Hidden Angels

When I was a kid, I had a neighbor who didn’t speak English. Her family members did, and I knew them fairly well, but she and I had no language shared. Still, on my way home from school, she would stop me and invite me inside. She was often the only one home, and I would just sit at the kitchen table as she cooked me something wonderful. I didn’t always know what she had made, but I always ate it, always enjoyed it, and she always smiled so beautifully as I did. Then I’d thank her and be on my way.

Looking back, I wonder.. did she know I was starved at home? Did she know I felt alone, unloved? Did she know that she was a blessing for this broken, pitiful little girl?

Her own grandchildren were terrible, rude, and inconsiderate. They had some level of respect for her, but when visiting, would hit, belittle, and swear at their father and aunt. We were friends, but it was that kind of friendship you had when you were thrown together because you were the same age and your parents knew each other. I felt sorry for their family – Their sweet aunt, a slightly crazy caretaker who would stop me on the street to tell me I was beautiful, like a porcelain doll, their kind father, a friendly, good-natured pushover, who had probably saved my life a handful of times,, and that wonderful grandmother.

Did she know? Did her daughter and son? Did any of them know that they were my angels, my saviors, as my own family neglected me, hated me, plotted my death? Did any of them have a clue that they were saving this shredded soul?

I was so young, so shy, so afraid.. I never told them what it meant to me.

And there were others angels, too. My uncle, who never got along with my father, but would try, and got me away from him from time to time. My teacher, who knew I was in pain, but gave me a break sometimes and tried to make me believe in myself. The guys who watched over me in high school, protected me from going too far when I was not okay and wanted to act out. The friends who gave me a quiet place to talk about real things, when I wasn’t in the mood to go play social butterfly to the masses.

And even in adulthood, the friend who supported me from the background, no matter what, when, or where.

Have any of them ever known that they are the reason this heart is still beating? The reason I can let go and laugh and love myself? And how many out there are doing these little things, things that they think are nothing, things that are saving someone like me?

Could I even be one of them?

Future?

There have been few times in my life when I saw far ahead of me.

16, madly in love, planning the décor of our future home together.
(That love lasted many years, but was too messy to work in that home.)

A little older, dreaming up lectures for my future students.
(My disabilities proved that dream impossible.)

There must be more, but I can’t remember them.

And it’s not as if I didn’t dream. I am an eternal dreamer. I never completely give up hope. I never stop coming up with ideas of what I could do or be to make the world a little better, or make someone a little happier. That is always there.

But other than those few times, my future has felt as real to me as the Korean dramas I’ve been watching. My dreams are only fantasies, my hopes are just wishes I hold in my heart. My future is tomorrow morning. It doesn’t ever go much farther than that.

So I wonder why that is. Maybe it’s because I had a childhood where I never knew whether I’d live to see the next day. Maybe it’s because I feel I’m still fighting to survive. I wish it was something simple, like fear of failure, but I know failure will come, I’ll adapt, and come up with new dreams, like I always have.

So why? How is it affecting my life, and how can I change it?

For a long time, I was making impulsive decisions in relationships. If I got along well enough with a guy, I would date him. As long as he wasn’t making my life more difficult, I’d convince myself I loved him. He’d propose, I’d say yes, because that future wedding day never felt real. It was okay if it wasn’t true love, because it was okay for now, and now was all that existed to me. I accepted too much pain, because it didn’t feel like it would last, when there was no future for it to last into. But then, at some point, it would finally become too much for even the moment and I would end it. I would have the thought, If I have a future, could I spend it like this? and I would say goodbye.
(Thank God I don’t do that anymore. If I don’t ever find someone I see a future with, I’ll just be alone.)

I’ve made life-changing decisions based on how it would benefit others. I’ve moved from state to state, running to the side of whoever I felt needed me most. I’ve moved people in with me. I’ve dedicated myself to other people in order to “save” them. I’ve spent so much money, time, and energy. I’ve risked my life for people I barely knew, or who had treated me badly, all so I could feel I’d done something good before the end.
(I believe this is fixed, at least as much as I want it to be. I still want to be a kind, loyal, helpful person, whether I die tonight or in 100 years.)

I cut people out of my life if I feel I don’t matter to them. Periodically, I go through my phone, friends lists, etc, and I’ll remove people. It’s not even about how recently we’ve talked, but whether I feel they would care if I just disappeared. It is purely based on my emotions at the time. To be completely honest, most people fall into this category, but I will keep someone if I feel they would be hurt if they ever noticed I deleted them. My remaining time feels too short to spend on people who don’t seem to care and I don’t want them cluttering up my lists and blocking my view of those who do care.
(This is a work in progress. I’ve learned not to do it immediately on impulse, at least.)

I shy away from long-term projects. If it can’t be completed during the time I can see, I will not start it. It feels like a waste to put my time and effort into something when I cannot imagine the day it will be finished. Instead, I’ll begin a project that is fleeting, but hopefully memorable in some way.
(I hope to change this one, but I’ve only now realized I do this.)

I sometimes freeze up when I become anxious about something I need to do. I will postpone it and procrastinate over and over, because I feel as if the consequences can’t affect me in a future that does not exist. Then deadline passes and suddenly it is a problem in the present. Only then does it finally get done.
(Another work in progress. I’ve gotten much better.)

I probably do more that I cannot see.

But how am I to find a solution when I do not know the cause? I can treat the symptoms I’ve discovered, but how do I cure an illness without knowing its source?

Does life have to give me a chance to build on a dream? Do I have to fall in love?

But I can’t rely on anything outside myself. So how do I convince my mind that next year will exist for me? How do I make it believe that it’s okay to plan, to begin something, to wait? How do I tell my heart that there’s something more than this, if it’ll only be patient?

Living for today is wonderful. I appreciate so much of the world that others take for granted. I take chances. I feel and love intensely. I really live.

But I’m living like I’m holding a ticking clock. I’m living like a Grim Reaper is waiting outside my window. I’m living like I have to prepare my children for my approaching death. There’s so much I haven’t done or seen and I feel like I’ve missed my opportunity. I feel like I have so much more to give, and not enough time to give it in, and I just want time to

STOP

long enough for me to figure out how to believe it will continue ticking for me.