Sometimes I feel like Boo Bradley. Sometimes I feel more like Mr. Ewell. Sometimes I feel like one of the Finch children, learning to think like their disgraceful community, erasing who they are so others feel better about themselves.

The community I reside in, I get really discouraged with. Harper Lee did a great job of capturing reality and characterizing a communities flaws. Ever notice how in To Kill A Mockingbird once Tom Robinson was murdered the black community began to fade from view? Once Aunt Alexandra threw a fit over Atticus allowing Scout to potentially go to Cal’s, the black narrative died completely, like me. Forgotten.

I do not hold any illusions that I am anything like these characters, but elements of each exist within me, as they do you. Unless you were to ask certain people, of course. Some folks need me to be a narcissist, some need me to die, some need me to be the epitome of change, some need me to not call Thursday through Sunday. What am I supposed to do?

Let me ask the question, what am I supposed to do? What am I supposed to do? Seriously. Self-induced death is the easy way out, life in prison costs too much money, rehabilitative programming costs too much money, do not be selfish but focus on yourself, put in work to reach out but expect no replies, call home but do not ask for forgiveness, trust everyone but expect none in return, tell everyone around me my darkest moments by the third meeting but expect no reciprocity, accept the single life as Gods plan for me but still worship God as if I am okay with it.

I have put shiny trinkets in a tree trunk to be found and like Boo, nothing was put back. Yet I still do it. I wonder why it is okay to forget me.

It seems like I am in a no win situation. If I point out that I am rehabilitated and want to date or have community contact, I risk being labelled awful things. Which, have someone call you a name often enough and wonder if you won’t consider its validity, even if it is just one person. It is okay though, that one person gave up the right to have an opinion of me when she gave me up for adoption. Which, if I point out, I’m the monster, boo.

Boo Radley was heroic and misunderstood, I’m neither. Our similarities end with we are both the scapegoat for other people’s anger and spite. When they feel angry and there is nobody else to beat on, it is okay to beat on me because the entire community has turned their back to me. They may not agree with what’s happening, but they certainly won’t stop it.

With Love