There are many things you learn in one week when your husband starts a job that requires you to get up a four in the morning. There is a huge learning curve there. There are also other things I learned along the way.
4 a.m. and me do NOT get along
Yep, I learned this all too well. When I am having a problem sleeping and four in the morning comes, I am a complete zombie for the rest of the day. Since we have puppies, they might let me sleep for about a half an hour before they proceed to lick my face and wake me up. This does nothing for my ghostwriting. I just sit and stare at the screen and nod off. I got two days behind and had to write through the weekend. My sister-in-law and I finally swapped driving duties. She’s up at that time. I will just go and get him. Thank goodness. It was going to get to the point that I was going to have to go to bed at 8, and hubby didn’t like that idea. I am not a 4 in the morning person AT ALL.
There is, apparently TWO definitions to the hero.
I won’t go into this too much. I will just say when I was growing up, a hero was a firefighter, EMT, policeman, and military personnel. They are people that do things out of want and not need. They are people who risk their actual life to save and help others no matter the cost. They are also people who don’t like the spotlight. This is what I grew up believing, and this is what I will continue to believe.
It does take courage and bravery to step out of the norm and do things the public doesn’t want to see or acknowledge the existence of said thing. It takes courage and bravery to take a knee on the sideline of the ball-field to pray; it takes courage and bravery to come out to family about your sexual orientation; and it takes courage and bravery to reinvent yourself in order to be happy. I give the people that do this their due credit. I really do, but I can’t, in good conscience, say they are heroes. I just can’t. They are shining examples of people being true to themselves and they are role models to those that are struggling to cope and fit in, but verbal barbs just aren’t the same physical bullets, fires, and all the other dangers out there that can end one’s life.
I am not downplaying verbal abuse. I know full well it’s real. I was bullied, torn down, and ridiculed for the entire time I was in school, the whole 12 years. I was told I was ugly, stupid, and even compared to B-movie monsters. I did everything I could not be noticed, but it just got worse. Nobody helped me. Nobody was there for me, and no one stood between me and the bullies until high school. By then, I really did care anymore. I could give a shit less about how I looked, what I wore, and even if anybody would even like me. I just wanted to graduate and get out of the hell I was living. I never understood why I was made fun of. I never bothered anyone, and I never go into anyone’s business. I went to school and came home.
I had friends that were going through the same thing. We were blessed to always have the same lunch period. We would talk, crack jokes, and forget about the hell around us for thirty minutes. I dreaded when lunch was over. I practiced smiling to hide the pain. I thought I was good at it, too. I made more friends, friends that I had more things in common with, and it got better, but the bullying never went away. They never left me alone.
What people need now is not heroes. They need role models, counselors, and people to stand up for them. They need people to step in and say that the verbal barbs are NOT okay. They need to be helped to see that there is a light at the end of the tunnel. I guess I was wrong. I guess we all need a hero. I just didn’t have one. I still carry the scars.
Until next time, God bless you.