The Ramblings of A Muse

For anyone following (or just dropping by for the hell of it) you’ll notice it’s been longer than usual between posts.  This is for a few reasons.  First of all, I moved to a new place where Wi-Fi is not yet available.  Its driving me nuts not being able to keep up with my school stuff as well as keep this thing updated.  I have Internet on the iPhone, and it’s been a Godsend in many regards since it’s purchase.  Yes, that sounds a bit tardtacular, but between the Internet, Google Maps, and various other Applications I have on the thing…it’s incredibly useful.  That’s really not the point.

So, other than the lack of internet on the laptop, I’ve been hesitant to write simply because I’m not sure what to share and what to leave out.  In the past I’ve censored a great deal, and that which wasn’t censored earlier this year has since (mostly) been turned to private.  Now…it’s not quite the same, but what I would have to say still lies well within the personal camp.  I’ve written a couple of times in the last week in documents now saved on my computer, and I may as well use a couple excerpts from them. I’m gonna go backwards, though, and maybe it’ll make sense by the end as to why.

Dec. 2:

I’m realizing that there is a lot built up and bothering me.  Perhaps bother is the wrong word, though, because it’s not something that consciously gets to me.  It’s more me realizing that the person I’m behaving as isn’t the person I’ve known in the past.  Some changes aren’t too tragic, but there are a few which I find concerning.  I’ve never wanted to be complicated or complex.  I’ve never wanted to be emotionally unavailable or detached.  Yet, I am all of these things.

…and it’s becoming more and more apparent.  One of my current relationships is making me notice just how different my interactions have become.  I feel it, too.  It’s a cold and walled way of living.

There’s something in me that is terrified to be anything other than cold stone towards him, or anyone.  The idea of being honest and open and vulnerable is something I have no interest in.  I trust him, but then I’m shocked when he honors me and my wishes.  I don’t NEED for his attention…I have little feeling, and its something completely unfamiliar to me.

Thing is, I don’t trust.  Not really.  Having witnessed relationships around me from a different perspective than most and been privy to everything that the guy HASN’T said to the other he’s involved with…the more I’m disappointed and jaded towards those around me.  To go further into this subject would be again kicking a dead and festering horse, but I bring it up as a sort of transition.  Somewhere along the road, a deep seated sadness took root.  What’s unique about now, though, is me writing this is probably the first time the truth of it has been admitted.

I’m used to having an abundance of emotions or thoughts towards whomever I’m with.  I feel hollow…In fact, any physical affection I almost find threatening.

That’s putting it mildly.  Even hugs are difficult now.  Anyone who knows me knows how abnormal that is.  I’m extremely tactile, and love physical affection.  That’s now it’s always been with me, and yet now…now, arms distance is just fine with me.  My past is colorful to say the least, with my misguided actions as well as those towards me which I had no control over painting a pretty dynamic story.  Maybe we’ll get into that at some point, but the reference is all that matters.  I compare the past to offer a sort of perspective to the present.  I’ve had some unspeakable things happen and still I didn’t have the reaction I did a few weeks back.  The difference between then and now is this: the men who hurt me in the past did so without gaining my trust in the first place, and without the kind of relationship that this  one had with me.  The one from October (this year) had spent almost a year gaining my trust and respect.  The damage, therefore is far worse.  Being violated by someone you trust is many times over worse than if it were a relative stranger.

I just don’t want to be annoying, and I don’t want to admit that I’m not ok, and I don’t want to admit that I hurt and I’m confused and that I fear all I want will never come to pass.

All this does tie together, but I’m honestly not sure how well I’m linking the thoughts mentioned above.  I allude to much, and there are reasons to keep some of it ambiguous.  It does lead to the entry which preceded it…

Dec. 1

“You’re not afraid to be happy, are you?” – B, to me.

He was referring to my conflicting thoughts on my new job situation (one that, at this time, needs no more mention than what I summed it up as at the time: “…what I do no longer has moment to moment significance.  There isn’t anything at stake.”) but it got me thinking about the remaining compartments of my life as well.  Yes, the shut down is an instinctual response to what has happened, but it is doubly there because there is a very real fear of admitting happiness.  On many levels, the idea scares me.

Sadness, happiness, they’re a part of life.  Without each to counter the other, life would be an even plain of monotonous normalcy.  Even from where I am now, as cold as it seems, I know it won’t last forever.  I just would rather it didn’t last a moment longer.

It comes on slowly. Moment by moment it’s subtext weaves a web of hooks and lies in which to tangle its prey. Silently and seductively it binds is victim, little by little, and they hardly feel a thing until they find themselves lost under the surface of a tumultuous sea and struggling just to draw breath. The heaviness of what weighs their heart and mind becomes like a millstone around the neck, drowning the flailing wanderer deeper into the depths of a cold and lonely darkness. Or into the midst of a raging inferno where the captive writhes in silent and intense discomfort.

It can be found in a song. The right combination of lyrics and a fitting strum of a guitar. Music is the soundtrack to emotion. The song its self doesn’t even need to be accurate in its entirety – just enough to get that hook, that draw, that morsel which takes your mind on a tangent away from reality and into a mixed up maze of thought and feeling. The drive of a chorus, the poignant words in a bridge, the repetition of the same words echoing in your own mind but voiced by another who can articulate it far better than you ever could. The replay button becomes a backstabbing friend. It’s a friend which does your biding, but in reality does you no favors. Its sole purpose is to get you through the moment of epiphany and then suck you right back to the pit of despair.

Film can be the morphine of such a state of mind. While the pictures and sound roll you can lose yourself in the visual buffet of beautifully airbrushed people presented as the epitome of perfection. What becomes even more enticing is when these dream people take a liking to each other and you vicariously live with the lie that the story always works out in favor of the hero, true love is just on the horizon, and sex is a passionate and viable expression of freedom for anyone consenting to another’s use of their body for pleasure. The thing is, you end up buying into the fallacy and fantasy becomes an unattainable reality. The character so appealing on the screen doesn’t exist. How they make you feel can only be repeated with the replay of the scene, rather than a tangible encounter.

And so you’re left wanting.

Left craving.

In need of something, and yet not quite sure what it is. Restlessly you bounce between the refrigerator, the computer and it’s array of visual and auditory candy, and land on the sofa with the first two to accompany the film of choosing. In a mood such as this, it is never something new and enthralling. It is a familiar picture. Like a warm fire in the hearth of the soul, the tale plays out before you giving you the courtesy of choosing to follow its playback or leave it in the background. Still it warms. Sort of.

But you’re still left hungry.

There’s still the ache.

Alone in the house, I sit here with the knowledge that the cookie baking extravaganza of yesterday was certainly a lapse in judgment, my laptop rests on my crossed legs, and I completed the second installment of watching Pride & Prejudice a few minutes ago. My intake of this theatrical presentation of joy was interrupted when the restlessness became fatigue and I slept for a few hours. I awoke with insides in pain, a groggy awareness that I have far too much to accomplish and so little drive by which to conquer it, and the knowledge that all that awaits me in this home is the company of three dogs who miss their usual companions. My parents are on vacation in Switzerland for a little while and my brother and I have been left with shared custody of the home and its canine inhabitants.

I lack the familiar company of family. I miss the companionship I grew comfortable with. My heart and mind are in turmoil over a character or two, and an issue or three in my daily life. These are people who possess far more influence than they know and issues which have been battled time and time again with only brief moments of victory. I admit that which I rebel against: I need. I want. I hurt.

There’s a song which I’ve played far too many times recently. It’s by The Appleseed Cast, called “Fight Song”. I’m not sure what it is about it, but every time it is played the rush of familiar emotion comes to the surface and I feel myself break all over again. The lyrics aren’t entirely accurate of my last situation. The one prior, perhaps. In fact, now that I think about it, the lyrics remind me a lot of my relationship with my Marine. I still grieve over that. As much as I deny any present attachment, there is always the memory of all that was promised and hoped for. When he re-surfaces as he occasionally does, my mind remembers these times in the past and wishes for my heart to follow suit. My heart, however, remembers another side of the story and fears to tread down that path – partially because that path is no longer familiar. He isn’t familiar. We’re both different, and with that comes an uncertainty of how it would play out. At this time, that door seems to have closed.

My film of choice is one that always gets to me. Pride & Prejudice. Darcy presents the kind of love I seldom admit to hope for. The love that will love through faults and failings and see the heart of the person above their imperfections. The kind of love that will hope and hang on instead of jump ship at the first sign of rough seas ahead. A man who is both independent and strong, but human enough to admit the need for love of another. “…you have bewitched me, body and soul, and I love, I love, I love you. I never wish to be parted from you from this day on.”. Sigh.

I’m such a chick at times.

Not much else makes me feel that awkward.

And still, the truth remains that this season of life is spent in waiting. It is spent holding off on the right now, and hoping for that of the promised future. It is spent silently struggling to maintain composure when each and every button I have is pressed by that of the unknowing switchboard meddler. I hold back on retorts and examples of factual equality in submission to gracefully allowing the other their moment of perceived triumph. These moments are costly, though. They wound and they weather. They put doubts in the mind and harden the damaged heart they reach. The archer of these arrows has no idea, most likely, that this is the case. To him it is all in humor. It’s said because it’s funny. I’ll agree on most occasions, but when the most consistent sentiment is negative and demeaning, it is hard to believe that all is meant in jest. A positive or two may combat this perception but such a thing is seldom granted. And once again, it costs. I can see it for what it is, but even that doesn’t stop me from reacting in this manner.

All that to say that this restlessness is something I am familiar with – abstaining from the usual quick fixes isn’t so familiar. Trying to act in a different manner feels uncomfortable and abnormal. I can’t even go so far as to bring the usual full circle conclusion to end this on an upbeat and optimistic note. That would be false and forced.

This is me – now.

Pain, I can’t sleep.

There’s a song by Four Star Mary which has been echoing in my head for the last few hours or so. Really it’s just the chorus that’s been clattering around in there. That simple repeated line…Pain, I can’t sleep. I looked up the lyrics a moment ago hoping that they’d be something profound and relevant to the shitfest writhing in my soul at the moment. As it turns out, they were a gigantic let down in that department. A big donut hole for my efforts. Luckily my “efforts” consisted of typing the line into the google bar, albeit with the added energy expended in order to hug the line with quotation marks, and hitting ‘enter’. Bam. Lyrics.

Can you tell my mind’s a bit jacked up at the moment? Damn. And I was trying to hide it.

That’s a lie.

No, that’s what I do during the hours that I’m awake and in the presence of others. Here’s a run down of my usual day. Actually, today – well, yesterday really = is a superb example of a day in the life of Natalie.

It begins with the familiar sound of Delirious coaxing me from dreamland and into the cold morning air of reality. Coaxing implies gentle and welcoming. That’s not really the case. The song may imply such nonsense, but every time I hear that song I want to banish it to the farthest corner of my overcrowded closet till it can be heard no longer. And go back to sleep. Sadly, my employers don’t pay me for sleeping. No, they pay me for driving a small group of bandits to and from the school. We’re getting ahead of ourselves here. We were still in bed. Exiting the bed is an activity with quite a broad range of estimated times for completion. This morning was good – less than a minutes. Two mornings…not so good – an hour and 36 minutes. Seriously. Depends on the attire (or lack there of, depending) worn to bed and consequently the potential temperature shock that awaits the exit from underneath the covers.

Ok, so out of bed. Then comes the step over the baby gate in the doorway to my room which serves the purpose of protecting said room from the certain ravaging of an overly curious maltese. The baby gate sucks, let’s be clear on that. More often than not I hit my foot, shin, or ankle on the damn thing. Sometimes, if I’m super lucky, I get to trip over it and fall in a loud clanging manner to the floor…while waking the family with the evidential sound of my lack of coordination. Anyway. Over (or through) the baby gate, across the landing, down the stairs (which only escape trippage due to me counting them out to ensure accuracy) and across the tile to the downstairs bathroom. Lets be aware, also, that there is a bathroom approximately three feet from my bedroom. Used to be my bathroom, actually. That is until I moved out, my older brother moved back in, then upon my return banished me and my things to the bathroom furthest removed from anything resembling convenience. This because he missed the first day of kindergarten and didn’t get the lesson on sharing. Or something like that.

In the bathroom dwells and entirely different kind of monster. It hides its self quite well and creeps up on me so when I turn the corner, BAM! It’s right there in front of me, staring me in the face. Oh wait, that’s me. In the mirror. A sight which, depending on the day, may be acceptable or completely repulsive. That’s not a day to day thing, even. That’s a morning to night thing. Yeah, I can look in the mirror in the morning, see my ribs, collar bones, and hip bones clearly defined, then turn sideways and notice the distinct different between the width of my chest, front to back, my abdomen…and so on…and think “Um. You’re bones.” Especially the view of my back. That can be disturbing. But it’s a whole different story by the end of the day. Usually it’s by mid-morning, really, that the opinion shifts. Then it becomes a “you’re so fucking fat it’s disgusting. Look at the thighs…I see unevenness. You’re out of proportion, even. Dude, like a triangle. A big, fat…”. See? Monster. Then there’s the whole facial inspection. If mirrors didn’t exist, my world would be so much simpler. And less time consuming.

This is getting us nowhere fast.

I shower (we can skip the details, I’m sure), hike BACK upstairs, then begin the process of selecting clothes. This is a dilemma completely reliant on how the morning mirror inspection went. If it’s a good day, then jeans and a fitting shirt will be the look of the day. Nothing revealing, granted. I work with kids with problems. Adults too, but that’s something else entirely. If it’s a ‘fat’ day, then jeans and a loose hooded sweatshirt are selected and donned. Then there’s the make-up. Lord. Depending on what’s going on, who’s going to be there, and how vulnerable I feel, the thickness and complexity of the mask varies from neutral to borderline excessive. The more insecure I feel, the more time, effort, and amount of product ends up covering what apparently isn’t good enough on its own. The better I feel, the less effort.

Then there’s the hair. Same questions are asked, only the result is the question of straight or curly. Care, or not care. All this hair shinnanigans takes place after descending from on high back DOWN stairs. Then it’s back UP the stairs to select the shoes. Adidas or Diesel. Sometimes if I’m feeling really unique then it’ll be a converse day. I don’t like them so much. They’re “in”, but I think they’re heinous on me.

Breakfast is negotiable. If it happens, then the exact caloric content is calculated and stored for ongoing reference to be accumulated and stressed over for the remainder of my waking hours.

I get on the van, pick the soundtrack, then get the kids. They’re wonderful. Not really, but they have their moments. Get to school. Read the clipboard of knowledge, greet the staff and kids I know won’t greet me back with a “fuck you, bitch” to start my day. The kids, I mean. Not the staff. I check my mailbox, check my master’s (the teacher I assist) since he likes to forget these things from time to time, then stow my belongings and head upstairs. That’s when the day gets interesting.

From here on out, it’s anybody’s guess what will happen. If the Boss man’s in a good mood, things are rad. We have a great rapport, the kids feed off that, we laugh and joke and all is well in Natalie Land. If, however, the Captain has not had his coffee, the kids aren’t medicated, and (heaven forbid) it’s windy outside, all hell breaks lose – then runs in fear from what these bandits will do while rampaging through the halls and destroying all in their path. Today, things weren’t so bad. Teach was in a good mood, as was I. I wasn’t as pissed off at him as I have been from time to time lately. We had a great underground dialog going on between myself and my professionally good-looking esteemed Leader. The day was fine. Until he threatened to call in MIA the next day. I asked why, he avoided the question as usual, I then stated my awareness that he wasn’t going to answer as per usual, he then answered with his plans for the evening…and it all went south from there.

I have this disease whereby I require the approval and usually the affection also from whichever male has seniority over me in certain situations. Especially if they’re part jackass. Dunno. It’s this thing I have. I also tend to care far more than I should and I take the time to give a shit about the lives of those whom I spend roughly 30 hours a week in the presence of. The catch here is when those lives involve details which don’t suit my fancy. Several scenarios can fit this bill, so specifics are irrelevant, but the bottom line is it’s a gigantic cow pie on the daisy field of my day.

So, I wasn’t happy. I hid it (as always) and went about as if I was the inpenitrible fortress of sarcastic strength and cocky stability which I pretend to be while in Classroom 4. All the while the tears are threatening.

I make it through the school day, get on the van, then resume the text conversation which usually flows over from the school day into the ride home as well. After that he’s at the gym or school or gallivanting with mutual friends and what not so the talk rarely continues past 4pm or so. These conversations, however, are usually the amusing facet of my day which keeps things interesting and keeps my mind from getting wrapped up in the kids and their bull. Today they were as well, but I fumbled a retort cloaked in a smart ass statement and felt like a dumb ass and wished I could reach through the phone and erase the moronic crap which my mind had thought, my fingers had typed, and my eyes had approved before hitting the send button. No such luck, sadly. It wasn’t that bad at all. I just tend to be ridiculously stupid towards myself.

Got home. Still kicking myself. Straightened the hair (which had been left wet earlier in the morning due to time constraints) before sharing with my mother the theory of my relating to male figures in my life. She agreed, but didn’t offer suggestions as to how to remedy this crap rut I usually land in. So, then kicking myself turns to flogging myself. I then shared a bit about my fear concerning my relationship status.

Lets cut the bull shit. Alright, so the day continued with me leaving to return to the school, crying while driving back due to the immense ache located in the heart-ish region of my being, getting back to school, replacing the mask once more, bs-ing with The Man, going to the meeting, pretending to act indifferent to various people (read: one person) there, going back to the classroom, staying and finishing various tasks which time has not permitted my completion as of late, leaving the school at 5, playing soccer at 6, getting home around 8:30, eating dinner, then baking multiple batches of cookies for my bandits as well as my Dad’s departing co-worker.

The point of this isn’t really the play by play. I didn’t intend it when I sat here, unable to put my mind to rest in order to sleep, and decided to vent through the written word for the past two hours. The whole reason I can’t sleep is the reason why I can’t seem to put this bastard down. There’s too much.

Want to know what I feel? I feel pain. I hurt and I’m scared. I hurt because of the loss, but I also hurt because of the guilt. I realize the HUGE ramifications not only in my life but in the lives of others (two fired superintendents, one fired VP of construction, one pending divorce, two little girls repeatedly traumatized, multiple families forever changed, friends disappointed, loss of a treasured outlet and pastime, an affiliate marred and damaged from what it was when I found it…the list goes on…and on…and on…and…) and all for what? Not what in terms of the outcome, I mean what in terms of how it all started. All this stemmed from one decision. One conscious desire to make fantasy a reality. One sequence of well played events which led to the thing that every time reminds me of the Jon Foreman song…”A kiss will betray us all”. Indeed it did. If I could have just kept my fucking fancy to myself and left other people out of it. If I could have kept God in view and not my own pain wallowing. One less beer that afternoon. One less shot. Someone else to drive me home. Not resting my elbow just so on the center console of the truck cab, so that I was exactly on the half-way line, so that one move by one or the other would certainly alter things…alter everything.

And for what. So I could love, be loved, and lose it? So I could learn the gut wrenching lesson of “this is why God says NO”?

And I’m scared. The fear is what drove me to tears this afternoon, not the guilt. Although all of the above has been thought and even voiced before it’s not really what weighs. Through repentance comes forgiveness, and through forgiveness comes ease of burden. There is no condemnation for those who are in Christ. This I know. The fear though, this is what got me. The fear that God will keep me in this state of want, that want for love and companionship, for years to come in retribution for all I’ve damaged and stolen from another. Then came the salve…that God knows how I am wired and knows my hearts desires, and though there is a lesson surely to learn – no step of the way will be more than I can handle. God is faithful. His plans are to prosper and not to harm. And his timing, however much I fight against it, is perfect. Each moment as it comes. It is in his hands, not mine. And surely, I will get to love again.

And the tears flow.

And sleep calls.

I’m not sure where to start this blog. I know what I want to write about, but the order and the extent of content is what is still up for debate. I always hesitate to write when its another person or persons involved as I prefer to keep some parts of life private, but then again those seem to be the most driving and motivating topics to write about. They’re the ones that pitch you into highs and lows and keep you somewhere in between in the meantime.

That’s the problem.

Basing how you feel about yourself and life in general upon the interactions and opinions of another human being is asinine. I know this full well, and yet I seem to practice it daily. Looking back over the last few months I see moment after moment of evidential proof to back up this realization. Weather it be the one from the past, the one I held as dear for a short time, the one who could possibly still be, or any one of the ones who I had a moment or two’s memory with – they all have and have had some sort of influence on my state of mind. I hate it. I hate that another human being has any hold whatsoever over me. It hasn’t been a fun place to be in the past.

The past. That’s the strange part of my present, actually. It has so much to do with the past that part of me so desperately wants to leave behind. Not necissarily the person, if God deems it so, but more the consequences of that person. The aftermath, the aftertaste, the unknown that still lingers like the scent of smoke after a fire. The flames may have died down, but the residual warmth is still evident enough to ensure that awareness stays just on the periphery. Theres so much to say, and yet very little opening to do so. The door to this one may even have been closed – a bouquet of white to represent what; an apology, a surrender, hope, affection, or seemingly more likely as time passes – goodbye.

The one I will always have a place for in my heart. The one who so many advise me to forget. The mind forgets, but the heart remembers and is forever changed for your place in it.

This point in the blog marks a point where several paragraphs once followed. In deleting them, though on purpose, I find myself slightly more frustrated. Frustrated that the dramatic and angsty person I try to avoid being is indeed the person I personify at this particular moment. Once again, I feel the isolation. It’s the lack of one person, besides that of God Himself, who knows the details of everything and anyone who matters to me in this world at the moment. There really are so many fragments of stories, so many loose ends and frayed threads of the tapestry that I wouldn’t know where to begin if I tried to involve another person in this process. Too many characters, too many stories, too many worries and concerns, too many things on my plate. It’s not more than I can handle, but it certainly carries far more weight than I’m used to.

I feel like I’m being buried under a thousand pounds of blankets – dark and smothering, each one wrapping tighter than the one before it. The reality is, even though there are enough players in the story to boggle the mind, that particular aspect of my life is of little concern. Don’t get me wrong, it’s something that I would ideally see be different than its current state. It certainly is a subject I would like a few answers to, but at the same time it’s not something I see to be a pressing and demanding thing to exhaust at the moment. What bothers me more is the impending loss I fear I’m about to feel. My life revolves around the coastal region of Orange County, and in three short weeks I likely will lose all those I hold dear in this area. Moving means loss. Loss of security, friendships, relationships which may never get the chance to be. I sit here in the kitchen of my first place outside of my parents home and long for nothing more than to know that someday this reality will once again be mine.

This is becoming so disjointed. I’ve remarked lately on my tendancy to be bi-polar. I hate it. This proves it’s reality, however. God, help.

There are so many categories wherein the average blog may fall. Social commentary, ceremonial soul-purging, purging in general, depressive self-indulgence, parroted brilliance, humorous (even if only to the author) observation, news-bulletin esque briefs, fluffy piles of glorified fecal matter…you get the point. This blog will undoubtedly fall into most if not all of the above mentioned categories.

The last time I wrote was a short time after my trip to SLO. So much has happened since then, it’s quite remarkable. Things I never though would happen, have. Things I perhaps hoped would happen, haven’t. The unexpected and the utterly predictable come together to weave their bit into the tapestry of this thing called life. As far as notable events go, over the past few weeks I have chosen the path of my scholastic future, officially tendered my resignation for one job, been given another almost on what would seem to be a God-given platter, and overall made a rather interesting about-face in several areas of my life. In reality, the contents of the previous sentence have all taken place within the past three weeks – three weeks which have been a whirl-wind-like experience that has left me a bit disoriented, perhaps, but otherwise so blissfully thankful it’s a bit ridiculous.

In the past I’ve experienced the epitome of the roller coaster ride of life – plateaus of familiarity, peaks of grandeur, and then the plummet into the abyss of crippling depression and self-hatred. It seems like I am never able to maintain the level of thinking/feeling/whatevering required to keep me on that psychological/emotional/mental/spiritual high. Yes, life is full of rises and falls…this I very well understand. Really, it’s the staggering difference between these varying states which leaves me frustrated and despondent. My moments of Epiphany and joyful clarity are almost immediately interrupted by the (supposed) reality of: this too shall pass…and I’ll be right back to where I started. Such was my experience after returning from SLO. The high lasted for a week, two weeks tops. Then followed the expected slip and slide back down to where I started.

Almost. Somewhere in the fall, I did what I haven’t been able to successfully do in the past. I reached out to something outside of myself and clung on for dear life. This may sound overly dramatic, but if you’ve ever dealt with depression so chokingly real that you’d rather die than have to face another moment in your own head, you may understand where I’m coming from. Having been in that place too many times to count, I desperately wanted to never have to return. God is a God of miracles, and indeed my life continues to be proof to that effect. Not only did He manage to bring me back up from that place, but he also placed a few key people in my life to aid in keeping me there. The thing is, the falls don’t come out of nowhere. They’re all triggered by something, usually one of a handful of hot-button issues I have. What is key in avoiding these relapses (at least in my case) is finally dealing with these issues and laying them to rest. These people have been the listening ear, the crying shoulder, the brutal voice of reason, and the frequently sought after source of prayer which has been key in this whole turn-about experience.

Of course by no means am I implying that I’m all better now. We’re all works in process, weather we realize it or not. I certainly am NO exception. I merely take a moment of reflection to marvel at the difference a bit of time can make. Rather, what a bit of “I will seek you, God, no matter what” can do. Most of life is made up of a series of choices. There are moments that make us, that change the course of who we’re going to be – it’s those moments where we’re faced with a choice. Do we choose good over evil? What’s quick and easy, or what’s time-consuming but worth it? Light over dark? Life over death. My choice in reality was between the last two.

The above was written over a week ago, and now trying to pick up on this thread and continue to where this would have ended if was indeed finished in a single sitting…is damn near impossible. The truth of it, though, is unchanging. For me, every day is a battle. Maybe it’s like that for other people, I’m not sure. The funny thing is that as aware as I am of my own tendency to over-share, I can’t help but think that I can’t possibly be the only one that thinks these things. What is it, then, that makes everyone put on a mask of stoic bravery and masquerade themselves as everything other than what they are – human. Fallible. Flawed. In need of something much bigger than themselves. The truly brutally honest and beautifully unmasked are the ones I hold dear. Oh, what a tangent that could be…

I think the point of this blog was originally to update the select audience who reads these things with the recent developments in what I call my life. In that regard, things are very much on the precipice of something, well, unique to say the least. There’s the process of school-registering, learning a new job, trying to find time to be active despite my odd schedule, friends, family, the overwhelming task of cleaning up the disaster which I call my room after my oh-so-brilliant (not) idea of purging my closet and dressers of everything…then there’s the personal stuff. Someone incredibly precious is back in the picture, though in what capacity is yet to be seen. Then there’s the one(s) who’s silence hurts far more deeply than they probably know. That said, little of the above is of much concern. No matter what is flying around me and what is hitting the fan…I am still in the palm of His hand. And there is where I choose to remain.

I’m not sure what it is that compels me to write this type of blog. I am under no false delusion of my own brilliance nor earth shatteringly profound…whatever. Sometimes I just have to write. So there’s that.

“I am profoundly and irreversibly screwed up.” -Maggie Carpenter:

I’m beginning this blog unsure of weather or not it will be read by anyone other than myself. The thing is, I’m not trying to write this for anyone other than me. This blog has been in the works in my head for a couple weeks now and for the first time in as many weeks, I have a moment in time to set myself to this task. Granted, starting a blog at 1:07 on a Sunday morning might be grounds for being accused of having a slight lapse in judgement, but I don’t care. This isn’t meant to be dramatic, or angsty, or moody. It’s soul purpose is to put to paper, or more accurately to screen, what I have been trying desperately to figure out: me.

The awareness of my complete lack of familiarity with myself came a while back when I realized I was in a place I didn’t want to be, with people I didn’t want to be with, doing things I didn’t want to do. And I asked myself one very simple and obvious question: Why? Why do I go places I don’t want to go with people I don’t want to be with and do things I don’t want to do? The answer isn’t nearly as easy as the question, but it began me on a train of thought that continues even now. The train of thought is this: who am I? Who is this person that I present? How much different is the person who interacts with the world than the one that is merely an idea – a flimsy and undefined idea.

I’ve come to several realizations. People and their opinions of me are far more important than I would ever have previously admitted. I have allowed myself to be changed and influenced by the men I have been with to such an extent that I lose sight of anything other than their wants and interests. I mold my own likes to theirs. I choose what they want over what I would prefer. I force myself to be interested in what they like so that I can somehow gain their approval. I live my life perpetually in defensive mode. I try to anticipate what other people may attack me with and so stand at the ready with whatever barb or smartass remark is necissary to ward off their offense. I even do this with family. I have such an inferiority and failure complex that I don’t even trust my family with my being. I don’t have many close friends because I myself have designed it to be that way. I build walls the size of fort knox to keep out anyone who could possibly be a threat. I fear rejection on every level it can possibly occur.

A perfect example of this would be a current friendship of mine. I’ve only known the guy for a few months, but through that time I have made very sure not to say anything that could possibly lead to an honest conversation. Why? Simple: I respect and like the guy to such an extent that the mere thought of being seen differently and thereby rejected based on that reality is terrifying. I am afraid that the second he knows where I’ve been and what I’ve done, our friendship will be over. So, I present a side of my personality which, while being slightly accurate, is not entirely and all encompassingly real. I don’t say what’s on my mind. I don’t talk about what I feel. Not that I haven’t almost tried…I have. Recently I tested the waters, so to speak, with a few bites of information and a suggestion or two for weekend activities. Granted…the reaction to the piece of my past in question wasn’t all that bad, but that’s not too shocking. What I talked about was very little to do with my own wrong doing, and what was, I admitted. The suggestion about a supposed fieldtrip, however, was rejected and me in my current state of pain-wallowing took it entirely too personally. Thus – back behind the walls we go.

So, I guess that’s a little bit of why I am the way I am. My mom would say that I have excuses for everything. That’s really not the case. I don’t excuse away my behavior or attitudes. I admit that they’re wrong/unhealthy/innacurate – but I point out the reason why they exist in the first place.

Back to the road to self-discovery. I mentioned to my parents (and have acknowledged to myself on many recent occassions) that I’m not even sure what I like and don’t like anymore. I have so allowed what other people think to dictate my opinions that I’ve lost track of my own. So, for the record (and completely off the top of my head) here are some things which I Know I don’t like.

I don’t like…liars, fakes, people who think they are perfect, judgemental people, tomatos, Madonna, Oprah, most things that are trendy, cold mornings, cold showers, cold people, hardcore music, porn, porn stars, girls who want to be porn stars, avocados, anything peanut flavored, dark rooms, quiet cars, dirt, clutter, germs, sickness of any kind, being alone, hate, anger, things that make me look too closely at myself, typical men*, all recent Chevrolet designs – they suck, mexico, people speaking foreign languages in front of me when they speak English just as well – it’s rude, nails on a chalkboard, lakes, ponds, any still body of water, bugs, roaches, criticism, white walls, ignorance, Wahoos, screaming and yelling in church, running commentary exclaimations during church, football, basketball, punk music, emo sheep, sheep in general, clowns, superfluous guns, intollerance, homosexuallity, Godlessness, rude behavior, dissrespectful behavior in public, causing a scene for no reason, rye bread, grape flavored anything, running, sweat, being ignored, being taken for granted, pride, sociopaths, hairy backs, flab, band wagons, anything to do with Chuck Norris, spandex, raw fish, sushi, Metallica, self-obsession, screaming children, empty houses, dirty clothes, pork rinds, most pop music, X-Box, partying, smoking of any kind, drugs, hypocracy, Satan, crappy poetry, arrogance, the “times new roman” font, BFF4ever!, chicks, dirty trays, straw wrappers, food junkies, booth people, selfish ambission, gluttony, lust…

And there’s always the other side of things…

I Do like…God, love, music, acting, theatre, film making, Los Angeles, Family, friends, being held, fiji water, apples, caramel, italian food, dark wood stains, nature, the ocean, the feel of sand between my toes, diving into a wave, being underwater, kisses, laying in the sun, volleyball, soccer, bonfires, lightning, moonlight, thunderstorms, open fields, horses, riding horses, riding dolphins, beauty, offroading, rockclimbing, touch, listening, art, architecture, grapes, laughter, children, rock music, concerts, dance, weaponry, shooting a gun, England, English food, Crunchies, cadbury chocolate, comedy shows, late night drives, impromptu road trips, men in uniform, shaved heads, muscle, color, dorks who are so okay with their dorkiness that other people can point and laugh and they just don’t care, individuals, black, blue, white, leather, the smell of coffee, sugar, ketchup, vinegar, things that sparkle, mint, reading, talking, go-carts, playing sports, being picked up, random phone calls, surprises, affection, silver, grass, photography, old sweaters, lip gloss, lined paper, Pilot G2 0.5 pens, nerts, cards, lamb, backrubs, fast cars, driving fast cars, running barefoot, dancing barefoot, fish, almost any U2 song, cutting lemons, citrus, baths, hot showers, candlelight, being naked, lots of blankets, down pillows, overstuffed chairs, brownies, chocolate in general, glassware, plastic silverware, smiles, honest eyes, guys who play guitar, guys who love God above all else, the Sims 2, iPod, adidas, hudson jeans, frogs, holding hands, cuddling, drinking hot cocoa, whipped cream, a good glass of wine, writing, being persued, hugs, scrammbled eggs, tuna, military hats, four post beds, modern houses, mediteranean style, clouds, dressing up, dressing down, warm socks, light sabres, birds, learning, accomplishing something new, challenges, dreams, dares, giving rather than recieving, loving…

Of course this list is hardly complete…but it’s a start. I threatened to quote a friend of mine – the same friend who gave me the gem in a previous post. He said this:

“I think you should think who you are, what you thrive from, what empowers you, what you like and more important of all….why”

That’s the question of the day. Actually, I think that’s the question of an undefined period of time. I know what I thrive on – God, people, love, honesty, affection, giving, being active, knowing that somehow I’m making a difference…I know what empowers me – God and the people he has given me for the set period of time in question. What I know I am capable of doing and achieving…what I know I stand for. We already went over what I like, some of it profound, most of it trivial. And as of a short while ago…I know what I want.

First and foremost, I want God. I want to know Him, see Him, be with Him, love Him, adore Him and learn what it means to live life accordingly. I want my family, both the one I have now and the one I want to have someday. As far as success goes…Ralph Waldo Emerson had it right:

“To laugh often and love much;
To win the respect of intelligent persons and the affection of children;
To earn the approval of honest critics and endure the betrayal of false friends;
To appreciate beauty;
To find the best in others;
To give of one’s self without the slightest thought of return;
To have accomplished a task, whether by a healthy child, a rescued soul, a garden patch, or a redeemed social condition;
To have played and laughed with enthusiasm and sung with exaltation;
To know that even one life has breathed easier because you have lived;
This is to have succeeded.”

Then of course I want Love. I want that other half, the friend, the lover, the companion, the One to share all this with. And if I’m being honest…I fear this will never happen. And it hurts.

Julia Roberts’ character in Runaway Bride, which I quoted earlier, had half of it right. I think that yes, on some levels I am profoundly screwed up. I do think, however, that it is not irreversible. Just bare with me while I work on it.

Currently listening : Stop the Clocks By Oasis Release date: 21 November, 2006

Tonight is just full of self discovery. I’m too irritated and lazy to go into the details, so I’m just going to copy and paste the most interesting of discoveries. This is my myers/briggs personality type and profile. Joy.

I’m an ESFP…and here’s what it says about me.

“Extraverted sensing types are pragmatic and realistic with a zest for living life to the fullest by way of multiplying experiences. Always on the alert for what needs immediate attention or what might provide a bit of action, excitement or entertainment, they engage quickly with their environment. They seek and enjoy freedom, are good-natured, direct, and tolerant and are often the ones who provide levity.

They have a way with dealing with people on a very equal platform and are not easily star struck. Rank, celebrity and status mean little when they are face to face with another individual.
On the job, they appreciate having the right tools and are quite ingenious at finding ways to fix and repair things with dexterity. They love variety and are curious and adventurous, enjoying the unexpected. Their brand of extraversion is one of deeds rather than words. As long as things are moving along, they are happy. They like to keep things simple and immediate, going with the flow. They are helpful in very concrete ways, providing the correct tools or specific service the person requires. They often have an uncanny ability to respond appropriately in cases of emergencies, often having excellent reflexes. They act without thinking. They also tend to have natural mediating skills.

They are attuned to the environment and the myriad colours, textures, sounds, beauty and the sensuousness of it all. They are quite graceful and agile while moving through their environment. They love having fun and if things are too quiet they may provide the entertainment or distraction. They learn by imitation and are keen observers. They teach through example. Their attention will always go towards whatever provides the keenest impression on their senses. “

Wonderful. So now I’m labled, filed, and dismissed.