You wouldn't know it when she walked into the room that she was insecure and afraid of almost everything. She wore a smile, even though she may have been crying all day. Her laughter was infectious. People drew into her web of 'happiness' to absorb it for themselves, all the while it was she trying to absorb the happiness from others. Outgoing as she may have seemed, she went into hiding in order to avoid people -- to avoid the negativities of others, as she was quite the emotional sponge. She was very sensitive, taking offense into all things said and unsaid. As quick as she was to help others, she was also in need of help but never dared to ask. Part of it was, she never wanted to impose on others and also didn't want others to know how badly she was truly suffering. Through emotional pain, came physical pain which ultimately boomeranged back into emotional pain again -- the 'being sick and tired of being sick and tired syndrome'. She often would make statements like, "I don't want to live anymore," without the threat of, "I'm gonna kill myself" -- it was her soul crying out for help. It was true, she didn't want to live life anymore, because there wasn't any joy any longer. People were falling ill, loved ones were dying, relationships were falling apart, and of course, she was aging too, feeling worse and worse with each waking day. But that's life, right? That's how it's supposed to be.
All she wanted was one week of peace. One week, at least. People thought she had all the peace in the world since she worked at home, had a "nice life" with her partner and had plenty of friends, when she would choose to see them. But nobody ever saw the challenges in her life -- the ones that were hidden underneath the happy status messages on Facebook or the funny jokes on Twitter. Who wants to listen to a "Debbie Downer"? She wanted to inspire people or at least, make them laugh. She wanted to provoke emotion by capturing photos of beautiful things, maybe giving hope to someone else who was also home depressed. Sometimes late at night she would call the suicide hotline, only realizing that the people on the other end of the line were only human too. She thought that perhaps they would give her some sort of magic spell through the wires to which connected them together. Unfortunately, she was given advice to go to the ER and be evaluated for 12+ hours to only be flung into some dirty psych ward to absorb the insanity of others. She would quickly end the phone call and stay home instead. She was crazy…but not that crazy
…yet.
She began developing insomnia. She'd text God late at night in the notes of her iPhone. It was her only comfortable way to pray sometimes.
"God?
Please stay with me and take away my fear and anxiety tonight. I feel very scared and tense. Please calm my thoughts, my heart and my mind.
I need you.
I love and trust you.
Love,
Me
P.S. Thank you in advance."
Moments later, she got message back from God -- an automated "messages from God" type of program that coincidentally threw her a message right after her text.
Her eyes lit up in shock.
It read:
"God wants you to know that, when the night feels very long, remember that a new day is just around the bend. With each new day we are given new hope, new possibilities, new opportunities. Each new day is a miracle."
Usually, she'd received the unnoticed miracles that would arrive the next coming day. But there were miracles that God would give her which were sometimes overlooked. Her anxiety had lessened and whatever was wrong the night before would usually disappear. But other problems came swooping in to eventually take their place. She was lucky if she had at least 3 hours worth of sleep, so the day was usually dreaded with thoughts of fatigue, aches and pain. It was all she could do just to get out of bed in the morning. Nobody understood the fear, the anxiety, the sleepless nights, the pain the…loneliness.
She was always generous -- always giving more than she could afford. People misread this as 'wealth', when it was
so far from the truth. Back in 1rst grade, there was a little black boy who she felt so sorry for. He lived with his mother in a tiny studio apartment on one of the worst streets in our town. He never had lunch money, so he never ate when he was in school. He'd sit by himself sketching stuff on his notebook in the lunchroom. The kids made fun of him -- called him "poor" and taunted him about the color of his skin. And then he met the little girl who would always give him $1.10 for lunch so he could eat. If she didn't have the money, she'd make him a brown bag lunch with a sandwich and some fruit. His eyes would light up like a Christmas tree. Luckily, she was fortunate enough to get an allowance from her parents who had more than enough to spare. She shared her allowance with him. Nobody ever knew this. She never told anyone about this because she would get in trouble. She didn't give him money for his friendship, she gave him money because she suffered watching him suffer. She still continued this sort of thing, but in different ways. She never told anyone because she was afraid others will be angry, because she didn't have a pot to piss in to begin with.
She hated to be touched in any way -- even a hug or a caring caress on the arm from a concerned friend will have her curled up like a threatened caterpillar. It's uncomfortable and awkward. It had nothing to do with her high levels of OCD -- it had everything to do with not trusting people. Years ago, she used to be a very 'touchy-feely' type of person when she talked with friends and loved ones. Some would even misread it as "flirtatious" when it was completely innocent -- but she didn't care. As long as it made someone feel good (not uncomfortable), a hug or two or a gentle grab on the arm while talking was in order. She became more reserved and shy of coming into physical contact, no matter how platonic it was. She was deathly afraid of being hurt again and again
and again. People inflicted pain -- and that's how she saw the world. The most trusted people are the ones who turn around to hurt the most. She couldn't afford to be hurt anymore, so she drew more distant, taking her hand away or giving a "fake" hug. Her kisses hello became more of a side-sweeping facade of pleasantries.
And how she loved to cook! You can see it by the way she catered to her loved ones and also by her waistline. She freely handed out her "secret" recipes so other people could enjoy her culinary passion too. The one thing people never knew was that cooking brought her back to her childhood - it gave her a false sense of comfort. A Sunday shouldn't go by without the aromas of a marinara Italian "gravy" stewing all day long. making the house smell like heaven, or a roasted chicken with fresh herbs and other "comfort foods" to make home feel more like a "home". Every meal that was ever brewed on that stove or oven was prayed upon. She asked God to bless the food with health, happiness, love and laughter. Nobody ever knew this little secret of hers. In fact, her cooking was never noticed until she started praying upon it -- blessing it with good things so that people would feel good while eating her food. She did things with a purpose -- with a heart -- with good intentions.
She did the best with what she had. She made an effort to show people she loved them, even though sometimes it looked as though she was in hiding again. She was never stingy with compliments, but had a hard time accepting them. She grew tired of trying -- trying for a family -- recapturing her past family life or even, just having some sort of peace and "normalcy" as best she could. It seemed nearly impossible though. Nobody supported her will to have her own family. Nobody supported her while taking her partner's hand in marriage. Not one family member made it to her wedding. She held onto the hurt -- the promises of being "maid of honor" or the good intentions of helping out on our big day. She didn't want help. She wanted loving support on that special day. But, as she always says, blood is not always thicker than water. Her friends and in-laws were there to give the support that was needed. And from there on, she learned not to depend too much on anyone in this world.
For more of Deb's articles, please visit: www.debrapasquella.com or join her on Facebook and Twitter. Check out her cooking blog for some of her famous recipes!
