Black Sheep.

I'm going to do something I really don't ever do.

I'm going to be very raw about my current condition.

I've just spent the last hour crying.

A small part of it was probably self-loathing, as is nearly all crying. 

But a very, very large part of it was grieving. 

For most of my life, I've just assumed no one liked me, and I wasn't worth the time.

I constantly worked to be loved.

As a child, I was told to be a quiet, good little girl. 

I was called "fat ass" by my mother's boyfriend and often snuck food when he went to sleep because I felt so much shame from his judgement.

I was told to leave him and my mother alone because they were busy, and I would ruin it.

I was trained on snaps to bring beers, and I watched my mom starve herself and attempt to make things perfect for her man, in her own attempt to earn love.

Because of my parents' (and their significant other's) drug issues, they became the black sheep of the family. And because I was their child, I got looped into the category. 

Maybe that part wasn't intentional, the part where I fell into that category, but the truth of the matter is, it's the category I was placed in. 

I flash forward to today where so many things are different...

I've escaped a life of addiction.

I've come out of a dark depression.

I've learned to love myself (most days) and to love others.

I've cut the web of lies associated with the physical, sexual, and emotional abuse I've experienced.

I'm finishing my last semester of college, and I'll be the first person in my family to finish a post-secondary education program.

When I'm not crazy busy with 18 credit hours and a job (like this semester), I do my best to see and help the ones I love.

But somehow, I still feel like I'm sort of the black sheep of the family.
Like nothing ever really changed.

Now, I realize performance should have little to do with status in the context of familial relations. 

But it does.

And I'm left to wonder how, despite everything I've done to get to today, why is it I'm still the one serving time for my mother's crimes?
Is it not enough I lived through years of abuse and neglect?

I don't say all of this to play the "victim card."
In fact, those who know me know how little I talk about my past and how much I detest people living in victim land.
I say all of this in serious consideration of the question, "when is it enough?"

My mom and my grandma tell me no one tells me anything or invites me to family events because they just assume I'm busy...

Well, yes. I'm busy.
But so is everyone.
We make time for the things we care about.
So not including me in family gatherings, not informing me of important information because I'm "busy" just tells me I'm not worth telling, and I'm not valued enough to be considered or wanted somewhere.
All this cycle reinforces is the lie I've worked so hard to destroy.
The one that tells me, "No one wants you. No one loves you. No one wants to be around you."

Yes.
My mom has sucked; she'll be the first to admit that.
And up until very recently, I wouldn't have confided in her, even a little bit.
But you know what?
This afternoon when I called her crying because I made a mistake by unknowingly making an incredibly heartless statement to my cousin because I wasn't aware her baby had passed in utero, she was the one listening to me sob, and she was the one who understood what it felt like to be the black sheep.

I still don't know when enough is enough, when we give up.
I'm thinking the answer is never because Jesus never gives up on us.
But in this moment, I am hurt.
I'm sad that I hurt someone else because of my ignorance.
I'm sad I'm left questioning my own self-worth.
And I'm sad that all around the world, there are so many people in broken relationships with the ones they were meant to love the most.