My Own Prison

Going back home is hard. I came from here. This was my beginning. Opening the cupboards, I'm faced with box after box of this, that, and the other thing that promises for me to lose pounds and inches. Meanwhile those who fill the house can't breathe or walk far due to the extra pounds and inches they must carry with them each and every day. He takes me fishing and instructs me to coat that all natural bait with WD-40 because the fish like it better. I watch the rainbow circles flow down the river from the boat. My heart is filled with guilt for giving into what he says to do even though it's totally against how I feel the earth should be treated. My lungs long to scream as the Ziplocs are chosen over the unopened package of reusable containers in the cupboard, the paper plates are chosen over the ceramic ones in the cupboard, and the food is pulled from the fridge and thrown out that has rotted and soured because it's too much trouble to use that fresh food rather than open up the package of BBQ pork with hot mustard and sesame seeds. How have I gotten to where I am on this journey when I started from this? 

Meeting that delivery boy was the first step. He guided me away from this prison I didn't even know was holding me so prisoner. We ran to the west side hand-in-hand with the promise to return because I had to live close to my family. I do love them, and that will never change. Yet I am suddenly so different. Tonight my child was watching The Bible with them. As my father holds my sweet little man in his lap, my heart swells. My son loves him so much. He holds my father on a beautiful pedestal of gold. A short time later the report comes in. Dad says, "He says that we shouldn't trust the commercials because McDonald's puts buggars and worms in their hamburgers. He also says you shouldn't trust those church movies." Yet my dad still loves me. It's the first time I've realized that my dad loves me no matter what. I can be the alcoholic he never wanted me to be, and he loves me. I can be the sinner he was and doesn't want for me, and he still loves me. I can lead his grandson down a path he does not approve of, yet he still loves me.

Now on the west side with that delivery boy, and I feel like those prison walls have closed around me yet again. I'm waiting for that knight in shining armor to carry me away from these walls that are making it so hard for me to breathe. He, too, loves me regardless of what I perceive myself to be. He loves me through the whiskey. He loves me through the pot. He loves me through the depression. He loves me through the insanity. I am loved. The prison walls aren't created by those around me. They are created by me. I must tear them down. I am a turtle. Slow and steady wins the race. No need to hurry. Don't look back, and just keep taking another step forward on the path.