A Different Kind of Faith

Chapter I: Sensitive

I've never been able to wear makeup. This could be considered a good thing to some people, but the reason, in my head, is not. I happen to have some sort of crying disorder. It's not chronic, but it is complicated. Let me explain with a story.

One normal day in fifth grade I arrived at the lunch room to of corse have lunch. At this time in my life I wasn't exactly having friend problems but it was sort of hard for me to find a place in the world where I could fill the whole up like the right puzzle piece. That's a good metaphor. We are all puzzle pieces in the jigsaw of life. The outer edges are easy and provide helpful guidance to others. The easy pieces, the ones that stick out and can be built around. Some pieces take longer than others to find there place but in the end, fit just right. But there are always the broken and the lost. That one piece that got so broken from being jammed into all the wrong places. And the lost, the final piece that was left so far behind that it fades away to the underside of couch cushions and toddlers stomachs. I don't mean to be depressing or to blunt but this my story and I will tell it how I will.

Anyways, I was one of the struggling pieces that try to find their place afraid of becoming broken. I walk into the bustling lunch room full of children talking to loud and being told and told again to make sure their voices were at level two, inside voices.my table though it had changed many times, was the one closest to the door. My good friend and neighbor, A. ,(for the sake of her privacy), was the one I was meaning to sit next to but was surrounded by many other girls. They all sat down at the same time leaving me no chance to slide in besides her. Well, why didn't I just sit next to her tommorrow? Or maybe ask one of the girls to scoot over? No big deal right? A "normal" person would be a little annoyed, but could move on. I just couldn't . I felt the ever so familiar tickle in my nose and the panic it brought with it. No not this time, not in front of all these people. It'll be fine just breath and make sure your hair hides your face. But where could I sit? A. was surrounded and most of my other friends were to. Most.

My best friend, E., a fourth grader, since she was born in September, would understand. Our relationship goes back to the beginning of kindergarten for me and her last year of preschool, but that's a story for another time. Somehow when I came to her in my time of desperation, fighting to keep the wave or rather, waterfall of wet sloppy tears from cascading down my cheeks. She sat down with me at the other somehow empty end of the table that A. Was sitting at. I had found someone to sit with and I could eat my lunch. Wasn't that enough? No. Once they started they couldn't be stopped. A stream of tears raced down my bright red cheeks. E. sat with me kindly talking with me knowing that the best way to handle this was to ignore the tears and brighten me up. This may sound wrong, she should be asking what's wrong? Or how can I help? Right? That's one of the things that makes me different. I know I'm crying and I know how to stop it. I just need to have time to calm down and compose myself. That's why I prefer people to carry on the conversation like nothing is happening. If I wanted help I would just ask. But that's rarely the case. Several people come over and ask me what's wrong which only makes it worse. E. sends them away saying I'm just fine and need to be alone. Some of the girls who were sitting next to A. come over to see if I was crying because I couldn't sit with A. Emma did the same as she had with the others and sent them away. It seemed as if as soon as I would calm down someone else would ask if I was okay, and it would start all over. Finally one of the teachers patrolling the lunch room noticed, came over, and knelt down in front of me. I tried to prepare myself for another onslaught of are you okays and what happeneds but instead she said something else. She understood that sometimes a girls just gotta cry. She sent all of the other people surrounding me away as well as the lunch lady who had been pestering me. At last I could control the tears and focus on my lunch. After lunch I had art. I could feel the eyes on my back. Near the middle of class when we were free to work on our art pieces alone the art teacher got a call from my fifth grade teacher, as well as my favorite teacher. I new exactly what she was going to talk about, so as I walked through the empty halls to my classroom on the second floor, I counseled myself on how to act. I would explain what I had explained to my fourth grade teacher.

You see, a similar situation happened (can't remember what), in fourth grade, where I was able to hide in the corner by the computers so no would see. However my teacher saw and asked me what was wrong. I was just "sensitive".
Stereotypically sensitive people faint easily, take things to seriously and are extremely weak both mentally and physically. I've been called sensitive, but I've never fainted, I understand jokes and make them, and I can watch serious films with out breaking into tears. Think before you label please. Anyways, I stayed calm enough during my conversation with her where I explained my "problem". Pretty much my brain was okay, no big deal, but my face was like "hey this seems like a good time to try to wash the sins away front the new world with another flood!" Yea that does mean I still care, but I don't care that much that I need to cry. This is difficult because sometimes I need to show people that I can still be tough, and I'm not sensitive, my face just thinks so. The best way for me to deal with it is to either carry on the conversation or find a private place to quickly clear up my face and compose.
Anyhow, this is what I told my fifth grade teacher also, and she understood just right. Happily ever after. The end.
Not really. Well sort of.

I still have problems with my crying but by now my friends understand and know what to do, I'm able to calm down before anything happens, or I can find a private spot. Sometimes I need to resort to white lies such as "I'm just really hot that's why I'm sweating" or "there's something in my eye". If I am indeed crying, mind and soul, I will ask for your help if I want it. Let me approach you first. So how does this tie in with my faith journey. Well I like to think of it as a way that I mold myself and mature into an adult, though I may not act like it. In the end it is still a part of what makes me, me. Another problem to solve another challange to overcome. And even though it's a different sort of faith, I find that having faith in myself that I can over come obstacles and the faith I have in my friends that they will help me also.