I don’t deserve the people God has given me. I don’t deserve any of them, any of the people in my circles. I don’t deserve the ones who watch over me – and my stuff – while I sleep in the library, or who bring me food or tea when I’m deeply entrenched in work or words, or who hold me when I’m shaking from an overload of caffeine in my system.
They all see something in me that I can’t. They see someone worth investing all of this love and care in, and sometimes I don’t understand.
I’m Sunshine; I’m that bubbly, hyperactive, slightly obnoxious girl that doesn’t know when to sit down and shut up. I’m the one who mothers, who pets hair and holds hands and hovers and clings. I’m the one who force feeds and medicates and bosses. I make executive decisions because all of my friends are passive; I have to divide my time between each person because all of my friends are introverts.
I’m the one who’s drowning.
I love who I am. I love my friends and my relationship with each of them. I love the differences in my relationships with all of them. I love how everyone is unique, and how that translates into unique friendships.
But it’s a lot, because hanging out with a group doesn’t just happen, it has to be planned. There has to be a strategy about who and where, because some people don’t get along and other people don’t like certain places, and I don’t want anyone to be uncomfortable.
It’s a lot, because I’m sacrificing lunch breaks and study time each day I gravitate to the hang out spots.
It’s a lot, because I’m not eating, and I’m not sleeping. I’m driving too fast and cursing too much. I’m spending time with Jesus, but it’s back to feeling almost like an obligation. I want it, but not enough, and it isn’t even that I don’t want it, it’s just that there’s so much else and my checklist is so long every day, all I can think about it marking off the next item.
When I’m not in class, I’m at work. If I’m not at work, I’m at a Bible study. If I’m not at a Bible study, I’m doing homework, I’m at church, I’m with my parents, I’m trying to sleep or write or remember to breathe.
I’ve had a tight chest and a headache for three days straight, now.
I haven’t journaled in four days. I haven’t sat out in the sunshine in over a week; I haven’t looked at the stars in even longer. I haven’t played piano in so many days, I’ve lost count.
Maybe none of that sounds like a big deal to any of you, but it’s all a big deal to me.
I’m struggling with figuring out where the lines are; I don’t know where the boundary is between being a doormat and being unkind. I don’t know when it’s okay to say, “yeah, I love you, but I’ve got to take care of me now.” I don’t know how to be selfless without actually ignoring myself entirely.
My Intimates know. I ask them to help me; I ask them to remind me to eat, to drink water, to nap when I get a chance. And they know who they are. They know that I appreciate their kindness and support, the love and laughter, and the fact that they don’t expect anything more than what I’m capable of giving.
Or, I hope they do.
I don’t know what I’m getting at with this. I think I’m just venting, because I need the catharsis, and I need to shout, but my throat is worn raw from every time I’ve shouted before.
I feel like my voice is too small. I feel like I’m being drowned out.
I feel like I’m not heard,
and it’s driving me crazy.