Now I’m trying to hide the fact that I don’t know how to show it.

But I’m not shy. I’m just scared. And I’m not nearly as numb to the pain as I make them all believe. I’m not emotionless. I’m just afraid of feeling. I guess what I really wanted to say to Jeremy, to all of them really, can be summed up in this:

(I don’t know who made this icon. I got it from an icon quiz. I don’t remember where I took the quiz, either)

I’ve been putting off posting this for basically ever, but I feel like it kind of goes with this post. I wrote this poem my last day in Poland. I had my (I felt, very judgmental) cousin (who was on the trip with me) in mind when I wrote it, so the overall theme is to her; however most of the poem actually addresses some girls in a Bible study group I’m in. In one of the last verses I make an allusion to a poem I wrote when I thirteen entitled “The Same Pain”. I think I was probably more on track in that poem than I am in this, because at that time I was a lot less bitter albeit a lot more self-righteous. But I’m not going to say that I know this poem is bitter and wrong, because it really doesn’t matter. I’m not going to justify my writing it. It is what it is. Take it or leave it.


“Don’t Condemn Me”

Don’t condemn me.
Please don’t condemn me.
You don’t understand.
You’ve never been through this.

This pain that eats away,
Consuming, overwhelming,
Eating away at me;
You can’t understand it.

Don’t look at me like that,
Like I’m sinful for feeling.
Would you be any different?
It’s easy to say that
When you’re on the outside,
Detached and emotionless.
Get in my heart and you’ll see
Why I feel this way.

So please don’t condemn me.
Never condemn me.
You don’t understand.
You’ve never been through this.

I don’t want your sympathy;
Don’t want consolation;
And I really don’t want
Spiritual explanation.

Don’t act like you understand,
Or sit there and pity;
Making up problems
Because you feel guilty
That your life is good.
Don’t do that! I get it!
I know your life’s better,
And no, I’m not bitter.
Or maybe I am.
But do you think that you’re helping?
You’re not! So please stop it!

And please don’t condemn me.
Don’t ever condemn me.
You don’t understand.
You’ve never been through this.

I’m not as ungrateful
As you think I am;
Not as numb to the pain
As I make you believe.
I’m not foolish or naïve.
I’ve seen much of the world,
And I know what I’ve been through
Amounts to so little
Compared to so many others.
But next to that standard
You’ve been through nothing.

So please don’t condemn me.
Don’t ever condemn me.
You don’t understand.
You’ve never been through this.

Don’t judge me
For all of my parents’ mistakes.
I was eight, don’t you get it?
A child – innocent;
Happy and carefree.
I thought I was lucky.
No really! Lucky!
Lucky to have the parents I did.
It’s laughable now.
(Well, humorless laughter)
But can you imagine
Being my mother?
Telling your daughter
– Your eight-year-old child! –
Her father chose someone else,
Some other life, some other kids.
Would you have been different?
Don’t say that! You’re not me!
You’ve never been through this!
So who’s to say you
Would have been any better?

So don’t condemn me.
Never condemn me.
You don’t understand.
You’ve never been through this.

I used to think
That all pain was the same;
That I could relate
To things I’d never felt.
I’m no longer that young,
No longer naïve,
Or foolish enough
To ever believe
That you’d understand,
Sympathize, realize
Why I act how I do.
I realize now
That you never will.

So please don’t condemn me.
Never condemn me.
You don’t understand.
You’ve never been through this.
So stop! Just stop!
Close your eyes, turn around.
There’s nothing to see here.
I’m not a freak show
To ogle, or pity,
Or cast the first stones at.
I want none of that,
I ask only one thing:

Please don’t condemn me;
Don’t ever condemn me;
Until you understand,
Until you’ve been through this;
And I hope you never will,
Hope that you’ll never have to,
So please, please don’t condemn me.

Comments

[avonleigh.livejournal.com]

*hugs you tightly*

I love you. With all of me.