My wool may not be as white…

Posted: April 21, 2016 in Ranting/Venting, Uncategorized

sheep-5

…something…a thought…it has been re-occurring to me over and over again lately and giving me a chuckle. I see these posts online, people complaining about being the “black sheep” of the family and how hard it is. I laugh because it seems pretty pathetic…seems something stupid to complain about. A black sheep is still a sheep nonetheless. So, what’s the problem? And then I’m reminded that, even my wool is not so white…

I remember when I first started taking control…when I first started to understand that I was old enough to pave my own way. To break outside of the mold that my parents had made for me…to break away from that model of a perfect person everyone else expected of me. I won’t say it was liberating…because at first, I too felt the sting at what people consider being the “black sheep” to be. I remember telling people that I was dropping out of college. At least for a year until I could figure myself out. I had hopped into a private school because my parents wanted the best for me…had taken on a major in Psychology because people told me it suited me, that I would be good at it, and go figure, they said I would love the money. But, while psychology was an amazing study, the career did not sit well with me. It was not something I would enjoy. Human Services was no better, it was not for me. And, Music Therapy…I could not see myself ever having a stable career in it. I needed something different, and, because I did not know what…heaven forbid I quit school instead of staying in a place that was going to cost me $32,000 a year and had already put me into $15,000 in debt because they took my grants away.

My Mother and Father were…disappointed. They wanted me to give them my next move, my next plan of action. They wanted me to have my whole future laid out NOW, NOW,NOW! If I wasn’t getting scolded for not working enough hours to pay my own bills (because…you know, I had school to do as well), then I was scolded for dropping out and not having a plan. Not to mention that I was in my first real relationship at the time, and suddenly everything was blamed on this new love interest of mine, how she had turned me into a rebel, how I was probably doing drugs, and was obviously skipping classes for sex. Even my classmates looked down on me for decisions that were of my control and I had good reason for making…but, it was outside of the norm. I was EXPECTED to stay in school. I was EXPECTED to suffer and barely pass…to get a degree I did not even want, OR to switch majors until I found my true calling as if the loans piling up did not even matter. There were no drugs, and yes…I was drinking sometimes, and yes, I would not always go to class…but the grades were average because college was hard. The reason I quit was the debt and knowing that I was burnt out and not even interested in any career path the private school could offer me.

Then suddenly…I was given a choice: Quit my girlfriend and go back to school (take on more hours too), or move out.

This sheep chose to move out.

Moving out was not so bad. Yes, there were times I struggled, there were moments I was still going home to wash some laundry or my Mother and/or Father was bringing me over dinner, or a blanket, or some other random appliance I might need. But, I was free. No longer was I thinking about how much of a failure I was to everyone else…I was thinking about my life, how best to experience it, how best to truly live it. Things were…calm (for the most part). Then, I decided to move to the capital.

It was another bad move I guess…just one more notch on my belt. How dare I consider even for a moment, moving to a new city and starting my life over??? I remember being scolded: “You’ll get raped” , “If your car breaks down, how can I help you?” ,  and even better…”If you move, then don’t bother calling me ever again”. Harsh, right? Why? Because I would be looking for a job, because I would be living with my lover’s Mom…there were so many uncertainties that people just assumed I was better off living in a  black-hole town with no way of ever having a better life until I got some degree. I did not want to work as a Temp the rest of my life, did not want to juggle that with fast-food and taking part-time classes because it’s all I could focus on while trying to pay the bills. I did not want to be ‘stuck’ the rest of my life…did not want to end up just another family member with a list of regrets, with a list of things they wished they could have done and would have done…but they never did because they did not want to take a risk. They did not want to tackle anything that did not have a 100% chance of succeeded. I refused to live that life of fear, refused to hide behind security and live a boring and uneventful life. If I fell down, so what? I would scrape my knees, they would bleed…but ultimately, they would heal and I could try again. So again…I could hear the whispers behind my back at every turn.

I was the girl whom in school had the 3.6 GPA, whom had gotten the scholarships. I was supposed to be going somewhere. But then wait…I was a lesbian, so much for their dreams of me finding a rich husband. So much for their dreams of me being mother to a bazillion children…I could hear them: Oh, I liked video-games? Not normal for a girl like me. I was a Furry? Aren’t they animal fuckers? Again, I had let them down.
And now…now I was the dropout wanting to move away with my fuck buddy to a new city where no one could keep an eye out on me while I lived my life? For shame…

It’s funny. It makes me laugh. I laugh to think that I even cared back then…that these thoughts hurt me or they even broke my heart. I hate that these thoughts even made me angry because why was I supposed to be what everyone else wanted, but, not what I wanted? Every career choice I wanted was not good enough because it never made enough money. Every mistake of every friend and family member was thrust upon me as if I had to suffer their same fate for whatever reason. As if, because they failed at something, I was doomed to fail at it too. the ignorance of it all still astounds me.

I remember finally getting established in Indianapolis and finally people started coming to see me. Family visited, saw how well off I was and they were finally proud of me. they realized they had been wrong…and just knowing that they said they were really happy for me, I took that as “Hey…sorry for being such an asshat.” There were no hard feelings and life was good…until I decided I was moving to Germany. Suddenly all those questions came hitting me again like a truck: “I thought you said you were going back to school?” , “It’s too dangerous, you’re going to get killed!”, “We can’t save you if you move across the Country!”, “Two years is too long…you don’t need to move to Germany, just save up money and visit your woman when you can”.

Some people were supportive…but most people were not. Every day up to the day I left was one more conversation after the next of why I shouldn’t leave, why it was a dumb idea. Experiences and regrets being projected onto me like I too was cursed and if I left, would never make it back alive. again people would whisper…I was once again the odd one, the black sheep, under the spotlight because I was doing something crazy…because I actually wanted to live my life and pave my way on my own. Because I had a choice, I had a voice, and everyone else saw it as blasphemy, saw it as rebellion. It wasn’t rebellion, I wanted to travel. I wanted to see the world, I wanted to make amazing memories. It wasn’t there life to live it was MINE and I was taking control.

So I went to Germany…their voices, their chains could not hold me. Even now I know that had I stayed in the States, I would have regretted it forever, would have hated every moment. And, knowing that I met my wife there…in that place, so far away from all I had ever known. It shows me even more how I made the right choice. That by being what people call the “black sheep” and by leaving with my middle finger up in the fucking air, I was in control of my life, I was in control of my own happiness…I was taken action towards the betterment  of ME, MYSELF, and I…and I was doing something and feeling something that those other people will never know.

Germany was not easy…and while it’s hard to admit, yes, there were places where people ended up right.  I was molested by a stranger that had walked me to my apartment after a late shift…I had been homeless upon first arriving. The person I traveled there for cheated on me numerous times and by the end of it all kicked me off of base not caring what happened to me. I was depressed at times…there were dark places that I was surprised I made it out of alive. But, there was also the beautiful memories. My travels, going to Italy for my birthday. The sports bar, my friends, my Godson…meeting my beautiful wife. Nothing could make me think twice about doing it all over again…

…if given a time machine, there would be nothing I would go back and change in order to try and fix it. Because you know what? My life doesn’t need fixing…I don’t need fixing. And most importantly…I do not need some other person’s approval to be happy and live the life I want and deserve.

Even today when I could not be happier…there are those that tell me to do better, that I deserve better, that I could have more, that I should have come back home. But what do they even know? Do they even know me anymore? And…if they really ‘cared’ about me like they claim, then, wouldn’t they be happy that I’m finally happy? That I’m in a healthy relationship? That I have my own place, that all my bills are paid, that I’m well fed and spoiled? do they even care that this is the life I always dreamed of? why are they so hell bent on trying to pull me like I’m their puppet on a string…why are they so convinced that if I am not living the life that they want for me that I’m not happy?

Yes…I’m going back to school, yes, I already have my career path picked out. But it’s no one’s business to know the when and the how. It’s no one’s business to say that my being a babysitter is not a real job or that I should be doing more. It’s no one’s business to know when my wedding is, or when certain things are happening…or even when I might be coming home for a visit. My life is no one’s business, and no one has room to talk when it comes to the way I am living. Because this body, this life, these experiences…they only belong to me. And what I choose to do with it all is the only thing that matters. The rest is all talk…these labels are just your way of saying that you’re so discontent with yourself that you have to be more discontent with someone else’s life just to feel better. All of that is on you…and it will never weigh me down again.

So…never complain of being the black sheep. Rock that wool, flaunt it. If you’re in control of your own life, your own happiness…if being this black sheep is a result in you taking action and breaking free of the mold someone else made for you…then don’t lament. Be proud. Because you’re not the slave of your fears and insecurities like everyone else…you are unique, you will pave the way to your own happiness…you my friend, your wool may not be as white…but you are FREE.

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