If I had to sum up how or why I took the wrong road, I’d say it was because I had no faith or belief in God. To make matters worse, I had no direction, no plans, and no goals. I was a walking, breathing, empty vessel… easily tossed around and swayed by whatever (or whomever) was in my vicinity.
I just existed.
That’s how the chameleon came to be. It was never intentional. I was a shy and quiet girl, from a perfectly normal family, who JUST wanted to fit in and be liked.
I started becoming someone that I was NOT in junior high, when I entered the world of cliques. I never fit perfectly into any one of the groups. To survive that excruciating experience, all I could do was pretend that I wasn’t petrified. I started acting cool.
Coolness came with a price. It meant parties with drinking and recreational drugs. It also meant failing my classes, in spite of the fact that I was perfectly capable of passing with excellent grades. I hid the fact that I was fairly intelligent because I was afraid I would be ousted from the cool club. How weird is that?!
Perception is funny. As I’m writing this, I have to wonder. Where on earth did I get the idea that being cool meant doing those things, anyway? Was it a preconceived notion that I had, or did someone tell me that?
See… that’s what I mean about my people pleasing and the imaginary THEY’S that I was trying to please. As I think back on my life, it seems that much of my trying to fit in was based on my own assumptions of what people wanted from me. That’s just ludicrous!
Anyway, once the partying started it was life at full-throttle, in a sense, and the next thing you know I’m in that stinking marriage surrounded by booze—and drugs that will keep me alert so that I can keep drinking the booze—and I’m completely and utterly lost.
Skip to Part Three
I’ll tell you something. I’m literally experiencing what I wrote about before—about writing being powerful. I’m STILL discovering things from my past that are helping me see the errors of my old ways, or how and where I made the wrong turns.
It makes me think about the enemy. He really DOES whisper to us. He’s been wanting me sick—or dead—for a LONG time, and filling my head with all sorts of lies.