Confessions

Death has a funny way of sorting people out of your life. For whatever reason, it opens your eyes to the individuals masquerading around pretending to be something they’re not.

That’s something I learned and have carried with me for the last year. I quickly found out who I could and couldn’t trust in the wake of my grandfather’s death. There were many, many individuals who reached out with expressions of condolence and love. For whom, I am thankful.

However, I realized that I did not have as many “friends” as I had originally thought. My definitions of what a friend is could be considered skewed. I used to expect too much out of people, but all of that changed.

With clear eyes, I began labeling people as acquaintances. Some of them were painful. Sorrow began to compound. My loneliness only quickened. There were late nights of sleeplessness.

There were also nightmares of his final moments.

I so desperately wanted to feel as though I had a close-knit group of best friends to lean into. Tricky thing about feelings…they often lead you astray.

The one major lesson I’ve learned this last year is that people can’t be relied upon for anything. That sounds harsh and bitter, but I mean it with sincerity and respect.

I’ve spent my entire life wishing, hoping, and praying for people to meet my every relational, emotional need. Whether that be from friendships or relationships, it didn’t matter to me. I loved interacting with people.

I loved my two childhood best friends. I loved flirting with all of the girls in Sunday School even though I knew I never stood a chance. As I grew older, I loved being able to engage in deep, spiritual, emotionally relevant conversations with like-minded individuals.

Nowadays, I prefer to sit in silence.

My grandfather’s passing and the proceeding revelation of human tendencies to shy away from pain weren’t the breaking point, oddly enough. They were, however, the catalyst.

A domino effect occurred beginning July 29th, 2017. The nagging, gnawing demon in the back of my mind finally fleshed itself out. I had had a hunch my entire life that I need not be depending on other people so much, but I found ways to justify it.

I craved human interaction so deeply. A blessing and a curse.

The interesting thing is that I rarely talk to anyone anymore about what I’ve been through. I’m tired of the empty, emotionally vacant stares that I receive. Those stares are more often than not followed by meaningless, well-intentioned babbling from someone who’s never walked a day being in pain.

I respect their desire to help, but more often than not, I’d rather have someone sit in silence with me. Their presence being the reassuring peace that my heart sometimes needs.

As I said above, though, I rarely seek that anymore. I’m having a hard enough time writing this to you and I don’t even know you.

My silence is also representative of my inability to speak of what’s going on in my head. No, I don’t want people to know that I’ve seriously doubted my faith, that I’ve thought about death more than any normal human should, or that I’m still hyper-dependent on interaction with other humans.

I don’t want anyone to know anything, so I keep my mouth shut.

I’ve also had that knowledge shoved back into my face and used against me. Being vulnerable isn’t all it’s cracked out to be, kids.

If they’re not silently judging you, they’re trying to be the mechanic of your heart by offering clueless advice. Helpful, but still clueless.

We’re coming up on a year of his being gone and though I may sound bitter, my heart is more at peace today than it has been in a long time.

I’m thankful for the trials…I’m thankful for the difficulties. Not in the normal sense, though. In no way am I happy that my grandfather is dead, that I have a horrific time trusting people, or the girl that I loved deeply left me.

What I am thankful for is that weeding out process. The friends I have today are the ones that I know I can give my heart and they won’t damage it. They’ll speak the truth, but I know it’s coming from a place of understanding and love. For the ones weeded out, I simply nod, say hello, and carry on with my life. It’s better this way.

I’m also thankful for the ever-present love of God in my unfaithfulness and doubting. If I were God, I would have left me a long time ago. He hasn’t. Even though there have been times where I was convinced that He had walked away, He’s always been faithful to show me He never left.

If it weren’t for Him, I probably wouldn’t be here right now.

You are loved.

You are valued.