The Perils of Self-Indulgence

The perils of self-indulgence. I have been told many times, to love myself more. My friends, those who truly know me and my life remind me I have given my all to others for so long, it is time to check on myself. They say I deserve it. A close friend, Michael, is one of those who see beyond me. For three years, while working together, perhaps from our after-hour conversations, he told me he has come to a conclusion that despite the nasty stuff attached to my name (some true but hugely exagerrated), I have a 'beautiful soul'. Even the card readers, the resident 'manghuhula' or psychics, have said, I have a good heart.

Who would not want to believe that? After what I have done to my life? I had the most acceptable and society-sanctioned excuse, I was (and still am) my family's go-to girl. The typical breadwinner, crossbearer and the self-flagellating member of a Filipino family, who would fit straight into a character in the telenovelas jerking tears from an audience who would gladly pour forth buckets. I have made a mess out of my person successfully, with my head held high to boot. And why not? I am the good one, the hero, the name splashed across the screen on the credits as 'starring'. 

If people only knew. The things I did. To have what I was deprived of when I was busy playing the role. The nice clothes and shoes and bags I could not afford even on installment. The food I could not eat because we did not even have enough to buy food on the table at home. That comfortable bed, sheets and covers I could only experience sleeping in when the office sent me to a seminar somewhere. Oh and the television with pictures dancing in color, what we had left after we have been stripped of all by poverty was an antique black and white we shamefully hid in a bedroom. We only had two channels in that telly, cable service was too expensive. We would rather spend that money for food. 

But I told myself then, it cannot be this way forever. I will not allow it. So I worked very hard, I showed them even if I were just a clerk tucked away in some closet-office somewhere, I would be the best clerk there was. I thought that if I worked hard, I would have enough money not just to tide us over for day-to-day, I would not have to expose my dignity to even the lowest kind of loan sharks to beg for a loan. I would be relieved of the ridicule I would read through the eyes of the cashier who would hand me my pay envelope with a few bills and coins left after loan payments are deducted from my wages. Now that I have come to terms with my past, I work fiercely hard. My work is my sanctuary. My work keeps my sanity.

I remember at that most difficult time, I had no suitors. These rumors about me and my family not having money, and my role, spread so that no man in his right mind would dare court me, lest take on the responsibility I have, with me. Someone dared, I jumped on the opportunity without thinking, and got married. That is another story altogether. Stories of lies, betrayal, abuse. 

So yes, after seriously taking on the the advise of the friends, and the incoherent blabber of the psychics about me being 'a good person', I plunged into self-indulgence. I took care of myself, I splurged, I loved myself. For the first time in my life, I realized it was not the clothes and bags and the shoes, and the food, the comfort of warm sheets, the cars, the television. I was deprived of love. 

That sounds so corny, cheesy they say now. I feel alone, up to now. After having indulged into things I am not proud of, I feel isolated, alone, inadequate. Unloved. Michael assured me, 'your children will love you, whatever you do, believe me, in the end, they will get it.' He told me that because he could perhaps glean from our conversations, that my greatest fear was if I do start to live the life I think I deserve, my children would love me less. At this point, nothing really matters to me except my children. Just them. My children tried, they truly did. I know now that yes, a sibling who told me that 'I buy people to love me' is true. There is only a threshold of tolerance from my children. Lately, I have been made to feel that they have reached the threshold. I can only ask for forgiveness. That is all I can do for now. After all has been said and done. As for loving myself, to quench this thirst and be free from isolation, loneliness, and feeling unloved, I have gotten to the point-of-no-return. 

Interestingly, I was told by a friend I have come to love just lately, that I needed to pray. She observed I did not pray. So I am going to church today. And truly pray. Maybe God has gotten tired of blessing me, forgiving me, even without me praying for blessings or forgiveness. Thing is, I have conversations with God, in my private moments. I ask for strength to get me through the life I have made, to show me the way to get things right, the way to love myself better. And thank Him for everything. Maybe, just maybe, He will understand me still. I am absolutely sure He will make those in my life understand me, too. I will not ask Him to make them love me more. Maybe just to acknowledge my presence in their lives? I will settle for less at this point. Just so I will not lose myself in all the work, in my job I dearly love. Just so I will not lose myself in my own life.