My Story

façade crumbling

I've always tried to compartmentalize the different parts of my life.
Siblings drama separate from parent stress.
Work stress separate from family drama.
Work friends separate from church friends.

And all of them separate from me.

From my dreams and fears.
My joy and tears.
My anger and goofiness.

I keep propping up a façade of happiness, content, tired even, anything to keep people out, to keep them from digging too deep.

Because you can't see the shards of glass sitting under the cardboard until it starts to wear thin, under constant pressure, and then the shards start to poke through. And then you have a choice: be hurt, hurt others, or clean up.

One of the shards poked through today, and it hurts. It really sliced deep into the foundation of who I've made myself to be.

And I want to believe it could be true, I've heard it before, over and over, from too many people spread over too many years...

But it hurts...
It hurts to keep holding onto hope when I feel like it's slipping through my fingers, and burning up my hands on the way through.

I want to be patient and receive the Good that God has in store for me...but I don't even want to try anymore.

Why would anyone even want me, bitter, broken, burnt out as I am?

Part of me wants to re-ignite some of the embers of hope, maybe scroll Pinterest for dress or bouquet or ring ideas...
But part of me realizes the only way I'd be able to make any kind of time for a relationship is for Dad to be alive, but Mom to pass...not that I wish her gone, just the opposite, me maybe one day being in a relationship and getting married is one of the easier ways I have to convince her to chill out with all the carbs. And I absolutely would want her there for that day, and many more after it.
But with all the time I focus between work, church, and home, I'd never have time to properly commit to anything serious with a guy. And any guy that'd try to see something of worth in me, should definitely have a decent amount of my time too, not the scraps and leftovers...

But why...
Why did he have to say that he could tell I've been lounging for that very thing? Why did he say that at a glance, from afar, he could tell that I was lonely and to keep believing because he could see it was gonna happen and soon? Why did he have to try to throw gasoline on the last dying wisps of smoke that are barely able to be content with walking with God?

I don't have faith the size of a mustard seed right now...not even a fleck of its husk...
I can't command a mountain to move and watch it jump.
The best I can do is pretend it's like a sunrise or sunset: completely in God's hands, perfectly designed, ever changing, beautifully painted for me to look at, but always out of my reach to obtain for myself. I can marvel at God's goodness in pairing others together, but for me, just call me Sarah the laugher or Mara the bitter pill... because I am struggling to have hope and I don't want to keep waiting on vain. I'd rather give up on everything than be holding onto false hope 50 years from now on my death bed.
How's that for a wakeup call.
I'm probably going to be dead 50 years from now. Both my grandmas died at 82 years old. How am I supposed to hold onto hope that I won't be alone on my death bed when I've been alone this far?

I don't know whether to scream out to let the hope die and me die with it, or let it happen already and be done with it...but I'd either rush into something stupid or push away whoever God actually has for me.

It'd never work out anyways.
Too intimidating and intense.
Too loud or too quiet.
Antisocial.
No filter.
TMI on the regular.
Too childish and playful.
Too serious.
Molecular munching.
Teeth.
Too nitpicky.
Too lazy.
Just plain ugly.

Who would actually care to attempt to get to know me anyways...even my parents don't know how many times I've stayed up crying, aching to be held, not that they'd hold me for nearly long enough, sure they'd hug me, but then send me back to bed...
Why do I even care to try anymore...
Alone and cold is how I've been and how I'll stay.
I'm alone, and that's okay.
It's okay to release that hope and let it be something God settles, if He ever does.
It's okay to reset the façade, get all the shards covered with a fresh sheet of cardboard, and put on a happy face.
I'll be fine; I'm always fine.
Nothing to see here y'all. Keep moving.