Truth #4 Rubber bands hurt like hell when they snap back at you

And I will stay up through the night, Let's be clear I won't close my eyes And I know I can survive. I walked through fire to save my life and I want it, I want my life so bad. 

Well I've got thick skin and an elastic heart. I'm like a rubber band until you pull too hard cause I might snap when I move close and you won't see me. 

-Sia 

So this afternoon was spent crying in agony. Filling my empty room with wails of despair and questions of why. Why me. Why the hurt. Why all the undecided. Why is my heart being ripped from my chest and broken into shards of red glass. I have snapped. Officially pulled too far and I have come apart. I guess I came apart months ago most likely years ago but until today I found that I was just stretched, stretched so thin my veins transparent to the eye, blood flowing so fast with confusion trying to keep my heart pumping from the ache. I've snapped. Officially. My life is no longer what it was and I don't see it ever being the same again.

I have always been good at hiding. I know that I have mentioned that in previous posts but it is my crutch. I am so good at poker face. Honestly, I'm not sure I could sit in a room at a table and bet hundreds of dollars on a game good but I am pretty legit when it comes to my feelings and showing lack there of to other people. The crazy thing is at the same time I am so emotional that when they do come out it is written all over my face. Selective emotions as I like to call it. Who do I let in and who do I hide from.

Enter gum and sofa. 

My childhood was the best. Some of my fondest memories that I can remember had to do with my grandma. Lately I've been missing her, more than ever. She died years ago, I can't recall my age, maybe 20 give or take. I won't ask my dad because I know that he misses her and I don't want him to be sad. I loved her. I still do. I will have to tell you about how wonderful, caring and strong she was. I only hope that being named after her gives me the same qualities she possessed.  If I could only speak French like her I would be a force to be reckoned with. 

We lived above her in a double. I can close my eyes and I'm there. Old T.V. set that sat like a brick in the living room dotted with browns, oranges and greens. The smell of the house. The smell of my grandmother cooking below us waiting for me to come down to visit. She loved to feed. It was in her blood. It is in mine too and my dad's. Come over and I will make you a feast. You are hungry I will bring you food to eat. It's my heart, my way of care and love. It is a part of me I love and recognize. 

We lived down the street, a walking distance to the local corner store that knew your name, your family's name and your deepest secrets. The good days when walking to the corner store for milk and bread was the easiest part of the day. Carefree, walking passing friendly hello's and faces. Now I can't let my children 5 feet from my view without a panic attack ensuing. 

I remember that day like it were yesterday. A life lesson and maybe a premonition of how I would be so easily able to hide later on in life and lie-I am good at that too. 

Do you remember Bazooka gum? Ahh Bazooka gum. The $.05 glory that was the comic strip life of Joe and the sweet white coating of artificial pink hard gum. My go to. I was 5. I went to the store with my mom that day and begged her for a piece of that gum. I held it in my hand like the child I was and showed it to her asking "mom please can I have this please!?" No. A resounding No was her answer. Put it back she said. I don't recall how that piece of gum didn't leave my hand and I don't think I knew the concept of stealing. To this day I might have even held onto that glorious pink heroine of my childhood without knowing it's place in my gripped palm. The next thing I remember is being behind my sofa in the living room. Hiding. Oh was I hiding. I squeezed myself between the cold wall of my secret and the hard daunting back of our sofa and unwrapped my guilt. I knew when it hit my lips leaving a trace of the white powder on my tiny pursed lips that it was wrong. I was hiding. I had the knowledge to hide and eat that gum.  I don't remember the concept of stealing but I knew hiding was the best thing to do while eating that gum. My mom obviously got privy of my whereabouts when she heard what I like to think of as my furious guilt chomping (something I still do with my nails and conveniently gum) I remember her glaring down in her tree like presence over me and I felt so small. I felt like the cold wall of my secret betrayed me and I was no longer hiding, I was in an open space floating with nowhere to hide. I didn't like that feeling, I wanted to be safe between the sofa, the small comfy crack of my freedom but I was caught pink tongued.

 She made me go back to the store and apologize to the man. I got the "we don't steal" speech along with her recollection of the time she stole and how she was punished, by God. I won't forget that story of hers. I don't believe God punished her but that's her story and this is mine. I felt bad stealing. I think that moment I became aware of what stealing was. I did it again later in life but haven't we all. I learned a few lessons that day in my house above my wonderful grandma. First lesson- don't steal. The second lesson-you will eventually get caught if you do. And lastly the lesson haunting me now many years later coming back around full circle-don't hide. Don't hide. A childhood memory carried into my adulthood problems springing back in my face like a rubber band leaving terrible scars across my delicate skin. I am learning how to not hide. Hiding is safe to me, familiar and warm. 

The cold wall and hard truth of that sofa beckon me to come to their safe haven. I remember though that I was not hidden, I was caught having to face the truth of my actions. Fighting the urge that uncovering truths might actually bring me to peace and stubbornly ignoring that maybe uncovering and healing from my damage of hiding will bring me to a place I want to be scares the shit out of me.

That sofa, that cold wall, that false safety-what a bitch.