Secret farewell
I have a story to tell.
I've gone to cell for six years now. Since Easter this year, I've been very evidently very unhappy on Friday nights. It started when somehow, someone decided that the entire cell should meet up without me to trash out grouses about. With cell, and with me in particular. It wasn't malicious, and I was told of the meeting right before it took place. Yet, the lack of trust that everyone had cut deeply. After that, I couldn't look any of them in the eye anymore.
The leaders only managed to sit down with me, Liz and the two of them because the other three weren't around one way or the other. Other than that, the subject has never been broached. Am I supposed to pretend that nothing ever happened? Continue being my former outgoing self, knowing that the person is withholding their opinions?
Easter is supposed to be a celebration of life. But, since Easter, I've withdrawn tremendously from life. And nobody once asked me why. I sit in silence in cell, and everyone else pretends that it's normal. I wish that someone would just come up to me and say "Hey...I'm so sorry that things are the way they are. It's not right. Let's change it." Not to blame me or anyone else, but to acknowledge my hurt and work through it together.
Am I that unapproachable?
Karen tells me that she believes in me and I just have to rise up and claim that breakthrough. So I try. A month ago, I call two members up, a guy and a girl, and pour my heart out. I tell them about past actions that have excluded me, left me out, hurt me. These two in particular have been cliquish, even though we were all shared classes in uni. They both said that they want things to turn around, to start anew. I heave a sigh of relief and thankfulness.
The next Friday, cells are combined in church. 8.30pm, I'm standing alone in the lobby. I call one, and he said they're both on their way with her younger brother who's in another cell. They met up for dinner again without me. But it's ok, I'm glad to see them anyway. We sit down together for the first time in months, four in a row. The first cell member, the brother, me and the second cell member. Towards the last half an hour, he (or was it she? I don't remember) whips out his phone and punches the keypad, then puts it away. Two seconds later, she whips hers out. Taps the keypad, puts it back. His phone comes back out, tap-tap-tap, she whips hers out, notices my glance, hides the screen behind her handbag, and taps again. Back and forth they go, while I sit there and try to look as if it was all perfectly normal. As the alter call is being given, they both quickly say "Hey, we have to go now. Bye!" and leave me standing there alone.
What should I think?
I ask myself why. Why do I repeatedly subject myself to such an excruciating experience? Why do I keep facing these people over and over again? Why am I so stupidly hopeful that maybe, just maybe things will be different the next time round? Why do I keep trying?
It's because I want desperately to belong in my cell. I hate standing in the church lobby, knowing that I'm alienated, that I'm lonely, lost and there's no where to go. But it's hard to keep brushing off the feeling that I'm not welcomed any more, that they don't trust or want me. It gets harder and harder to stand up after each blow. I'm not brave enough to keep trying. I'm not brave enough to keep asking to be let in.
Tonight, we're having a farewell dinner for her before she flies off to the states. Liz asked if I'm going. I am. I console myself by saying that it's my secret farewell dinner before leaving cell. Of course, no one will pray over me for journey mercy and say nice things about me. Or apologise, for that matter.
Every organisation has its flaws, every institution has cracks through which people slip out off. I think I'm one of the causalities in the small group system.
Where do I go from here?
I've gone to cell for six years now. Since Easter this year, I've been very evidently very unhappy on Friday nights. It started when somehow, someone decided that the entire cell should meet up without me to trash out grouses about. With cell, and with me in particular. It wasn't malicious, and I was told of the meeting right before it took place. Yet, the lack of trust that everyone had cut deeply. After that, I couldn't look any of them in the eye anymore.
The leaders only managed to sit down with me, Liz and the two of them because the other three weren't around one way or the other. Other than that, the subject has never been broached. Am I supposed to pretend that nothing ever happened? Continue being my former outgoing self, knowing that the person is withholding their opinions?
Easter is supposed to be a celebration of life. But, since Easter, I've withdrawn tremendously from life. And nobody once asked me why. I sit in silence in cell, and everyone else pretends that it's normal. I wish that someone would just come up to me and say "Hey...I'm so sorry that things are the way they are. It's not right. Let's change it." Not to blame me or anyone else, but to acknowledge my hurt and work through it together.
Am I that unapproachable?
Karen tells me that she believes in me and I just have to rise up and claim that breakthrough. So I try. A month ago, I call two members up, a guy and a girl, and pour my heart out. I tell them about past actions that have excluded me, left me out, hurt me. These two in particular have been cliquish, even though we were all shared classes in uni. They both said that they want things to turn around, to start anew. I heave a sigh of relief and thankfulness.
The next Friday, cells are combined in church. 8.30pm, I'm standing alone in the lobby. I call one, and he said they're both on their way with her younger brother who's in another cell. They met up for dinner again without me. But it's ok, I'm glad to see them anyway. We sit down together for the first time in months, four in a row. The first cell member, the brother, me and the second cell member. Towards the last half an hour, he (or was it she? I don't remember) whips out his phone and punches the keypad, then puts it away. Two seconds later, she whips hers out. Taps the keypad, puts it back. His phone comes back out, tap-tap-tap, she whips hers out, notices my glance, hides the screen behind her handbag, and taps again. Back and forth they go, while I sit there and try to look as if it was all perfectly normal. As the alter call is being given, they both quickly say "Hey, we have to go now. Bye!" and leave me standing there alone.
What should I think?
I ask myself why. Why do I repeatedly subject myself to such an excruciating experience? Why do I keep facing these people over and over again? Why am I so stupidly hopeful that maybe, just maybe things will be different the next time round? Why do I keep trying?
It's because I want desperately to belong in my cell. I hate standing in the church lobby, knowing that I'm alienated, that I'm lonely, lost and there's no where to go. But it's hard to keep brushing off the feeling that I'm not welcomed any more, that they don't trust or want me. It gets harder and harder to stand up after each blow. I'm not brave enough to keep trying. I'm not brave enough to keep asking to be let in.
Tonight, we're having a farewell dinner for her before she flies off to the states. Liz asked if I'm going. I am. I console myself by saying that it's my secret farewell dinner before leaving cell. Of course, no one will pray over me for journey mercy and say nice things about me. Or apologise, for that matter.
Every organisation has its flaws, every institution has cracks through which people slip out off. I think I'm one of the causalities in the small group system.
Where do I go from here?
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