Show me who you are

Is there such a thing as a god? If there is, I would like to see him in the flesh. I would ask him why he claims to have died for our sins when sinners still roam without constraints, why he promised to heal all sickness when sickness takes rest inside us, and why we have to die to reach heaven and not be placed there with great comfort and gentleness. I believe this god to be cruel and resentful, jealous of the lives we live, as he sits on his high horse, wishing he were immortal. Hell is where we now reside.

I snap out of my contemplations, looking up at the clouds from my window. The kettle has finished boiling, and I hoist my bony self up from the couch. Standing up makes me dizzy, and I fear my constant state of dread is making me feel this way. Its a harsh winter. I feel it in the air, in the way my fingers swell and redden, in the way my feet turn rock hard, like I have been cursed by some evil witch who will only break this curse once I find a true love kiss. I pull out my notebook to write how I feel and plan for the day ahead. It's been a year of disappointments; I'm still jobless at 35, have no friends, and I'm completely pathetic. I'm also living with a 98-year-old man. Bernie's been letting me stay in his spare room for free for the past year and a half, because every day he's convinced that today will be the day when he dies, and he doesn't want to die alone. I often envy him for his old age, how lucky he is to not care what others think, sitting on his rocking chair, binge-watching TV, and eating whatever he wants, being closer to heaven than anyone else, and forever being free. Luckily, he won't die alone, though with the way I'm going, I don't think that will be my fate. I know I am made for more, but whatever is out there is clearly not on my side, and I despise them for it.

I set out on my daily walk on a beautiful sunny day despite the bitter cold. The clouds always form such lovely patterns that are always delightful to witness. I just wish I wasn't alone. Every day I go outside and am faced with stares from people whose' eyes pierce through mine and enter my thoughts. They see my insecurities, my self-hatred, and my body deformities, and they laugh, 'HA, HA, HA' because they now know who I am. People in their cars have an urge to run me over, and I move fast in case they do. Running out of breath till I am nauseous and blurry-eyed—what hell is it to just walk? I forget I am a body, envisioning myself as only a pair of eyes. I lose control of my legs, forgetting they are mine, and I roll onto the road, staring at the passersby calling out for help. 'HELP ME, HELP ME', not a movement, just a stare, for I am just a pair of eyes; once squished, I disappear.

The loneliness is the worst of it, though. It makes me heavy and forlorn; my pretty tanned skin is now patchy and discolored; and my once silky hair is now dry and matted, long enough to strangle myself with and give me a rope burn. Despite this, I continue to wake up and face the day rather than wallowing in bed, occasionally calling my family and updating them on where I am in life; they think I'm a lawyer with a 6'2" accountant boyfriend. I would never date an accountant.

I often look back on my life and retrace my steps to where everything went wrong, and it always comes back to me: I have ruined my own life. From not putting in the effort to speak to people, settling for the only friends who would have me but not actually liking them very much, being rude to people when I was highly insecure because for some reason I thought they would like me for it, acting awkward in front of potential partners, blowing off friends, not talking to anyone for long periods of time, being too nervous to eat in public, lying to bosses' and family members, and getting fired from jobs for stupid reasons. I am pathetic.

As I get into the house, I hear someone coughing. It's Bernie. He's out of his chair and rolling frantically on the floor. I rush down beside him, placing his head on my lap. 'Bernie, its ok, I've got you,' I say breathlessly. 'I'm dying, Liza, he says, through muffled coughs. 'It's time for me to go'. We both knew this day would come, but it's still a terrible shock. 'Ok Bernie, ok' I reply. His coughing persists, and we stare at each other while his breathing starts to slow. I begin to say something, but he beats me to it. 'Get off your ass and do something with your life' he says in a strained voice. I laugh, a little surprised at his language, but deep down I know I have to change. 'Thank you, Bernie' I reply, and he passes on. I wasn't exactly moved to tears at his passing; we barely spoke, and we were both anticipating his death soon, but I felt a bit empty and emotionless. I didn't know what to think about what he said to me. I suppose he is right, but I don't know what to do.

It's been a few days now since Bernie's passing, and I'm still doing the same things I was doing when he was still here, except this time my thoughts are consumed with what he last said to me: 'Get off your ass and do something with your life.' I'm nervous, but I know what needs to happen. I start by calling my parents; it's 6 a.m., so they won't be up, which is what I want. All I need to do is send a voicemail, 'Hi, its Liza, I hope you guys won't be too upset, but a friend of mine recently died, and it caused me to evaluate my life, so I should probably tell you that I am actually single and I have no job, I am a terribly lonely woman, and I am sorry for lying to you both, but I can promise you that I will sort myself out, ok, goodbye'.

I wake up in the middle of the night, disoriented by the quietness of the house without Bernie's constant coughing and snoring. I sometimes forget he's dead. But if I'm honest with myself, it's not only that that is troubling me; it's everything—every wrong, every right that has gone on in my life, every choice I've made, every embarrassing regret—all of it is surging through me, like I'm drowning in my own self-pity. Pathetic. Many missed calls from my parents and a text from my mom reading, 'Call me back now, Liza." She's likely more angry that I haven't picked up the phone than the lies; she's easily offended. There's no chance of me getting back to sleep now, and I am filled with dread. I move towards my window, sitting in the dark, and I open the curtains. A full moon is out, and I am stunned. How beautiful a thing! Its white light contrasts against the dark sky. It gives me hope, a sign that there is something out there—a whole universe—and beyond space. Who knows? It's a surreal feeling. And with that, I have a sudden urge to pray. I don't know what to pray—a god?, the sky?, something bigger? I don't know, but I do it anyway because right now the dread has slipped away and hope has entered my stream. And I slept well that night.

The next morning, I wake up to a cat on my bed. I jump and scream like a madwoman, shocked at this unexpected encounter. It seems I somehow forgot to close my window last night, though I'm pretty certain I did. I petted the cat and brought it outside and closed the door, but the cat started to scratch at it. I left it outside for a few hours, hoping it would go back to where it came from, but it never did, and once I couldn't bear the scratching noise anymore, I made my way to the door, before pausing and thinking of something, 'did the prayers really work?' I said quietly to myself that what I was thinking was stupid, but hope still lingered in me, and I felt that anything was possible. I opened the door, looking down at the cat, and called out to it, 'Bernie, is that you?' I said with some skepticism, 'meow' it said back, and I took that as conformation. 'Oh Bernie', I picked him up and took him inside.

I took Bernie on my daily walks; the amount of stares we got made us both chuckle, and many people came up to talk to us, such as wandering in their eyes at a cat being walked like a dog. I was pleased to be stared at and talked to with admiration. With all these people surrounding me, I felt less alone, and with Bernie by my side, all I kept repeating in my head was 'get off your ass and do something with your life', my mantra. I took Bernie everywhere with me, meeting loads of people and making new friends. Due to our popularity, we became known as Liza and Bernie and even made appearances on national news. There was never a sore face on any of the people we met, all smiles and laughter, and that is when I knew what I was made for: to bring happiness to those who needed it most. To everyone. My loneliness and dread faded; I became brighter, and I glowed with pleasure. Every day I looked up to the sky and thanked it for its help. I still don't know what is out there, but at least now I know there is something, and it saved me.