"If You Build It, He Will Come" Episode Ninety-Eight(video)

Welcome to Honor Your Truth

The “Is It True?” Series Episode Ninety-Eight

“If you build it, he will come”

I sat on the edge of my bed and my sister sat on a chair facing me directly. I had called in her into my room to help me. At the time, I was not in my body… already operating rather unconsciously for a number of years. This is theoretically known as dissociation, a result of trauma. It is a way of protecting oneself from further pain. The spirit simply goes away because it cannot take the physical harm anymore. Nevertheless, while the body is then merely a shell, it does remember. I really don’t know what I was thinking except that on some level I couldn’t take the isolation and I guess I wanted someone to know. I believe this would be called acting out if I was 5, but I was 16 or so.



I had grabbed two tall plastic tumblers, filled them to the brim with whiskey from the cabinet and walked gingerly upstairs. I was gonna get as drunk as possible. I had no idea what that meant being that I only drank once before at a slumber party. I had stolen a 6pk of Old Milwaukee from the basement frig and hid it in my overnight bag. I considered sharing to mean 3 for me and 1 for each of the other 3 girls. I was the one who dared to steal them after all. I got hysterical. I spent the entire evening in tears. It wasn’t very fun. Why I would want to do it again is beyond me, but I did. I was making quite a step up from those few beers to what amounted to probably half a quart of hard alcohol.

Running from myself was what I did back then and for a very long time after. My heart was trying to say what my mind wanted to escape knowing. I was going to drink it all down and go to a Swing Choir rehearsal… one of the many bright ideas I had in my teens. Because we had won some competition, we were invited to Washington DC to perform on the steps of the Capital. It was a major deal. I was not only a singer/dancer in the group, I was also the choreographer. I told my sister to make me drink it all down. I elected her as my cheerleader. She kept saying,”drink it, drink it, drink it.” I am the oldest and despite all threats from my parents, I was exactly what they feared most-a very bad influence. I got blamed me for anything anyone did wrong in the family.

I succeeded in drinking both tumblers. I vaguely remember my boyfriend honking the horn. He was the drummer in the band. I don’t recall standing up, going downstairs, or getting into the car. The next thing I remember was asking him to drive up to the school doors because I would never be able to walk from the parking lot. I don’t know why in the world he would drop me off there and not conceal me, or make some excuse or something. I don’t think he knew what to do with me. I made it to the rehearsal and the next thing I remember is my Mom coming to pick me up. I was screaming and I would not go with her. Finally my Dad showed up and I got in the car. He asked me what the matter was, what was wrong with me. Frankly, I had no idea.

Grounded, I got in the shower and left it running. I jumped out the window onto the deck, climbed over the fence, and ran the 2 miles back to school. The neighbors from a few blocks away said I was the only one they have ever seen to cut through their rose bushes in the back. They were very thick and thorny. I tried going forward and ended up backing through them. I tore my clothes and kept going. I hid outside until the rehearsal was over like a crazy person. When they all came out, the smokers, which included my boyfriend, went to “the fence” across the street. I followed them and he broke up with me. I don’t remember exactly what he said but the basic gist was that word was getting out and I would be tomorrow’s gossip at school. He said something like, “I can’t handle it.” No matter how much mascara was on my face, he would not reconsider. He kept telling me to calm down and then my Dad drove up again.

The next day I looked green. I wore my favorite black satin pant suit with the patent leather strappy heels to try and offset it. I always wore a floor length lacey white shawl with blue flowers on the back with this outfit. I have no idea why. This is not a get-up one can hide out in, but it was my favorite and I had a reputation to salvage. No matter how cool I thought it was, it did nothing to thwart the rumor that I was crazy and something was definitely wrong with me. This is something that I always believed and it would appear I was trying to prove true. The news flew around school and by lunch time I was in the bathroom stall asking God to help me. I could not handle the non-stop battering and humiliation.

From the first day I walked in that school, a transfer student from Catholic school, I was in my own private hell. I could not find a clique that could contain me and therefore, I had no homies. In a situation like that one, you gotta have homies or you’re pretty much screwed. I had no filter, no protection. I was who I was and I could not keep my pain a secret. I needed someone who could hear me and it felt like there was no one who would. Despite my 8+ years of religion, I didn’t believe there was a God who could either. I still don’t know if there is. I am still searching for a God of my understanding. I am still wishing to let go of the punishing God I know so well. I was a good student. I Honor My Truth!

Debra
The Honor Your TruthCommunity