Saturday, September 20, 2008

a dichotomy.

i was doing the whole facebook thing just a minute ago, on my "home" page, reading people's status updates and all that fun stuff. i like seeing the, "so-n-so added 11 new photos to the such-n-such album," too.
so i was looking at this girl's pictures; she's kind of an old friend from dallas. her mom used to watch my brother and me when we were kids, so i would play dress up and house with her. she's about five years younger than me, but she leads this life of dallas-party-scene-sophistication. plus she's just HOT. she used to be kinda chubby, i guess (in other words: normal), but one day she got sick of not being hot, went to the gym and never looked back. then she got fake boobs. then bleach blonde extentions. then she reeeally started to get the attention of the fellas. and i guess you could say she uses her sex appeal to her advantage. whatever that means, ya know?
anyway, she has these pictures from some night out to some club with some other leggy blondes, all four sippin' on cocktails in their little back dresses, looking extremely sexy, stuck-up, and...well...ridiculously fake. but no matter, i was still jealous. some part of me (for whatever silly reason), still gets a little envious of hot girls who live life in that damn "fast lane."
but here's the real reason i wrote this morning. not because i actually want to live that life she lives, but rather, because two status updates above this gal's newly added pictures, another friend of mine had posted a new note. she's a friend from estes who i met at a women's retreat and really got to know over some honest chats over a few months. (she's from australia; she lost her mom about a year before i lost my dad; ...we had a lot to talk about...) she's a great girl. i mean one of those that you just know you're a better person for even being in a room with her. she's real and honest, and gets terribly angry at God sometimes, but she's good and kind, and truly lives a Godly life.
i haven't even read her note yet. but when i noticed it sitting there on the screen an inch above the little-black-dress-cocktail-pictures, with the title, "We're in Uganda," the dichotomy of these two girls' lives struck me in a fascinating way. one's in africa, probably not showering, definitely not getting male attention, holding orphan children, comforting dying people, so happy with her life.
and the other girl is in dallas, living the high life, looking GOOD and making friends who buy her drinks, dating a lot, meeting rockstars, also so happy with life. but you tell me which happiness seems the emptier of the two. you tell me which life i should envy, or which girl i should wish to be like!
the black and white of it all is so astounding to me. not that i think the one is wrong for the life she lives in dallas. nor also do i think i need to be in africa right now to be content with my own life. but i guess i just see one life as going somewhere, and one as not. and so i pity the one.

i always stop making sense at the end of these things. :) that's why i'll never be a professional writer. i can't finish! but anyway. that's all for this morning.

Thursday, September 18, 2008


why do we pretend uncomfortable things don't exist? i know i do this on a personal level. like, i fail to mention my love for Jesus, 'cause i'm afraid to offend someone. and i certainly hide my feelings on a daily, if not hourly basis, because who really wants to talk about feelings? (let's talk about yours, but not mine, please.)
but so much of our lives, and life, are hidden in these deep dark spots, so no one has to talk about the shit. see previous blog. but not just that. not just the really horrible, terrible stuff like child abuse, but simpler stuff like emotional pain and distress.
i love the organization To Write Love on Her Arms. i'm basically in love with this organization. there's this whole class of people (myself included) who have been slapping on smiles most of our lives because it's plain just not okay to show our real aches and sufferings. if we must talk about them, see a counselor. (but don't tell anyone we're seeing counselors, because they might think we're crazies.) seeing a counselor has become somewhat normalized, though, which i'm so eternally grateful for, like literally, thank you GOD for helping that to become "okay." but still, i feel like, the reason seeing a counselor has become so accepted, is that this whole movement of speaking our feelings publicly, and/or wearing them on our so-called sleeves, is frightening to the other half. the half who apparently don't ache inside like the half who do.
but there's a movement. it's like we're all finding each other and rising up. because maybe really we're all suffering inside. and maybe not! maybe some people really do not understand what it's like to hurt so badly. to be burdened by this invisible and unnamable presence. but i thank my friends at TWLOHA, and all of you who know how to share your shit, because i'm affected. i'm feeling like i can maybe someday do it, too.

anyway. i'm off track, and the train has derailed. maybe i'll finish this up later. most likely not, but at least i wrote!

Saturday, September 13, 2008

rated R for four-letter words.

i went to a seminar on child sexual abuse today. that's some sad shit. and i do mean shit. there's no beating around the bush with this one.

to think. kids are born everyday...born without even a chance to live a happy, easy, simple life. fucking mother fuckers. this is when vigilante justice seems so honest. someone needs to murder those sons of bitches.

this one hits sort of close to home, as they say. i've seen the suffering, the absolute torment and anguish generated from this despicable, disgusting, horrifying abuse, and all i can see in my mind is myself holding a gun to some bastard's skull and making him beg for his life while i slit his arms and legs, cut for cut to match.

if that seems violent and carried-away to you, you haven't loved someone who's been on the receiving end of sexual abuse.

but let's not talk about it. it's uncomfortable. death is more comfortable than sexual abuse. saying, "my dad dropped dead of a heart attack," is way easier to hear than, "i know a CHILD who was molested by a family member for YEARS." don't talk about it, because it's gross and embarrassing and what if it's not true, then some innocent, sweet, kindly uncle might be accused of dastardly acts he never committed.

i'm fucking angry. i'm pissed. something needs to be done! i believe in God's final judgment, i do. but what if it's not enough?

they're children. they're beautiful and simple and life is not supposed to feel that way. stop being so fucking uncomfortable and see reality. face reality. it fucking sucks, but something can be done. and my absolute, unbendable heroes are the ones who are out there fighting the battle against sexual abuse.


Tuesday, September 9, 2008

making up for lost time.

for some reason i didn't write the entire month of august. i'm losing steam here. i can't write. it's something to do with ADD, something to do with lack of inspiration, and a lot to do with exhaustion. just this general, "i don't have it in me today." and "today" has been a lot of days.

i remember once when i was younger, probably around ninth grade, i was singing at church and i fell in love with my own voice. in an instant, though, i was appalled by my pride and prayed God would take the rhythm and the notes away from me, that i might not harbor any self-admiration in my bones. i don't mean to sound all mythical (is that the word i'm looking for?), but the reason i remember that day so well, is because since then, i don't remember a single instant when i felt my voice was lovely.

i'm kinda there now, but with writing. okay, so i can put together a sentence. i'm not saying i'm incapable of writing well, but i am saying i don't feel it. and feeling it is really important. in this case, i never prayed God would take away my ability. in fact, now i don't feel like i ever had the ability, just a stroke of luck every once in awhile. so it's not a commonality in that God must have robbed me of this gift, rather that the feeling is similar. something i once felt i performed well, i now feel like i'm only average.

i've never been able to love myself. i don't completely hate myself. i like my hair sometimes. i like my sense of style sometimes. i have certain qualities that are i'm nice and easy to be around. but i can't say a positive thing about who i am or how i look without the voices in my head striking up their own conversation about why that particular thing is not actually my strength, and why my hair isn't even a for-sure, because i have bad hair days a lot, and it's frizzy if i don't tame it.

i ache. that's the only way i can say it. i ache all over inside. that thing, my "heart," (i've been told exists somewhere other than my chest cavity), it pounds with exhaustion, because it's incapable of being healed. and since i've only been through one major trauma in my life, and most of these "feelings" have been in existence long before my dad died, i can't exactly pinpoint this thing from which my heart even needs healing. counseling seems pointless. i've tried it, and it wasn't like the movies. no major breakthroughs. but i feel like that's because there's nothing in there. there's nothing to be discovered, except that i'm just dark and burdened for no good reason.

i've tried anti-depressants, and they help in some ways, but mostly they just kind of confuse me. it's like, i still think and feel all the same things i used to feel, just without the ache. i don't like myself anymore than i did. i don't feel anymore motivated or self-assured. i don't feel like i'm good at anything or gifted in any way; the main difference is just that i don't physically feel that thing inside me, inside my soul, banging around and hurting all the time.

so you wanna know the one conclusion i've developed? the thing that came to me in a split second that's kinda comforting and kinda not? i'm pretty sure that ache is a result of my separation from God. my separation resulting from my sinful nature, not specifically, because i did this and this and this, but generally, because i'm a human being and way back in the beginning of things, that connection was screwed up big time.

and yes. i know that through Christ i am again connected to my heavenly father. but i also know that part of salvation...nay...all of salvation is a result of faith, and thus, may not fix the internal discrepancy between accepting God, and being connected to God. if that makes an sense. which i'm pretty sure it doesn't. but i guess what i'm saying is that, i do have faith. i have loads of it. i trust completely that someday i will be reunited with God, because Christ is perfect and sacrificed his-everything that that bond may be reestablished. i also think, though, that while i believe all of the above with absolute resolve, i am still human, and for some reason, i'm hypersensitive to the loss. the loss of a daily garden romp with the King. the loss of complete obedience. the loss of innocence, and especially the loss of pure, unheeded lightheartedness.

burdened is an incredibly descriptive word for what i feel. yes, i have been saved. thank Jesus i have been saved and i never have to go back to hopelessness. but as long as i'm on this broken, severed, departed earth, how can i ever feel anything but a dreadful burden that stems from a deep, innate longing for Home?

these are rhetorical questions, of course. things i've been asking myself since i was very young, and things that i doubt will ever disappear in this lifetime. i do thank God, endlessly, for this fascinating hope he's instilled in this cavern. someone so burdened, so lost, so pained, and so broken (me), can still have such a solid, relentless, impenetrable belief in the glorious Thing to come, that is Eternity with him. perhaps that steadfast hope is my gift.

the end.