No More

I have always tended to view myself as Wonder Woman in real life; the kind of person that goes through a ton of BS and comes out smelling like a rose, having the ability to get right back up when she gets knocked down, and ultimately not needing help from anybody whatsoever. For the last six months or so, that’s the way my outlook has been.


When three of my closest friends (from school) left for college last August, I was somewhat afraid, but confident at the same time in regards of having someone to fall back on. Unfortunately that relationship began to fall apart over the course of time, and by Christmas break I couldn’t take it anymore. I felt the need to be alone and deal with the pain all by myself. I didn’t want to become dependent on anyone to make me happy and ultimately become a band-aid. 


Along with that, I’d been told numerous times that this was the time “to start growing up and learning how to deal with things on your own” because “There are going to be people there that just aren’t going to give a crap about how you feel or what you’re going through.” That struck a chord with me because my family was (and still is) fairly skeptical of my ability to function independently. To me, it was my way of proving that I was growing up and could live life as an adult. 


That attitude would carry over into other areas as well. It has kept me from developing close friendships with my classmates. I stopped going to youth group and most of the time have been going through the motions on Sundays during church. Whenever anyone in my family has asked, I just retort by saying that I don’t want to talk about it (I will be honest though, I’m rather tired of the cynicism). My journal has been untouched for months, and I don’t think I’ve written one poem or story that I consider deep or meaningful, lest including college essays in that category. 


When it all comes down to it, life has been very lonely up to this point. Sometimes I feel like I’m just surviving rather than living. 


But while being on break from school, it hit me that being an adult doesn’t make you invincible; it doesn’t make you immune to struggles or pain, and doesn’t always mean that you have to deal with it all by yourself. 


As much as I try to be, I’m nowhere near Wonder Woman. 


I really do miss being close to people. I miss that sense of community and knowing that I can come to a place where I feel safe and secure. I want to be able to go to people again and talk about how I feel without apprehension or fear. Sometimes I don’t always feel like talking about it, though. There are times where I just want to be held, or to be prayed for. I want to do all of that without feeling like an inconvenience. 


Deep down, I miss having faith. I remember when I was thirteen, how both God and faith were such a central part of my life. I won’t deny that I’ve questioned my beliefs or debated right from wrong, but I’ll save that for another time. Faith is freedom from worry, and unfortunately I’ve become a compulsive worrier. I long for the kind of peace and joy that I once felt so long ago. 


The root of all this silence is pride. I do have a habit of not asking for help when I need it, nor do I really like to. Heck, I’d rather bend over backwards and try to do it all myself rather than have someone help me do it. I’m not sure if it’s because I want to prove something to people, or because I want my friends and family to be proud of me. Maybe it’s both. 


But I know I can’t do it on my own. In reality, no one really can. Does that mean a person has to cry wolf every time something happens? No. But that doesn’t mean that have to walk all alone through the forest either.

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