Those who knew and didn’t care, cared the most.

I actually want to be here.  Not here, as in my apartment, but here as in this state.  Something happened when I wasn’t looking and I stopped hating this place.   I wouldn’t say I’ve fallen in love with it, I’m not there yet.  But I don’t hate it.  As horrible as things are right now, I don’t want to lift up my skirts and run for the border.  I want to stay and fight through this.  Carve out a piece of this place to call home.  My apartment is not home.  It never really has been.  I don’t know why, but thats the way it is.  Right now its a trash heap of dirty clothes, dirty dishes and bad memories.  I literally cried and started shaking when I realized it was time to come back here.  I haven’t dreaded going "home" this much since I lived with crazy Mel and apathetic Jen.  The only difference is there is at least one good thing waiting for me here.  My cat.

In the mess of dealing with my living situation, one of the options was to "board" my cat with a friend.  She would be safe and I could find a place to stay more easily.  But the thought of not being able to see her; the thought of her being alone with strange people broke my heart.  I hated going home last Christmas and not being able to take her with me.  I went two weeks without seeing her.  We both survived and nothing catastrophic happened, but I missed her terribly.  By the reception I got when I returned, I believe she missed me too.  She is, for better or worse, my family.  I don’t want to split us up.  But the living situation got desperate and the likelihood of us separating become closer to a reality.

I turned into someone I never wanted to be today.  The funny thing is, its really not a bad thing.  I like being independent.  I like doing things on my own and solving my own problems.  I am self-sufficient and capable and can do.  I am the rock others lean on.  I am the helper, the supporter, the "there in a pinch" person.  Except now, I need help.  I’m desperate.  I don’t know what I’m going to do or where I’m going to go.  I did not cry.  But I opened up and told people the truth.  I explained the situation and admitted my desperation.

Do you have a place to sleep tonight?

The concern in her voice and eyes nearly brought me to tears and I had to look away when I answered.  The outpouring that has followed my pathetic cry has left me breathless.  They care.  They love.  They are willing to help.  This new person in their midst who they don’t know from Eve, and yet they fling open their doors and hearts and arms.  I’ve stooped low tonight and I’ve begged.  And I hate doing it.  I know the people I’ve begged already lead busy and full lives.  And yet, the offer came from a family I never dreamed possible.  Not only would they take me in, they would take my cat in.  Not only would they take us in, but are willing to take us for a month.  Or two.  Or how ever long it might take.

Some people are just born with the ability to open their houses, no matter how insane or cluttered or messy or crowded it is, and say Come in.  You are welcome and safe and warm here.  Stay as long as you need.  I’ve been that person.  And I know it can be difficult and trying, but also so rewarding.

I think I know why the offer came from these people.  Their daughter, who is My Friend, recently went through some intense crazy times, and didn’t know where to turn or how to move forward.  She has retreated back to them and their house while she figures it out.  I think they know what desperation looks like on the face of their child.  They know the terror and fear of being separated from your Family.  I won’t dare compare the relationship of between a parent and chid to my relationship to my cat.  I know its completely different.  But I don’t have any kids.  But my cat is my baby.  My Friend was nearly separated from her daughter because of the desperate position she found herself in.  So I think this couple and this family unit can see the fear in my eyes even though I smile.  They know my desperation because they’ve seen it tenfold in My Friend’s face.  And they know the only option, the only good answer, is to throw open the doors and say Come in.  You are welcome and safe here.  Stay as long as you need.  They know the world won’t end and we’ll all be okay.

You know.  I’m a little upset with my aunt at the moment.  This family, these people who just barely met me, have dove headfirst into helping me.  And yet my aunt hesitated.  She’s still hesitating.  I’m desperate and scared and hurt, and she hesitates.  This family says, Come here and we’ll work it all out, without a second thought.  My aunt hesitates.  My own family.  My own flesh and blood pauses.  There’s no "Of course we will help in any way possible."  There’s not even a "Well, things might get a little crowded and you’ll have to sleep in odd places, but we’ll work it out."  I went through this in Fredonia.  There my landlord was much more accommodating and didn’t feel the need to take me to court without so much as a word, but I was left with the need to be in Fredonia for one more week.  I had run out of all options, and was seriously considering sleeping either in the church sanctuary and not showering for a week or just sleeping in my car.  Rhonda flung open her doors.  It’ll be a little crazy but we’ll figure it out!  Keeping a dog and cat separated in a small house is not easy, but we did it.  You just make it work.  You throw your hand out there, grab on to the drowning man and just hold on.  But she hesitated.

I can understand why there might have been a hesitation.  There are questions and what-about-that’s to figure out.  I really can understand the need and desire to lay down ground rules or learn more of the long term plan.  I can really understand that.  And perhaps My Friend and her family somehow know more of the long term plan and the situation.  So they are more willing to help so quickly.  But think of it like this.  What if you got a call from a family member that you claimed to love, and they said they had nowhere to sleep in four days.  They had a dog, but sensitive to your severe dog allergies, explained they were making arrangements for the dog to stay elsewhere.  All they needed was a place to sleep at night and a shower while they found a new place to live.  You wouldn’t even need to feed them!  But they had no idea where they would sleep in four nights.  Would you really hesitate?  I believe that even if I lived in a studio apartment with only a couch and a bed and barely anymore room to walk, I would open the door and let them in.  We’ll figure the rest out.

My parents did this for Megan.  Years ago.  Before we were old enough to drive.  My mother drove to a strange house in the middle of the night and picked up a terrified girl.  She spent the night and the next morning, we went to school.  I think Megan stayed about a week with us.  I know my parents talked with her for a bit the first day, but I also know they weren’t going to kick out this friend of mine.  My friend needed help.  We shared my bed.  She helped with dinner dishes and chores that weekend.  She wasn’t a slacker or leech.  She literally had no place to go.  And didn’t know when or if she could ever really go home.  But my mother heard her desperation and fear and flung open the doors.

My aunt hesitated.

There is a level of that is how I feel my relationship with the aunt and uncle is.  They don’t always reach out or offer.  They do, but to a limit.  My other "loser" uncle, the screw-up of the family?  He would have (and has) flung open the doors.  Kicked his son to the couch so I can sleep in a real bed.  Stay with them for a day, a week, a month, a year.  With them, there is a level of "That is just what you do for family."  Megan thinks the same way.  Same with my parents.  Same with my other aunt.  It might not be perfect, it might be confusing or messy or constantly shifting.  But for family – you figure it out.

There can be questions.  There should be questions.  And expectations.  What happens next?  How long might this go on?  Do you have an "exit strategy"?  But in my mind, those come after the initial answer.  Of course.  We won’t let you be homeless.  But she hesitated.  And in that hesitation, I don’t want to go.

I’ve felt this way towards them for some time now.  I don’t know how to release the anger or the frustration.  They were my only family here.  My only connection to other Scots, to Yankee fans, to people I knew longer than a week of student orientation.  But I was…  quietly excluded.  If any of them had moved to my town, brand new to the area and people, I would have invited them along to nearly everything I did.  Even if it might mean going out of my way.  Help them adjust, find their way, find a church, find a group of friends.  But I was quietly excluded.  When my grandmother was here for my cousin’s wedding, I offered to take her out to dinner.  Well, sort of.  But it ended up that way.  She asked me where I would like to go and I honestly didn’t know where anything was or what might be good or not.  I knew Russ’ because my mother had taken me there.  I knew the chain restaurants.  But I didn’t know (and still don’t know) the best pizza places in town.  Or the best steak places.  Or the cheapest yet biggest orders ever.  Or the best burger joints.  Or even the really expensive, but totally worth it restaurants.  Or the place with the best view.  Or the place with no view but the best beer.  I can rattle of a restaurant from my hometown to fill all those slots.  Less so in Fredonia because there were less choices, but still.  I knew what was good and what was worth it.  Here?  No one seems to care to show me why this place is beautiful or worth living in.  Until My Friend and her family.

In general, I feel like my new church family is acting more like a family to me than my own blood relatives.  In truth, they are the ones who are making me feel happy and seeming to care what’s happening at all.
For all my bluster and bother, I still have told no one at my new church that I am bipolar.  But I made an observation to my mother.  I told my seminary small group about my diagnosis and struggles very early in our relationship.  I was trying to be open and honest.  But I think it backfired on me.  Because of how early I shared it, it became the thing that defined me.  I was that girl who is bipolar.  My high school friends found out, well, basically as the same rate I did.  They knew me before I got really sick, but also through all the insanity and out to the other side.  I wasn’t the bipolar chick first and Rory second.  I was Rory who among other crazy things, happened to be bipolar.  I waited to tell most of my college friends until I knew them better.  So again, I was Rory first and bipolar was listed somewhere under that heading.  But at seminary, they looked at me and saw The Bipolar Girl, who among other things was named Rory.  So I’m somewhat waiting with my new church.  Waiting until they know me a little bit more before I show that label to them.  And there is a good chance I won’t tell everyone at first.  I think it will probably go something similar to how it went at NHRC.  I’ll tell one or two, then perhaps another.  Then Mom asked if she could tell a few others.  Then someone else is included in the circle and another until I can’t remember who knows and who doesn’t know.  At that point, I stopped caring who knew and who didn’t.

Its a strange way to put it… But those who knew and didn’t care, cared the most for me.  And I think for some reason my aunt and uncle care.  I don’t know why, because they knew me before.  My screw-up uncle doesn’t care and neither doesn’t his sister.  But there is something different in the way my local aunt and uncle treat me.  Its not obvious; its under the surface.  Which almost makes it more devious because its harder to pinpoint and spot.  But its there.  I just… I just know its there.