Thursday, November 22, 2012

dirty is just dirt with a "y" on the end...

Yesterday my family and I began the four hour drive to my grandparents' house in northeastern Utah, the majestic Flaming Gorge. No, they don't actually live at the reservoir, but they live a few miles away, in a little (tiny) community called Flaming Gorge Pines. They're about an hour north of Vernal, if that helps you orient yourself. Not very many people know about the Pines.

Due to an unhappy accident, the people who we asked to take care of the dogs at my parents' house didn't get a house key that works. And so, 2 hours after we'd arrived in the Pines, my dad and I volunteered to make the four hour trip back down to Orem to save the puppies.

While we were driving home, I mentioned some things that have been on my mind in an off-hand, nonchalant sort of way -- mostly about that one guy we call Aries and all of the trouble I've been having. Dad didn't say much, just told me that I shouldn't worry about another guy being like that because I learned and I won't let anyone treat me badly again. Then we got on the subject of other people's problems again, and I stopped talking, listening for the next two hours.

This morning on our way back up to the Pines (which only took 3 hours and 15 minutes this time), dad brought Aries up. Just out of nowhere, he started talking about the whole thing and then told me that maybe the only way I can get over it is by talking about it, "from start to finish, talk it through."

I nodded and went back to looking out the window. Dad touched my shoulder and said, "You can talk right now, if you'd like."

My whole self shut down. Really, I was overcome with a feeling of utter shame and embarrassment. All thoughts flew from my brain and I had no words. I almost felt like I was five-years-old again, caught covered from head to toe in black, sticky mud -- a dirty little child. But mud is fun, until you get in trouble. Aries wasn't fun. And even though things weren't entirely my fault, and nothing really bad happened, being asked about it by my dad was horrible.

I don't know why. Usually I can tell my dad everything, and it doesn't matter. Maybe because lately most people tell me not to talk about it, and I've gotten so used to just pretending that it doesn't bother me.

I don't know what to say. I don't know how to talk about this -- I don't even want to go through it from "start to finish."

Once again, as soon as someone asks me to tell them things, is willing to let me just talk, I have nothing to say. After this morning, I almost never want to discuss it again.

I don't like feeling so bad. Especially when things weren't completely my fault.

1 comment:

Q said...

If you want to talk about it, talk. If it's better for you not to talk about it, don't. But talk to God about it if you don't talk to anyone else.