Sweatpants

My dad says that if you wear sweatpants in public you have given up on the world. I am wearing sweatpants right now. Maybe I have given up. Maybe it’s because I want to go home. I want to breathe Brasilian air. Maybe I want to un-remember all the moments that broke my devoted stride. Maybe I want to learn life from outside of these four walls to which my attendance is counted. Maybe I want to hear poetry spit from the mouths of people who have the credibility of living the words they spew. I know I want to wipe the hideous grin of glee from Satan's sick and crooked mouth from my mind. Maybe I want to break away from these impulsions that hold me prisoner to the twisted dismay in my head. Maybe I want these unhealthy thoughts to stop trailing through the sane parts of my brain like heavy trains carrying polluted shards of glass designed to cut bleeding wounds into my mind.

Dark, I know. But the sun is out. And it's being a little feisty. So I pulled the blinds down. I sit amongst the clutter that has grown into my skin. Prescriptions for medications that promise to disinfect the wounds float around me like little pieces of white plastic inside an overly decorated shiny snow globe playing the kind of music that makes you cry. I have attempted to escape into the TV screen but it only snobbishly reflects the ugly scene that did not quite fit with the images it attempted to play into my living room. I have tried filling the void inside of me with comfort food and impulsive treats of indulgence only to find they turned my mirror into an antagonist that sits waiting in a dark room. I tried numbing the awkward silence by filling my lungs with a buzz that would hum past the quiet, but it has only numbed my sense of smell. I sit here uncured. So I play Tetris, making the pieces fit perfectly together, wishing I could do that in my life.

These incessant moments of cowardly careening have worn me down to a very small nub. During these times I have allowed people to come and pick from my tree and now there is no fruit left. Truth be told, I have no desire to produce any more fruit for the spring picking of people hungry for an extra dose of sugar for their daily diet. How long have I been sprouting this produce to feed the emotional appetite of people through whom I sought validation? An appetite, might I mention, that is broken and can never be fully fed; much like my ability to feel validated by their passion for my fruits. Broken. Un-fillable. Somewhere along my gypsy journey with my "fruit delivering" business (where my slogan became "I bring my fruit tree right to you, and all you need is somewhere I can store my stuff"), I lost several things. I still have Tye, my ever my faithful bear with invisibly small eyes. I still have pictures and scrapbooks telling the stories of all the places I planted my tree. But the other day I was looking for my dignity and I must have left it in one of the cities. I then thought if I could find my self-respect, it could get me by for a while. That was nowhere to be found (that one might be in a trailer park in Alabama, actually).

In a sickening epiphany, I realized that dignity had become a commodity I could not afford and I didn't qualify to receive self respect to pay collateral for that dignity. So I decided to look a bit harder. When my mom lost something, she would always send me on a mission to find the object because she said I had an uncanny ability of finding things. Well, I guess that quality paid off. I discovered traces of my self-respect and pieces of my dignity. Most of it was behind some photo albums, under a couple scrap books, and tucked behind my "kiss book". I didn't find either one in its entirety, but the pieces I found are going to be enough to for a foundation.

So after this precious discovery and another enlightening session where my South African mentor compresses 26 years of my parent's advice into 1 hour, I decided to dust the pieces off and start shining them. The final push might have been the violent pinch of having yet another piece of fruit ripped off one of my branches. The fruit was sweet and satisfying, they said. But the tree was disposable. That was the last piece of fruit. I gathered the leaves I had scattered and walked out of the room.

It turns out the tree is in fact, not disposable. It's actually not disposable at all. Not only is the tree not disposable, but the fruit it produces is actually good and useful fruit. Yes, the tree is useful. And it’s good. I am not....disposable. In fact, I was walking through a field the other day and the sun was shining so brightly on me. I was awe struck at the realization that somehow I ended up in Oklahoma...alone. The sun shone through the cold winter wind. As if God was telling me; "Just so you know, no matter what you find about yourself, or about life...it doesn't change how much I love you". Although I have been picked into a nub by my selfish ambitions and the selfish ambitions from those around me, God's power has never been so limited that it cannot make a nub transform into a beautifully shining tree. In fact, there is nothing God's power cannot transform.

I guess all this is to say that I am strengthening myself for the next punch. Satan brought his little posse out and they wreaked havoc in my life this weekend. They pulled out all the stops and let out all the demons. I am still standing...but only because God has planted some amazing people around me that help me remain upright when I sway too low. This year started out with a big wave that knocked me off my feet in an attempt to uproot me. I am still standing...because the roots run too deep to be pulled out of the soil. Even after years of falling. Last night I was talking to a friend who knew me back in the days when I dreamed of being a grown up with "real" drama ( I thought drama meant some really cute guy named Dawson would chase me around while Blessed Union of Souls or the Cranberries played in the background). She told me I had matured as a woman and that it was just a little wave that hit me and I need to jump back up and keep swimming. It just made me realize that the next time a big wave comes I am going to have to be rooted so much stronger. So that is what I am going to do.

For so long now I have convinced myself that "holding on" was so much harder than letting go. For so long I have believed that it made me such a stronger person to press on past someone pushing me away and keep producing my fruit for them. But this weekend, when I started shining off those pieces of dignity and self-respect, I realized I was wrong. It is harder to let go and allow yourself to be pushed away, thus risking the belief that you are disposable and that your fruit will be taken for granted. That is especially bad news for someone who finds validation from the "likability" of her fruit.

There have been those who believe the tree is disposable and that the fruit is readily available for their luxurious snacking urges. And that hurts me. Deeply. That will never change. But it doesn't have to keep happening. I am discovering that if I am being stonewalled out of someone's life, it is harder to let that happen, because of the blow that I take to my heart. But as they say...the harder road is always the most fulfilling. However, it is going to take more strength to take this stand. Which is why the next time a punch gets thrown, or a wave gets blown...I will be standing more firm.

But I will probably still be wearing sweatpants...