Ashamed that I need help, that I need care and compassion. I can list a million reasons why every single other person I know and probably in the world needs help, care, compassion, a shoulder. Even up to the richest person.
I feel such passion to help others in anyway I can, to organize and encourage an entire ministry to help people in large and small ways, to show them in tangible and intangible ways that they are worthy, they are loved, they are seen and pursued by a God so big.
But not me. Nope. I'm good. I'm ok. Don't worry about me it's all fine.
Because I'm scared that if I'm not ok you'll stop calling. I'm scared that you'll get bored of my stupid little suburban white girl drama and stop caring. I'm scared that I won't be able to lead anymore that I won't be able to hang anymore. I'm scared of being the whiny needy girl, scared of you realizing that this is not the friendship/relationship that you signed up for.
So I say I'm good when you ask me how I am and I tell you I'm fine when you say are you sure. I tell you nothing exciting when you ask what I did last night instead of telling you how I cowered under my covers unsure that I could come out and face the world again for another single damn minute.
And I'm ashamed. Of all of that.
So I don't tell you.
I don't tell you until I'm completely shattered and falling apart and I can't hide the tears in my voice when you call me about dinner or when you call to see if I'm still alive.
I don't tell you because I don't want you to think less of me even though I would never think less of you were the situation reversed. I'm ashamed because I am terrified that you'll blame me, when really there's no more room left for blame on my shoulders because mine has taken up all the real estate.
I'm ashamed that I can't figure this out on my own, not just the money stuff but the past stuff, the lies stuff, the weight stuff the stuff stuff. I'm ashamed that I can't just get over it and move past it already because I would love to do that much more than you would and I know you really want me to move past it a lot.
I'm ashamed that it takes me until it's black as sin outside to be brave and even then I type it out because I just can't speak it out because I'm ashamed of how ugly I look when I cry and how my chin gets all wobbly and I hold my breath because I'm ashamed that I've even cried one more damn tear over this whole damn situation.
But then I remember, for a brief moment that it's not my fault, that they are lies, that it wasn't me it was them. I'm not perfect and I've made enough of the mess that's overflowing right now but I remember, for just a moment.
Just because I've messed up, even if it's EVERYTHING that I've messed up, that still doesn't make their lies the truth. That still doesn't make the slithering hissing damned lies the truth.
That's enough, for tonight at least, that's enough.
It was always meant to fall from your hands. And He is glorified in the shattering
-Angie Smith 'I Will Carry You'