Get Up Sucka

It's Father's Day. For me, a day to reflect, on probably more than I am ever ready for during this time of year. Summer has become bitter sweet to me. May through July have harbored some very intense and damaging memories for me (mostly caused by the men in my life). Today I woke up and part of me refused to allow this day to happen. I didn't want to recognize what others had and what I have been missing all my life. Like the true technology addict that I am, I pushed random buttons (or places on my touch screen) until my phone surrendered and stopped screaming at me to crawl out from my horizontal position in my king sized bed and deal with what life had in store for me today. Reality was waiting for me as soon as my phone recognized my thumb print (doesn't that sound so "Mission Impossible"?). Reality was waiting for me as soon as I reached above my head and pulled the light switch to allow a false light blind and trick me into the day. Reality was waiting for me as soon as I welcomed social media to grace my eyes.

I scrolled habitually as I watched strangers and friends wish their fathers, father figures, husbands, boyfriends, brothers, uncles, cousins, and play cousins a happy father's day. I felt a tingle of bitterness creep into my gut. That all too familiar feeling of angst where I wanted to turn the light back off, throw the black cover over my head and shut out the world. After all; who cares about how I feel anyway? I welcomed the self pity, for about 30 seconds. Then I remembered: "I'm Dianna suckas."

At church today I watched as two young ladies stood at the altar holding onto that same feeling I had for 30 seconds this morning. I saw it exude from their backs like steam off hot water. I heard God tell me to stand with them. You know what I said, "God. For real bro. I'm not ready for that. I can't encourage others like that." So I stood at my seat and listened to my first Lady tell her story. I heard God whisper to me again, "You better go up there and stand with them." My response? "God. My heart is broken right now. How do you expect me to help heal others right now? You better stop with all that." (Yeah, I talk back to God. It seems I still question Him openly, but the thing is He STILL loves me).  Finally I gave in, awkwardly I acrobatically squeezed passed three ladies to get out of my row and sauntered in between two hurting young girls, with my broken heart and steel arms I reached out and put my arms around them both. With out even thinking twice I began to thank God. For nothing in particular and everything non-particular at once. I stood, strong and stable as they cried and listened as they silently cried out for their heavenly Father's love. The only love that continues to heal my heart.

I walked away from that altar. Changed. Evolved. Stronger. Yes, me. Even stronger. Because the truth is, it's not just my father who has broken my heart. I've attempted to love men with that fearless and passionate love and it wasn't returned. I allowed the men in my life make me feel worthless while I broke myself to make them feel invincible. This time I walked away with a heart that may still ache, but will no longer be sacrificed. I walked away with my vision in movement. God revealed to me years ago what my purpose is, I've fought it because I was busy trying to make others happy. I was busy handing my heart over to those who would squeeze the life out of it. Then I would hand it back to God like, "Uh, fix this bro." The wonderful thing about it is that He would, without hesitation.

I couldn't wait to get home today and share what this day of reality has created for me. I've been bypassed by many people in my life. They've chosen to excommunicate me and ignore me, unaware of what they were cutting off. Unaware of WHO they were letting go. The amazing thing is that regardless of who allows me to stay in their lives, I am STILL Dianna.

My name is Dianna: "Divine. Mythological ancient Roman divinity Diana was noted for beauty and swiftness; often depicted as a huntress." Yeah, that's right. A huntress.  

When God made me, He installed extra layers of armor because He knew I was going to go through wars CONSTANTLY. He also knew I could handle it. He knew I was going to be stronger than the men who hurt me. He knew I would need rust proof armor because I would cry more than others. He knew I would need to look a certain way because other young women would need to see a woman who was a soldier, but could still keep herself together. He knew I would fight with my words. He knew I would love with a passion that made me fearless and at times stupidly fearless. He knew I would try to hide from Him. And over everything, He knew I would win.

He knew, "You're Dianna. Now get up sucka." (God and I have a weird relationship like that).
                                         

I am a scar.

Per usual life continues to throw boulders at me. At a time when a normal person would reach out and grasp for her nearest friends, I have chosen to seclude myself. It is most definitely intentional. Through out my life I have allowed myself to become dependent on others to maintain my sanity and happiness, as a result when said people leave, disappoint me, hurt me, or unintentionally anger me, my sanity and happiness are whisked away just as quickly.

Solitude will surely do one thing for you:
Force you to evaluate your life.

I am a thinker. By nature I question everything around me; why clouds are shaped the way they are, why certain horrible acts are committed against me, why I make bad decisions, why it seems I can't find love, why I woke up every hour and twelve minutes, why my stomach jumps into my throat when I see him. Imagine all of these thoughts at once (plus more that I won't bore you with). What would YOU do? Me? I shut down. Turn off the Dianna switch and go through the motions of life, suffering in silence.

It's not the ideal way to manage a crisis, let alone more than one. The one thought that seems to overwhelm me during this shut down time is; will it really matter? The "crisis." Is it really going to matter five years from now? My problem with this is that I only tie myself to people if they truly matter to me. I don't invest time into people or with people unless I feel that five years from now they WILL matter in my life. The trouble with being an adult is that we are forced to realize that some whom we've tied ourselves to do not reciprocate the feeling.

I have become expendable to those around me. I am a momentary high. I can't blame them though, I'm a pretty interesting person. My life is colored with hues of tragedy and I appear unscathed. It's when they are finally able to see me open and uncovered that the scars of my wars can be felt. Because that's what scars are. Wounds that have healed, but forever leave their mark. I suppose I am one large scar, walking through life healing people of their curiosity.

The most difficult part of this realization is finding a coping mechanism that allows me to still give pieces of myself with out feeling as though they have been stolen from me. I suppose my first mistake is being a giving person. I love others the way that I want to be loved, in their own language. I adjust to each person to love and care for them according to what they need. In this process as soon as that person leaves (especially without reciprocating the gesture) I feel robbed. Selfishly I feel robbed of a love that I know I deserve and at the same time robbed of a love that I will never know. Curiosity sets in and I chase.

When it comes to love I have no pride. I will sacrifice myself to the altar of cupid and allow him to shoot so many arrows at me that my wounds start to blend in with one another and I am just one bleeding carcass of love, hand outstretched waiting for someone to hold it again and kiss my knuckles.

I suppose that's where I'm at. I'm a bloody carcass. Gross, I know. But that's the way my brain works. I see beauty in damaged and broken (wild) things. I have to, after all, that's all I am. A once damaged and broken wild thing, just wanting to be loved.