Meeting the future head-on.

I could do a sad girl post breakup entry here, but what good would that do? It sucks, I'm sad, he hates me, I feel like the worst person ever, the end.

Instead I want to look ahead. This weekend I'm moving into MY OWN APARTMENT! On my own again for the first time in almost two years. I can't wait. But, I'm sure it will be weird at first, the empty house on top of the empty hours I used to spend with Eric. Last night I got to thinking about the things I would do with my newfound time and space:

1) Exercise! I'll have privacy to use my Gazelle, and space to spread out my yoga mat. In addition to the Gazelle, I have an ab circuit I've been wanting to try, and I'm going to commit to the 100 Pushups/150 Dips challenge.

2) Reading. I have almost a dozen books that people have lent me that I haven't read. And now I have a nice little porch to lounge around on. It's high time I hit the books.

3) Creating. I need to finish all my existing knitting and crochet projects. No more new yarn until I do. And I want to make fun, useful things for my apartment. I have the skill, I just need the discipline.

4) Folding. I have a looong way to go on my 1000 Paper Cranes Challenge.

5) Writing. NaNoWriMo may be long over, but I still have a novel to finish and edit and prepare for submission. And because I have project ADD, I'm thinking about starting a new one for Camp NaNo this summer.

Things change, life goes on, and gradually the healing takes place, seeming, as always, that it isn't taking place.

Life is strange, but it's beautiful.

I've been stubbornly trying to refute this notion lately. "Not everything is beautiful," I argue. I am tired, I am hurting, I am scared and frustrated and confused. I want to indulge my own weak, petty bitterness. I want to piss and moan like a petulant child.

But I'm better than that, and I deserve to make myself act like it. And the people around me deserve me at my best. And when I give myself the chance to be better, I find beauty in everything. Even in my pain, or my frustration, or my confusion.

Love and truth.

“The worst thing you can be is a liar….Okay fine, yes, the worst thing you can be is a Nazi, but THEN, number two is liar. Nazi 1, Liar 2.″ - Sam Halpern

I absolutely hate being lied to. It's just about one of the most selfish, hurtful, disrespectful things you can do to a person. When you lie to someone, you're 1) assuming the person you're lying to is too stupid to figure it out, 2) showing that you don't think their worthy of honesty, and 3) taking advantage of trust that they chose to invest in you.

And I really can't stand it when people think it's okay to lie by omission. The ones who keep something from you, and when you confront them about it, they treat you like you're stupid and say "well, you didn't ask" as if that justifies it. When someone I care about does that to me, it feels like a knife in my heart.

When you lie to someone, it affects everyone that person cares about, because every betrayal makes it harder for that person to trust again. It's not just the simple pain that comes from finding out you've been lied to, it's the subsequent fear, anxiety, paranoia...the stress of questioning everything and everyone.

I'd rather be beaten, stabbed, or shot than be lied to.

adrift

I'm trying to put all my energy into the present and future, in the hopes that I can stop the past from continuing to cause me pain. And it occurs to me that part of that is letting go of who I was and coping with who I've become.

So many things I used to love don't even appeal to me anymore. Three new video games have come out, ones that I was looking forward to but ultimately didn't care enough about to buy. The only music I listen to now is dubstep, because everything else makes me sad. I hardly watch movies or TV anymore.

I don't even talk to people as much. I socialize at work - and I'm so lucky, because I love the girls I work with - but when I go home, I crawl straight into bed and look for ways to distract myself till it's time to sleep.

There were only two people left that I could talk to. Two people I felt safe and comfortable with.

Then last night my best friend told me he doesn't give a shit anymore. I don't even know if it's my fault or not. What do you even say to that? I guess sometimes the only way to be a good friend is to not tell someone when they're being a bad one.

So here I am, on the raggedy edge, trying my best to make it through the next few months.

Treading water.

I hate what I've become.

I'm back on Prozac because honestly, I don't want to live anymore. The endless cycle continues; my highs are awesome, but my lows seem to be getting lower and lasting longer. I cry all the time. I'm stressed, anxious, worried about everything. My stomach hurts all the time. I have nightmares almost every night. I don't enjoy...anything. I don't even listen to music anymore. My self-esteem is nonexistent. I feel totally and completely alone, even though I'm not. I want to talk about it, but to what end? It doesn't make me feel any better. I want someone to help me, but...how? There's nothing that will help. I don't even know how to exist anymore. Pretending I'm okay makes me feel more alone, but being honest about how I feel makes me feel like a burden. I'm starting to go numb. I feel like my inner self is curled up in a corner with her head down and her hands over her ears and all the negativity inside me is just a dull, muffled roar.

Tomorrow is the start of National Novel Writing Month. I'm hoping I won't have time to feel anything.

I know I'm not easy but I thought I was worth it.

I'm difficult.

I hate hearing about your exes in any context.

I'l get upset if you mention that you find another girl - ANY other girl - attractive.

I need frequent reassurance.

It doesn't take much to hurt my feelings.

I get insanely jealous and possessive.

I require a lot of time and attention.


I don't like that these things are who I am. But they are. And loving me means loving those things too.

Lucky Number Seven.

I don't believe in luck, or coincidence, or accidents - aside from the kind like I had yesterday when I hit myself in the head with my car door. So the fact that today marks seven months sober isn't particularly auspicious, aside from the sense of accomplishment that comes with knowing I made it another month.

And it hasn't been a good one, in terms of my sobriety. It's not just the depression, or the near-relapse. It's just the voice in my head, louder and more constant than ever. The voice that insists that I'm NOT an alcoholic, I just had a bad year last year. The voice that assures me that I can drink again, that it won't hurt anything, and wouldn't it be nice to have a break for a little while, to not have to think or feel so much? My addiction and my depression are forming an alliance and the battle is exhausting. But I'm protected by the love and support of my friends and my faith in God, so I know I'll survive.

"To be half of a whole?"

I am so lost, so broken, so alone.

One of the ladies at the women's meeting told me I needed to go through the stages of grief. I thought she was talking about Cadence. And maybe she was.

But it's not my cat that I need to grieve for. Or my last disastrous relationship.

It's me.

I'm what I've lost. I'm what I need to grieve for. I have to learn how to live when so much of me is dead.

I killed myself. A little bit at a time. I parceled myself out until...until how much is left? Not enough.

There's so much I can't get back. What do I do? Is there some way to grow anew? Or is this all that I'll ever be? This empty shell?

Marine, did I give you permission to bitch?

I try to keep a positive attitude. I try my ass off. (Okay, by the size of my ass it's obvious that isn't quite true, but work with me here.)

Stuff sucks right now. Not all stuff, but a lot of stuff.
* I'm dissatisfied with my living situation - I want more control over my own environment, more freedom to make my own choices.
* I have that slightly dizzy, foggy feeling caused by my meds. It could last for another six months. It's not dibilitating, but it's quite unpleasant.
* I miss my family, and every time our reunion plans get pushed back due to financial issues it's a little stab at my heart.
* I'm still in early recovery. I still struggle with spiritual issues, I still get cravings.
But still, I try to keep my head up.
And yes, sometimes I fail. Sometimes I lose my patience, get frustrated, bitch and complain.

I had a little revelation last night about how bad my attitude has been considering how good I've been treated. I was explaining that to a coworker - what an asshole I've been and how badly I felt as a result.

Then I got a text from a "friend" at work about what a bad friend and bad Christian I am for complaining about people. Except the text wasn't directed at me; it was directed at another "friend" - someone with whom I thought I was very close.

It's not just this betrayal that hurts, it's everything I've been fighting against for a week or so. The sleepless nights, the bad dreams, the stress...I've been in tears all day.

I'm human. I'm just as flawed and fragile as anyone else. I try to keep a smile on my face, but sometimes I'm a bitch. But just because I'm not moping around all the time doesn't mean that I'm not hurting.

Swinging around so quickly it makes my head spin.

The good: I'm not dizzy anymore! Turns out, when I fell and hit my head last week, I knocked the crystals in my left ear out of place. I went home at noon and did the Epley maneuvers and POOF! Problem solved!

The bad: I want a hamster. Like I've said, I can't have my cat at home, so I only get to see him a couple hours a week. It would be so nice if I had a cuddly little buddy waiting for me when I get home.

Roommate says - ask the owner of the house.

Owner of the house says - no, hamsters smell.

Okay, hamsters don't smell. And even if they did, it's gonna be in a cage, in my room, affecting no one but me.

I'm almost 30 years old and this is how little control I have of my own life. I can't even get a freaking hamster.

Waxing poetical: "unchosen"

This is more song than poem, but here it is.

You see me on the corner
I don't meet your eyes
The cold sun silhouettes me
Do you realize?
I'm broken without you
And I'll always think about you.

It's so cold in my world
Since you let me go
And I'm lost in the dark
Oh but you'll never know
How you've stolen the light
That you taught me to shine so bright

And if you could go back
Would you do it again?
Would you build me a world
Just to let it all end?
Tell me how do you sleep
With the promise you didn't keep?

The window's cracked, I'm looking out.

I passed my neuro tests. My bloodwork came back normal.

We don't know why I'm losing my mind.

I'm coping with my stress...right? I have my moments when I curl up in bed and cry, or when I want to. But I think I'm okay.

But then...why does my brain feel so disconnected from my body? Why can't I tell my dreams from my reality?

They want to double my meds. They think I'm not coping as well as I think I am.

I want OFF the meds. I think they might be screwing me up...although why now, after four months, I don't know. But what if they're right and I'm wrong? What if I quit the meds when I need them most? I really don't want this to get worse.

I don't know. I guess I'll try praying harder.

The indescribable sadness of a car with bench seats.

I spent 16 straight hours in bed yesterday. Just sleeping or lying there, not watching movies, not reading, not knitting, not gaming. Just...trying not to exist. I think it's a new record for me. I went to Wichita with dad to get my new car, and when I got home I simply crawled into bed and stayed there.

I know some of it is nerves about my cervical biopsy tomorrow. And to an extent, it's always going to be like this. It'll never just go away. I could go years testing okay just to have it come back out of the blue. The only way to be completely free of this means sacrificing my ability to have children, and I'm not ready to do that.

And the rest of it is just depression. The sorrow, the loneliness, the pain, the anger.

It will get better. I know it will. I will be okay. I know I will.

Someday.

Slipping through my fingers.

I want a baby so much. My own tiny person, my own part of me, that I can love and raise and teach all the things it took me so long to learn myself. A little light that will keep shining after I burn out.

Time is running out. I've felt this way for a while, but before it was just the reproductive viability timeline - the drastically increased risk of birth defects that comes with pregnancy after age 35.

Now I'm 27 and have pre-cancerous cells on my cervix.

My life has now become a game of watching and waiting. My future is full of excruciatingly unpleasant tests, which will tell me when the time has come for treatments that will make it difficult (or impossible) to have a baby.

It's so hard to rely on my faith right now. I know that God has a plan for me that I can't hope to understand, but when my heart cries out for something like this it is hard to ignore.

If the dream isn't real, is the lie worth defending?

I think I'm in shock.

I haven't cried since the 17th, when I confessed at the Monday night meeting that I very nearly took my life.

When I fell and hit my head last week and I hurt so badly in so many places, I didn't cry.

When I found out mama lost her job, throwing a wrench in the machinations of being a family again, I didn't cry.

When I scheduled a painful invasive medical procedure that is likely only the first in a long battle, I didn't cry.

When I realized that I have to quit force-feeding myself and just wait until my stomach cramps and nausea - which I've had since Sunday night - go away, I didn't cry.

People ask me how I am and I smile and tell them I'm good. I go to meetings, I do my studies and meditations, I pray.

My sleep is tortured; every night, a new nightmare. I wake in pain from the tension in my body.

And yet, I smile. I say I'm fine.

I'm starting to worry about what it's gonne feel like when I stop being fine.

It isn't so bad now that all the supports have been steady.

I got pulled over Wednesday. My tags were six weeks expired. $125 ticket. Plus the registration cost, even though I may hopefully be getting a new car TOMORROW.

I fell Thursday morning. Went down flat on my back, hit my head. I've got a swollen, bruised place on my back, a bruised arm, and reverse whiplast from my head getting thrown backward. My neck is in agony - even breathing hurts.

I was overwhelmed this morning. Finally I wailed to Michelle, "WHY does this week have to be SO AWFUL? Haven't I had enough? Can't I catch a break?"

She calls it 'someone down there hates us' syndrome. It makes perfect sense to me. I'm finally in the hands of the Father, so my recent miseries and misfortunes are a last-ditch effort to steal my miracle, to turn me back to the dark side. WELL IT'S NOT WORKING. After Michelle and I had a little chat about that, I felt strong and triumphant.

Last night at bedtime I went to read a Psalm, and I opened my Bible to Psalm 51. It was exactly what I needed.

All things work for the good of those that love the Lord.

Everybody's got something to hide except for me and my monkey.

I'm grounded.

* No dating.
* No staying out past 11 PM.
* No going out without telling Michelle where I'll be and with whom.
* Attend at least once a week a church of my choosing.

In addition to the groundation, I have an assignment. When Michelle was a little girl, her mother took a little notepad and wrote down all the prayers and Bible verses she felt a little girl needed to know as she grew up. So Michelle bought me a lovely new notebook, and handed me the notepad from her mother, and instructed me to copy those prayers and verses into my own notebook. (As an aside, the friend that I wrote about in my earliest entries, the dear woman who passed away on Father's Day, was Michelle's mother.) I can't articulate how deeply this has touched my heart.

In my early days of sobriety, I would wake with a feeling of serenity. Sometimes it would be gone within the hour, other times it would last the day. Now, I wake with my heart disquiet. I start the morning with an empty glass, and it is up to me to fill it with serenity as I move through my day. This is a better way; complacency did me no favors.

Today is four months sober for me. My first birthday that I don't get to celebrate in a meeting (after 3 months you have to wait for 6) and I'm relieved it's so. I couldn't celebrate there now. Not yet. Not while I'm so acutely feeling someone's absence.

So many people know the first verse of the Serenity Prayer, but the second verse is so important, so here's the whole enchilada.

"God, grant me the Serenity to accept the things I cannot change,the courage to change the things I can, and the wisdom to know the difference.
Living one day at a time, enjoying one moment at a time, accepting hardship as the pathway to peace. Taking, as He did, this sinful world as it is, not as I would have it. Trusting that He will make all things right
if I surrender to His will. That I may be reasonably happy in this life, and supremely happy with Him forever in the next."

Amen.

“If you don't know where you are going, any road will get you there.” - Lewis Carroll

I believe in miracles.

But I didn't understand them.

I thought that miracles were all beauty and joy, sweetness and light.

Silly girl.

Life tested me recently. Tested US. And we failed. We KNEW the right thing to do, but we hadn't the strength to do it.

God had to intervene. He had to do the right thing for us. And we have to suffer because of it. We must suffer because we didn't choose the easier, softer way. And it hurts God to make us suffer like this, but it was the only way. He had to do for us what we could not do for ourselves. Just as we were promised He would.

We will not regret the door. We will forgive one another, and we must forgive ourselves. God loves us even when we fail Him; he loves us even when we are weak. The Shepherd loves His lambs even when they hear His voice but don't come.

We can't drink. We must go to meetings. We must make things different, that they may get better.

I told you that you'd be my saving grace, and I was right. I just never imagined how rough the path to salvation would be. But I am grateful to you, my friend. Our road didn't take me where I thought it would, but it took me where I needed to go.

"Just because something doesn't do what you planned it to do doesn't mean it's useless." - Thomas Edison

What if I can't trust myself, what if I just need some help?

"But there is suffering in life, and there are defeats. No one can avoid them. But it's better to lose some of the battles in the struggles for your dreams than to be defeated without ever knowing what you're fighting for." - Paul Coelho

What am I fighting for?

I thought I was fighting for love and truth. That's what I've always told myself. But I'm lost in the woods. I think I still know my goals, but my methods and motivations have become cloudy even to my own eyes.

Maybe that's the nature of battle. Whatever we're fighting for when we take up arms...when the bullets start flying, our base instincts kick in and we're just fighting to survive, no matter the cost. We act out of fear.

I have aimed with my eye, shot with my hand, killed with my gun. I have forgotten the face of my Father.

It's so hard not to feed that wolf. So easy to forget that every time we feed it, it grows stronger. And someday it will feed on me. Faithless little lamb that I am.

“Spiteful words can hurt your feelings but silence breaks your heart.”

Adam destroyed Eve with silence.

When the serpent enticed Eve to eat of the forbidden fruit, Adam was there at her side. The original Hewbrew text describes him as "elbow to elbow" with her. The seprent tempted Eve, and she relented. And Adam did nothing. He stood in silence and allowed her to bring about the fall of man.

"Waiting is painful. Forgetting is painful. But not knowing which to do is the worse kind of suffering." - Paul Coelho

Goodbye hurts. That's the way of things. But the lack of a goodbye...that's a wound that won't heal. It bleeds and bleeds, while the wounded lies caught between the need to let go and the hope that perhaps, someday, letting go won't be necessary.