Pills frightened me. I didn't want to become dependent on them. But, unfortunately, I could never say "no" to my mother or disagree with her because she viewed such things as disrespectful. So, I became a silent strong-willed girl — with occasional outbursts. When an outburst did occur, my mother would punish me by giving me the silent treatment and pretending I didn't exist. This would last from several days to several weeks, depending on how infuriated she was with me. I never called her names or was disrespectful to her in my view, but there were times, on certain matters, I voiced thoughts and opinions that differed than hers.
Years of this went by and the stash of pills underneath my bed grew and grew. Since I was old enough to do the cleaning of my own room, I had developed a bad habit of throwing unused, but-maybe-necessary-later items, as well as garbage, underneath my bed. As a result, the pills were never seen amongst the junk, and so forgotten.
Then one day my dad decided to vacuum the whole house thoroughly. I wasn't worried because I knew that once my dad saw all the stuff underneath my bed, he would naturally bypass it.
However, my dad must have been in more of a cleaning mood than I thought, because he ended up throwing everything that was under my bed into a large garbage bag so that he could vacuum the carpet upon which my bed sat. This was when my dad discovered dozens of tiny pills lying amongst the fibers of the carpet, and the first thing he did was call mom. I knew from the sound and tone of my dad's voice that he was in my bedroom and upset. I also knew right away what it meant. My mother called me into my room a few seconds later. I knew from her sound and tone of voice that I was in trouble now!
My mother was furious, to say the least. I was sixteen at the time. She told me again for the umpteenth time that I was the most difficult child in the family to raise — even though I was never rebellious. I just wasn't as easily controlled, or maybe not as beguiling as my older brothers. Or maybe they just took the pills. I don't know. Or maybe mom never gave the pills to them in the first place. Again, I don't know. I just knew that pills weren't the answer. What I really wanted was to be able to talk freely to my mother about my feelings and thoughts, and for her to listen to me, not give me a pill. Many times out of fear of rejection, I kept my emotions, differences of thought, and frustrations inside.
It wasn't until I was in my late twenties that I was able to overcome my irrational fear of taking pills. It was when I sat in my doctor's office with tears running down my cheeks because the physical pain I was experiencing was unbearable. I had a sinus infection and the doctor wanted to know why I didn't take any pain medication for it. When I told her that I was afraid of taking any kind of pills for fear of addiction, she lost her cool. My doctor actually yelled at me. Yes, she yelled! It was a good thing too because it shook some sense into me, so that I was able to go home and take the prescribed antibiotics and pain medication. I finished the bottle of antibiotics as instructed, but took only one Tylenol-3 tablet out of the whole bottle that I painstakingly paid for. The rest I threw away. It was a major breakthrough though. Today I can actually swallow a pill, except, like my husband says, I have to be dying first. OK, so I still don't like to take pills, but I can take one if I really have to.
One of the reasons I treasure my relationship with God is because I can go to Him any time and any place, and tell Him everything I think and feel, knowing He listens to me and understands. God doesn't hand me a pill and then walk away.
The Bible says that when we open up ourselves to talk to God, His eyes are immediately drawn to us with unfailing love and compassion.
But the eyes of the Lord are on those who fear Him,
on those whose hope is in His unfailing love."
Psalm 33:18
After the discovery of my stash of pills, I also learned another valuable lesson: to not throw garbage underneath my bed. My mother always worried that when I got married, I would end up being the worst housekeeper. I was kind of afraid I would too. However, I've always kept my house clean, tidy, and attractive-looking right from the start. Nevertheless, I think my mom thought I only superficially cleaned house when she visited me, and quickly threw all the junk and unsightly things underneath my furniture before she came. I never did though. Well, maybe sometimes.
Here is a picture of one of my son's beds underneath. I won't embarrass him though and name which one he is. His whole room looks as if a tornado travelled through. However, he keeps the door closed when he is gone, so I don't have to see the mess.
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