Only Part Of Me

This is a story.

It starts with a rock.

I am a many-faceted stone. A lumpy rock...of sorts. Anywho, this is my way of stating metaphorically that there are many parts to my personality.

I don't fit in anywhere.

The front half (meaning several facets/aspects of my personality) is clean, cut, smooth, polished. This half is what the world sees, what I show to everyone.

The sides of my personality that everyone sees are good: spunky, friendly, happy, giving, helpful. I laugh, I dance, I listen to people when they need to vent or want to talk about the trivial things. I offer advice when asked. I give. I lavish attention and assistance to friends and strangers alike. This is me. I have been called "a dear", "beautiful", "a gem."

But that is only part of me.

The other half lies in the dirt. The edges are sharp and the sides are rough.

Those sides are the "selfish" parts of me. I was trained to keep them away from others. Those who were strongest in my life were those who kept the "not so nice" parts of their personalities hidden away so that people would not see them.

Anger, resentment, loneliness, fear, worry, pain, loss.

I serve people best when I give an optimistic point of view. When I share happiness and joy. Even my penname Silver Line has the meaning of standing out bright against the darkness. (I've told the story of finding my name in one of my previous posts - don't remember which one at the moment.)

But the matter still remains that the "good side" is not all of me.

I keep it tucked away, hidden behind my better half.

I keep telling myself that it is better that way. Saying over and over "Caress the rose you will draw blood." I push people away with a wink and an embarrassed laugh though inside I am screaming for someone to see past my smile to the tears behind. I hold out my hand in the hopes that someone will take it but always have something in my hand for them to take instead and thus nullifying the action; "protecting" myself from being vulnerable yet again.

Time and again someone I trust walks away from me. They see my not-so-good sides and run. This has happened enough times that I have begun to distrust all and damage current and future relationships and friendships. Blaming myself and working all the harder to hide my sharp edges and thorns from the rest of humanity.

I smile and say I have moved on. But the truth is I cannot move on so long as I keep it all locked inside me and refuse to let it out. My healing is significantly slowed when I have few friends who I can rely on to listen to me and my selfish ranting and theorizing and obsessions. And even fewer I can trust to not run away from me or try to fix me. Not many understand that simply talking about it and crying it all out is my method of healing and moving on.

For a time I was completely alone. God alone was my strength and my solace as I lay on the hardwood floor of my home screaming in the agony of loss and torment of not receiving an answer to the "why." It took time for my extroverted sides to appear and for me to have the courage to seek a social life again. It took God's gentle nudge to remind me I'm not supposed to walk this earth without fellow followers of God to help me and I them.

But I am a sinful human living on a cursed world. I am rough and thorny. I have "issues" and problems. And they cannot be resolved overnight. But those who would call themselves my people time and again have not been able to move past my issues and see into my soul that yearns after God. They could not deal. They could not forgive and forget. They felt betrayed by my imperfections and so betrayed me by refusing to speak to me ever again, setting me like an outcast in their presence, lower than dirt and unworthy of love let alone attention.

I have not the courage to speak up, to tell people what is wrong with me, why I am broken but refusing to shatter. I can't bring myself to trust again. Ironically, it is my fear that keeps me from showing what I am afraid of. Time and again I have prayed and time and again God's answer remains the same: Serve them. Be with them. And I will provide. Let them in. It's what I made you for. To give, to love, to hold, to serve.

Still I struggle.

I have come to expect the hand I hold out to be bitten off, cut off, and smacked away. I flinch inside every time I think someone will come near. Still God gives me endurance to continue to hold out my hand.

Now if only I had the courage to look as I hold it out.

The Dandelion...A Pondering

     Ugh. There's that flower again. Grows where it's not wanted. A hundred tiny yellow petals on a tough stem and surrounded by large jagged leaves. The dandelion. Such a weird flower. Turns into a white puffball of parachute seeds when it gets old and blows away in the wind. Make a wish.
     Taraxacum, the edible wildflower. Endive, lion's-tooth, Irish daisy, milk-witch, cankerwort. That funny weed-thing that grows in your yard, on the side of the road, in the flower beds. Grows where it's not wanted. Animals eat it. People pick it and clean it and cook it into meals and brew it into tea and use it in wine. The entire plant is full of medicinal properties. Old religions claimed it was a gift from the sun - bright, cheerful, and healing.
     The weed of fortune. Such a weird flower. Believed that if you blew on the puffball, it could tell you how many years it would take for your "true love" to come by how many times you had to blow all the seeds off the head, and the direction the seeds caught on the wind would tell you where your fortune would come from. Make a wish.
     A survival flower. No matter how many times you pluck it, run it over, spray it with weed-killer, it grows back, nearly as resilient as grass. It can grow where you least expect it (wherever one of the fluffy seeds lands) and some species of it don't even need pollination to create seeds. And yet it has such an unassuming appearance with its soft, tiny petals and tasty leaves. But still it grows and spreads.
     I believe some people are dandelions. They show up when and where we least expect them. They seem unassuming and we treat them unfairly, even regard them as wastes of time and friendship. And yet those who do bother with the flower, are benefited by them and learn to appreciate them. Yes, perhaps some people are like dandelions.
     There's that flower again. Grows where it's not wanted. Such a weird flower. Make a wish.

Lonely Sorrow (A Verbal Painting)

A tear.
Traces a shining line down her cheek.
Drips off a quivering chin, drawing your eye to thin, trembling lips.
Her mouth opens, but no sound comes.
She looks up at you.
Eyes the color of rain clouds, stare right into you.
Soft locks swirl around her face, sticking to her wet cheeks.
Her hand is outstretched, fingers out and up, as is she can't decide if she's reaching out for you or telling you to stay away.
Her grey dress, marked with irregular white streaks, flows around her bare feet.
She stands in a shallow pool of water, growing ever deeper through the years as she weeps.
A tear.
Rippling through time.
A daughter seeking refuge, bereft of someone dear.
So grieved she can do nothing but mourn alone.
She is in you, she is in me.
Look around you.
It does not have to be this way.
Take Lonely Sorrow into your arms.
That's all she needs is to be comforted.
Will you not reach out?
Something as simple as sitting beside someone hurt and letting them cry for a while.
Give them the strength to simply be.
Do you know how much it means to just be held?
We can move on.
Problems can be solved, lessons can be learned.
But don't let us go through the aftershock of some of life's trials alone.
Who will be there for Lonely Sorrow?