Okay, I admit that my last post about Drogo was written out of my own irritation, and I'm glad that I have this safe place to vent and not go pouring my wrath upon him whenever I have fleeting feelings.

What I do have right now, though is kittens "helping" me to blog.

They are climbing on my hands and the keyboard and popping up between my arm and my side. It's pretty adorable.

Anyway, back to my admittance… I think Drogo just needed some time to, you know, be all grouchy and moody and whatever, and now he's getting over it. I pretty much decided that I was just gonna hold off and not really interact with him beyond passing conversation (i.e. not seek him out and "try to make things better") because I realized that women need a closeness when things are going wrong. We want to connect, to draw together, to be reassured and to talk and know that it's all gonna be okay etc. Men aren't like that. They want to be apart, to do productive things that will assure the desired outcome (that the thing going wrong won't be going wrong anymore) will come to pass. My continual pressing on him to make me feel better and to try to make him feel better and see if there was anything I could do to make things better and make the situation better was really just making things worse. So… I decided I was going to do for him what he needed. Space. Time. Silence. Okay.

I had to check my motives, though, and make sure that I wasn't ignoring him to punish him for being irritating, but to make sure that I was holding back from him to give him space to finish being grumpy on his own terms and in his own way. Waiting, you could say. Not punishing. And I did. And it felt kinda weird, but I knew I was doing the right thing. He came in after work and laid down with me for a bit, and I enjoyed that. He asked what I did, and I filled him in on the day. We discussed some "to do" things that I needed to accomplish that are urgent and I assured him that I would the next day (and I did!). He got up and went to go do his thing and I did my thing and eventually I went to sleep. While I was getting ready for sleep, though-- flossing, brushing my teeth, washing my face, etc.-- I came out and watched him play with the kittens for a while, which was adorable. We talked about them for a bit, too, and then I went to bed to sleep (versus going to bed to just lie down, which I do frequently). 

I woke up a few hours later 'cause pain and hunger and bladder, and as I stumbled into the kitchen I blearily noticed the sensation of my feet felt a bit different. I shuffled a bit further and realized-- Drogo had swept the floors! Granted, it's his chore and we'd both agreed it needed to be done that day, but he did it! Yay! I shuffled delightedly to the sink, only to be shocked into an utter standstill. The dishes were done. Normally I wash my dish right after I use it, but the past day or so had been especially bad for energy and muscle fatigue, so I'd let a few bowls and plates pile up and was dreading the thought of washing them all up. Now, though, I didn't have to, because the dishes were done!

And now I felt bad for being irritated with my husband at all ever. He wasn't far behind me in entering the kitchen, so I maneuvered my way back across the clean floor and kissed him passionately (do men know how sexy a clean kitchen is? Men everywhere--- this will get you into a woman's pants faster than roses and chocolates and fancy pick up lines! Okay, maybe not the chocolates, but it's really, really impressive!!) and thanked him profusely. I also thanked him again in the same manner the next day, and both times he was adorably bemused at my gratitude, but hopefully he'll store it away for future reference. He just said, "You were getting behind." Hah. Yes. Yes I was, and I'm grateful for the help.

So he's coming out of his grumpy shell bit by bit, but here's the bombshell… he broke his two cat rule. He has this big thing about only have two cats at a time. He claims it's to keep me from becoming a Crazy Cat Lady, and he's probably right, but I resent the Two Cat Rule with a passion, 'cause kitties! Anyway, we're re-homing the black cat that doesn't like people and keeping one of the kittens, right? Right. But the kitten will be oh-so-lonely without mama and its litter-mates because that's all it's ever known! So I proposed to Khal Drogo that we keep two kittens, especially since Juneaux is terrified of kittens and they'll need each other, at least until they're more significantly grown. He's been thinking about it, and today he mumbled that he guesses we can keep two kittens… and then he picked out the one that he likes the best. He broke his own rule! Ha-HA! 

Sorry. I just feel rather victorious at the moment. He didn't let me celebrate, though. I squeee'd once, very loudly, and he told me to "stop freaking out, woman". So I did. I replied "I will stop freaking out because I know that if I continue to do so it will jeopardize the decision you have made. Am I supposed to act like this is no big deal?"

"Yes."

"Cool. No big deal then. Can I smother you in kisses?"

"I'll be in there to kiss you in a minute. I'm leaving for work."

"Besides that one. Can I smother you in kisses?"

"…I'll be in there to kiss you in a minute. I'm leaving for work."

"…Alright, fine."

So I admit that I was writing out of my own annoyance yesterday, and he is being an adult and getting over himself, at his own pace, in his own way… and he's making overtures of kindness toward me, I think to make up for the grumpiness that he knows has hurt me this past week and more. I haven't discussed that here, but there have been incidents. It's been rough. Anyway… our marriage isn't in danger. We're just people, like anyone else, refusing to give up on each other. And isn't it super sweet that he swept the floors and did the dishes and is letting me keep kittens? My heart is so totally melted right now!!!! <3 p="">

Right, so up until this point I've simply been using first initials to denote certain individuals that play prominent roles in my life. (Unless they die. Then there's really no point in preserving their anonymity.) I do this out of respect for those I write about, because sometimes I share personal things and if they're at least semi-anonymous it's better for their reputation. (And yes, I know I've made a few slips here and there but mostly with C, I think, and he really doesn't care, so eh…) Also, when I first started blogging, even my identity was a super-secret because of the nature of the environment in which I found myself. If anyone from the church I was affiliated with had found my blog and read the anger, doubts, fears, humanity in those posts… I probably would have been politely and passive-agressively asked to leave. And also to never teach their children again. (Granted, I probably didn't come off as perfect in the daily performances as I would like to think that I did, and I can think of a couple of pretty obvious slips I made, but overall I played the part of Pristine Bible Worker and Youth Leader very well. Mostly because I really wanted to be that person so very, very much.)

Now, though, it's gotten to the point where even I am confused by which J is which and who is L exactly and why are there multiple M's scattered throughout your days? To offset this confusion I have decided to employ nicknames, which I believe will help clear things up considerably. Unfortunately for you all, this decision will not be retroactive in any way, because going through 900+ posts to change names? Yeah. Right.

That being said, here's the cast of characters that make frequent appearances in my life and writings. I'll introduce them with the initial they're currently known as, add a brief description of their relationship to me, and follow that with their new name in parenthesis.

C: Husband, lover, gamer, science geek, and determined to rob my life of all sparkles and brightly colored things. He will, however, replace them with wrought iron and soft pillows in dark colors. (Khal Drogo. No jokes about pillows! May also be referred to as the Dragon, depending on my mood.)

J: Bestie, former roommate and fellow graduate of SOULS, ridiculously intelligent and well spoken and enjoys puns as much as I do. (Desert Rose, or just Rose)

Mom: Pretty self-explanatory. Hard to pin down, artistic, creative, intelligent, eloquent, Jack of all trades. (Mom)

R: (Ex) Step-dad, whom I've accepted as my main father figure. Reliable, moody, earnest, crazy smart, authentic, loyal, intensely compassionate towards those he loves, stubborn, wise. LOTS of life experience, some of it quite amusing and some of it jaw-dropping. (Military men. What're you gonna do?) (RDad)

T: Biological father. Don't know much about him (yet), but he seems intelligent, funny, caring, and generous. Also a military man. (BioDad)

K: Younger sister, was very close when we were younger but drifted apart. We've gotten closer again in recent years, which I'm very grateful for. Used to be a snarky, sarcastic bitch with a very dark sense of humor, now she's just sarcastic with a very dark sense of humor. (She's mellowed out). Mother to my first niece, S (Peanut), gamer, seeker of life lessons in unlikely places, and surprisingly responsible. (Pickle Buddy)

Jr.: Younger brother, very affectionate, caring, and honest, gamer/gamer culture geek, very funny and loves to bandy jokes (especially word play jokes), incredibly smart with a great memory for knowledge, has the makings of a musical virtuoso but untrained. (Jr.)

J: Youngest sister, so much like me it's freaky, beautiful, intelligent, wise beyond her years, determined to make her life better and break our family's curse of trauma, abuse, and mental illness, is very good with kids and loves working with them. (Jewels)

J: Adopted sister, talented artist and musician, happy newlywed, and super domestic/crafty/country/thrifty/dependable. Part of the S's. (the Dentist)

K: Adopted sister, talented musician of many mediums, determined, kinda stubborn, and set to be wed this summer. Part of the S's. (the Musician)

C: Adopted mom, widow of David S, spunky, sensitive, pragmatic, and unstoppable. (Wassail)

Guy M: Part of the Inner Circle, adopted brother, accomplice in musical endeavors, has a ridiculous memory for anything he's ever read, ever (especially game stats), and super man-sassy. (Kenobi)

Girl M: Part of the Inner Circle, "sister from another mister", fellow Spoonie and mentor in the ways of all things explicit. (the Gypsy)

D: Brother in law, very much inexplicable and unexplainable, incredibly intelligent and hilarious (a fabulous mix, by the way), responsible. (the Gamer)

E: Friend, (former) boss, started and runs the HJ (the local non-profit that helps abuse survivors), sassy, super Hispanic mama type, doesn't know how to stop working, the biggest heart on the planet and the biggest hug. (Star)

L: Super sweet local friend who moved way far away, honest, loyal, and committed to growth as a decent human being (a rare thing). (Fievel)

E: Another super sweet local friend who has kind of taken me under her wing, very giving and thoughtful, funny, and sees life through a different perspective, doesn't judge negatively at all.. Committed to her values, but is like a cool, refreshing splash of water. (The Artist)

BJ: My second mom growing up, very dedicated Christian, quite conservative, very loving and giving and intent on seeing all her "kids" (biological or otherwise) living good, Christian lives. (the Nurse)

C: A friend I made while going for the massage program at the college. Determined, smart, the most giving person ever, perfectionist, persistent, caring caring caring. (Mama Bear)

G: My main abuser and also ex-step dad. Sent him to prison for a long time, and I don't like him at all. I won't waste a nickname on him. He's going to stay G.

Dear Dr. L,

I feel as though there are some things that need to be clarified that have been impairing the
effectiveness of our doctor-patient relationship. I am open to the fact that I may have misunderstood
things, and that you may have been working with thoughts and motivations completely unrealized by me. If that is the case, I apologize. However, I do not feel that maintaining my business with this
practice is in my best interest as a patient. In the past year that I have been a patient of yours,
my overall health and subsequent quality of life has decreased to such a point as to be laughable, if
one were not too busy crying and pitying me. Despite seeing me regularly through this time, the
records of my visits routinely note that "the patient has no difficulty performing daily activities",
despite my consistent and frequent protestations to the contrary.

My husband brought up a very poignant illustration of just how far my health has deteriorated. This
time last year I could almost hike to the top of Telegraph Pass, he said. Now, I'd be lucky to make
it out of the desert parking lot and up to the trail before having to turn back from pain, fatigue,
and general weakness. I have continually emphasized how regular, normal activities are becoming harder and harder for me to perform to the point that I am at the point of almost total debilitation, yet I do not feel that I am being taken seriously. Perhaps the blame lies with me in not being clear enough
about the severity, frequency, and variety of my symptoms, but the sense I get is that I'm being
dismissed. It's like if I come in and say, "Oh, my sickness is at a level 7. It's debilitating, it's
ruining my life," you take it as my sickness is really only at a level 4 and I'm not really that
impaired. I even brought in that "FMS Rating Scale" in an attempt to get you to understand the
severity of my pain and other symptoms.

The short period of time that I was using prescription pain killers in excess was a desperate attempt
to to control and somehow manage this pain; to get back to a somewhat normal standard of living. I
have, I thought, been very clear about the profuse, intense, and increasing amount of symptoms that I
have to deal with, and the disability that has come as a result. I feel that not only is my sickness
not being taken seriously enough, but I feel that the measures I am taking to cope are being
dismissed as exaggerative, such as the need for further pain control or for mobility assistance
devices like my walker. I am not sure how you were unaware of my having it until now, as I've brought it to several appointments with me, and I have had it since last December. I bought it for the plane trip back to W to visit my folks. I knew that I did not have the physical endurance to both walk
through the terminals and carry my bags without becoming so ill as to be rendered immobile. The cold of a W winter, and the fact that I was not yet on pain killers, forced me to use it for mobility's
sake while I was there, as I could not walk normally due to pain. (This was back when the pain was
localized mostly in my lower half.) When I got back home, I didn't use it for a while, feeling that I
did not need it for basic mobility. After a time, I began using it when I knew that I would be
standing or walking for a long period of time, and the pain from that would make moving very
difficult. It was also handy for the fatigue that accompanied long periods of walking or standing. As
time went on, my pain increased and my endurance decreased, and I began to use the walker more and more. My husband got me the walking stick that I think you remember so that I would not have to cart the walker around and endure the stigma of a young woman with a walker (no matter now neatly
decorated), but that way I still had something to help with mobility issues due to pain and fatigue.

That worked well, until recently the pain in my hands became so great that using the stick is out of
the question, and I have come to rely solely on the walker as my means of mobility aid. I explained
to you at the last appointment that I use the walker to help with balance, to help me walk when pain
affects my mobility, and to provide a resting place when fatigue/nausea/lightheadedness overwhelm me, which is frequently. My endurance is at the lowest it's been, and a simple grocery shopping trip of half an hour requires several rests, sometimes ending in my husband or a friend wheeling me around on the walker like it's a wheelchair because I am too sick or in too much pain to walk myself. That happens more often than I'd care for it to... as in, it happens on a regular basis.

Another concern of mine, beyond not being heard and/or dismissed is what would appear to me to be
false reports in my records. In the "Rheumatologic Exam" section of each appointment, results for
various examinations are listed as though the exams were performed at every appointment when this has not been the case. I recall only 3 appointments at most in the entire year that I have been seeing
you that I have been touched or manipulated in some way for an exam; certainly not at every single
appointment. It troubles me that at every appointment my joint and flexor tendon examinations have
results reading "Normal exam", yet I was never examined. The trigger point examination notes diffuse trigger points throughout, but I am not re-examined for this (though it's true). Also, I noticed on my chart that I have an assessment of "fatigue with polyarthritis". Why has polyarthritis never been mentioned to me, and why are we not addressing it if it has been determined that this is an illness I'm dealing with? You have seen my health declining rapidly over the past year, yet it would appear that an apparent lead to managing my symptoms is being ignored. I need an explanation on this. Even my general practitioner, whom I saw recently, is alarmed that no further diagnostic action is being taken given the decline of my health and the elevated titers that sent me to your office in the first place.

I do feel a little more as though you appreciate what I'm telling you with the hand x-ray and
ultrasound that was ordered, but this seems to me to be the first decisive action towards further
exploration of my condition in a long while. I understand that the diagnostic process takes time,
especially with the types of diseases that often mimic one another, but surely there must be a more
aggressive manner to pursue diagnoses? I feel that the symptoms that I bring up are casually
acknowledged and then dismissed. You sprang into action when I mentioned hand pain, but what about the insane spinal pain that I've been telling you about for several visits? It concerns me, but it is
not even mentioned in the notes. The fact that I have recurrent fevers and sores of the scalp, mouth,
and nose seem to be of little to no consequence to you. That you note that I "insist" that certain
symptoms are related to autoimmune diseases makes me feel like I'm seen as some patient who decided she had something she found off of WebMD, not to be taken seriously. My general practitioner affirmed my inherent understanding of my body and the autoimmune connection right away, and while she corrected me on some points I still felt heard, understood, and that she was taking action on my behalf and had my well-being in mind, which I am hard-pressed to say about the care I have been receiving here.

My husband made an extremely valuable point, though, which is that when you see me, I am at my
"best". I'm out and about, I'm dressed, I've got my makeup on, and I'm running on adrenaline to make
it through being out of the house. You see me when I'm "okay". I'm sitting up, smiling, talking,
cracking jokes... it seems that I'm doing okay. But you don't see the aftermath. You don't get to see
that I barely make the drive back home and then crash on the couch for the rest of the day. You don't
get to see the pain spike because I used my energy reserves for the day at that one appointment, or
the fever that comes with overexertion (or for no reason at all!), or the nausea and dizziness that
keep me prone even if I weren't so bone-tired and wracked with pain. You don't see any of that. You
see a relatively happy, healthy looking girl who wanders in with a walker. So I see why you might not
be taking me as seriously as you ought to.

If we do end up working together again in the future, I want you to take me seriously when I tell you
that I am seriously impaired and that I live with devastating pain on a daily basis that is not
adequately controlled by pain medication or the alternate coping methods I employ. I need you to
understand that I am worsening over time, not getting better, that I am alarmed by the rapidity and
severity of my symptom development, I worry that I will be completely disabled in the near future and that my life has literally been ruined by whatever is going on with me. I want you to understand that while it's easy for you to listen to my litany of problems and then wave me out the door, I have to
live with every single one of them, every moment of every day. Nothing we have tried so far has made any of it go away. I want you to realize, truly realize, that I am becoming increasingly desperate
and unsatisfied with my quality of life, and that depression is becoming a major problem for me. This
is why I am seeking help elsewhere.

Dear Dr. L,

I want to take this time to clarify a few things that I feel are impairing the effectiveness of our doctor-patient relationship. I am completely open to the possibility that I may be misconstruing events and that you intended to convey a totally different sense of things. I would like to check if this is the case so that we can better work together to identify and manage my illnesses.

First off, you should know that I read the records I received to pass on to Dr. M, and I have them in my possession since the doctor was unable to receive me as a patient. This means that any references I make to my records are direct quotes, and not subjective memories or impressions.

I admit that I was greatly distraught upon review of my records, as I feel that there have been some serious oversights and miscommunications. (Also, I had allowed myself to raise my hopes in regards to seeing a pain specialist, so being denied that opportunity-- again-- really threw me into a state of heightened emotion.) In the "Rheumatologic Exam" section of each appointment, results for various examinations are listed as though the exams were performed at every appointment when this has not been the case. I recall only 3 appointments at most in the entire year that I have been seeing you that I have been touched or manipulated in some way for an exam; certainly not at every single appointment. It troublese me that at every appointment my joint and flexor tendon examinations have results reading "Normal exam", yet I was never examined. The trigger point examination notes diffuse trigger points throughout, but I am not re-examined for this (though it's true). Also, I noticed on my chart that I have an assessment of "fatigue with polyarthritis". Why has polyarthritis never been mentioned to me, and why are we not addressing it if it has been determined that this is an illness I'm dealing with? You have seen my health declining rapidly over the past year, yet it would appear that an apparent lead to managing my symptoms is being ignored. I need an explanation on this.

This brings me to my next, most sensitive, point. It is very clear to anyone in even basic consistent contact with me that my health has declined noticeably and rapidly within the past year. I know that we are taking steps to arrest this downward slide, yet I do not feel that I am being taken seriously. Perhaps the blame lies with me in not being clear enough about the severity, frequency, and variety of my symptoms, but the sense I get is that I'm being dismissed. It's like if I come in and say, "Oh, my sickness is at a level 7. It's debilitating, it's ruining my life," you take it as my sickness is really only at a level 4 and I'm not really that impaired. Remember the "FMS rating scale" that I brought in to show you how low my level of functioning was? I was trying to get you to understand how low my basic level of functioning had fallen, yet in that appointment's notes and almost every one following (with the exception of the last appt) it is noted that the "patient has no difficulties performing daily activities" despite my repeated testimonies to the contrary. I have tried to impress on you the extreme levels of pain that I am in by the hour, the minute, the day. I have been open about my excessive use of pain killers in the past, which was a desperate attempt to control and somehow evade this pain; to get back to a somewhat normal standard of living. I have, I thought, been very clear about the profuse, intense, and increasing amount of symptoms that I have to deal with, and the disability that has come as a result. I feel that not only is my sickness not being taken seriously enough, but I feel that the measures I am taking to cope are being dismissed as exaggerative.

A perfect example is my walker, the "Bling Chariot". (Or, as my brother calls it, "Walker, Texas Ranger". Or, as the lab techs call it, "Luke Skywalker".) I am not sure how you were unaware of my having it until now, as I've brought it to several appointments with me, and I have had it since last December. I bought it for the plane trip back to W to visit my folks. I knew that I did not have the physical endurance to both walk through the terminals and carry my bags without becoming so ill as to be rendered immobile. The cold of a W winter, and the fact that I was not yet on pain killers, forced me to use it for mobility's sake while I was there, as I could not walk normally due to pain. (This was back when the pain was localized mostly in my lower half.) When I got back home, I didn't use it for a while, feeling that I did not need it for basic mobility. After a time, I began using it when I knew that I would be standing or walking for a long period of time, and the pain from that would make moving very difficult. It was also handy for the fatigue that accompanied long periods of walking or standing. As time went on, my pain increased and my endurance decreased, and I began to use the walker more and more. My husband got me the walking stick that I think you remember so that I would not have to cart the walker around and endure the stigma of a young woman with a walker (no matter now neatly decorated), but that way I still had something to help with mobility issues due to pain and fatigue.

That worked well, until recently the pain in my hands became so great that using the stick is out of the question, and I have come to rely solely on the walker as my means of mobility aid. I explained to you at the last appointment that I use the walker to help with balance, to help me walk when pain affects my mobility, and to provide a resting place when fatigue/nausea/lightheadedness overwhelm me, which is frequently. My endurance is at the lowest it's been, and a simple grocery shopping trip of half an hour requires several rests, sometimes ending in my husband or a friend wheeling me around on the walker like it's a wheelchair because I am too sick or in too much pain to walk myself. That happens more often than I'd care for it to. I explained this to you, and in the notes for that appointment you wrote, "The patient requires walker for mobility states she has had this since 12/12, but this is the first that I have known about. Uses it for fatigue, pain, dizziness, tremors." I see that you listened to me, which is awesome, but I got the sense from the appointment (and from the notes, though I was emotional at the time of reading the notes and have since decided that I was putting the wrong meaning into that part) that you think I'm exaggerating. As you put it, you consider it to be "a crutch". (In reality, though, that's what it is, right? Because a crutch is a tool to help you be mobile when you would otherwise be immobile, so... in that sense, it is a crutch.) In short, I feel demeaned, not taken seriously.

I feel that way with my treatment as a whole, frankly. It appears to me as though you are taking me seriously, so you are not seriously pursuing the root issues of what is causing my pain and distress. I do feel a little more as though you appreciate what I'm telling you with the hand x-ray and ultrasound that was ordered, but this seems to me to be the first decisive action towards further exploration of my condition in a long while. I understand that the diagnostic process takes time, especially with the types of diseases that often mimic one another, but surely there must be a more aggressive manner to pursue diagnoses? I feel that the symptoms that I bring up are casually acknowledged and then dismissed. You sprang into action when I mentioned hand pain, but what about the insane spinal pain that I've been telling you about for several visits? That concerns me, but it is not even mentioned in the notes. The fact that I have recurrent fevers and sores of the scalp, mouth, and nose seem to be of little to no consequence to you. That you note that I "insist" that certain symptoms are related to autoimmune diseases makes me feel like I'm seen as some patient who decided she had something she found off of WebMD, not to be taken seriously. My general practitioner affirmed my inherent understanding of my body right away, and while she corrected me on some points, I still felt heard, understood, and that she was taking action on my behalf and had my well-being in mind.

I want you to take me seriously when I tell you that I am seriously impaired, that I live with devastating pain on a daily basis that is not adequately controlled by pain medication or the alternate coping methods I employ, that I am worsening over time, that I am alarmed by the rapidity and severity of my symptom development and I worry that I will be completely disabled in the near future, and that my life has literally been ruined by whatever is going on with me. I want you to understand that while it's easy for you to listen to my litany of problems and then wave me out the door, I have to live with every single one of them, every moment of every day. Nothing we have tried so far has made any of it go away. I want you to realize, truly realize, that I am becoming increasingly desperate and unsatisfied with my quality of life, and that depression is becoming a major problem for me.

While discussing this situation with my husband, he assured me that I am not a pansy, and that I'm not an exaggerator. If I say it hurts, that's because it hurts. I'm not the type to stub my toe or come down with a headache and need the rest of the day off. He reminded me that I am more in tune with my body than the average person, and I have a good grasp on what I need to do to make life work for me as well as possible. Regarding the walker, he stated that I know when and if I need the walker, and I use it. I don't rely on it unnecessarily. I trust his assessment of the situation, as he sees it with more clarity and less emotional involvement than I do, and he also sees the impact of my sickness from a different vantage point. He knows whether I actually need the walker or not. He sees me resting for an hour or more after doing a sinkful of dishes. He sees me curled up on the couch, day after day, because I am too overwhelmed with pain, nausea, and fatigue to be upright and mobile. He also played devil's advocate and made an extremely salient point, which will be my last.

My husband pointed out that when you see me, I am at my "best". I'm out and about, I'm dressed, I've got my makeup on, and I'm running on adrenaline to make it through being out of the house. You see me when I'm "okay". I'm sitting up, smiling, talking, cracking jokes... it seems that I'm doing okay. But you don't see the aftermath. You don't get to see that I barely make the drive back home and then crash on the couch for the rest of the day. You don't get to see the pain spike because I used my energy reserves for the day at that one appointment, or the fever that comes with overexertion, or the nausea and dizziness that keep me prone even if I weren't so bone-tired and wracked with pain. You don't see any of that. You see a relatively happy, healthy looking girl who wanders in with a walker. So I see why you might not be taking me as seriously as I wish that you would.

This isn't an ultimatum. This is a cry for help. I asked you in the past to help me, please help me, and you said that you would. So please... help me. I want my life back. I don't want to live this way. I hate it. I want to be a real person again, with a social life and my old hobbies and the ability to contribute to my household's budget. I want to find out what's going on, what's really going on, why I'm so sick, so I can do everything in my power to control it.

Please, correct me if I have gotten the wrong impression anywhere. I would like nothing more than for our working relationship to be strong and productive, and I apologize if I offended you in any way.

Sincerely,

Cassandra

So I have a "confession" to make. (I put confession in quotes, because the word connotes the sense that I've done something bad that I am admitting to, but I don't consider this particular thing to be bad, actually. It's just the word that most accurately conveys the type of discussion I'm about to have with myself.)

I'm done with Christianity.

I went to church a week and a half ago, and it was nice to see all the people that I'm familiar with and that care about me. That was the good part. I did get sick and have to leave just a few minutes into the sermon, but I kind of expected that. What I was looking for was... I dunno. Some kind of fulfillment. I have so much nostalgia attached to church and the singing of hymns, of listening with rapt attention to the sermon and following along in my Bible. I miss that culture sometimes, I really do. SOULS was a good time, despite all of the difficulties I experienced and the twisted ideas I came away with. I miss the camaraderie, the  passionate pursuit of a common goal. I miss the music. Oh, do I miss the music... I miss the intellectually stimulating conversations, the inside jokes, the whole culture of Adventism. I miss belonging to something.

But I didn't find that when I went to church. I didn't find anything but my friends, and even that wasn't enough. I watched the service through new eyes, and I was disappointed to find that it no longer seemed to fit in with the reality of my world. I wanted it to. I wanted it all to make sense like it used to, but it just didn't. It doesn't. But I was willing to overlook that, to try to get back into it.

Today, though, E and I went to one of the high risk charter high schools to do a presentation on teen dating violence. While we were going through the teen power and control wheel (see picture below), we were talking about abusive control. E was talking, and she was describing how a partner manipulates the other with, "If you love me, you'll _______" to get them to do what the abusive partner wants. When E said that phrase, "If you love me," the words that immediately leapt to mind to complete the phrase was a Bible verse-- John 14:15. "If you love me, keep my commandments."

That's a sentiment that's always kind of bothered me. That, and the follow-up chapter, John 15, especially verse 14: "You are my friends if you do whatever I command you." Well, duh. Of course I'd be friends with someone if they did whatever I told them to! That's always what I thought when coming across those verses, and it bothered me.

Don't get me wrong-- I think the Bible has a lot of good things going for it. There are plenty of fabulous principles to live your life by. Waiting until a mature, monogamous, long term relationship to have sex? That's good sense that's been backed up by neuropsychology. Not killing other people? Yeah, that's a pretty good idea too. Taking care of your body, treating it as a temple, a special thing? Also a great idea.

But the more I learn and heal from my past abuse the more I see why I've had such a hard time dealing with God and religion and church... because there are so many abusive, controlling overtones and triggers. Sure, some people can deal with it, and that's great. My friend J? Religion works for her. The God thing works for her. That's how she lives her life, and she's a fantastic person, and I'm really happy for her. But I just can't do it. I can't get behind someone that says, "If you love me, you will do _______." John 15:10 says, "If you keep my commands, you will remain in my love, just as I have kept my Father's commands and remain in his love."

"I will love you if you do what I say. If you love me, do what I tell you to." No. I don't think so. Sorry.

So I guess that makes me an agnostic now. I believe in a higher power, though whether that's an actual conscious intelligence or just the greater balancing force of the universe, I couldn't say right now. But I definitely believe there's more going on than just our teeny tiny little humanness down here on Earth.

Maybe someday I'll get back to Christianity. Maybe I won't. I couldn't say for sure right now. But I am relieved to have made up my mind one way or another, though I didn't expect it to come so quickly and decisively, and definitely not in the middle of a session on teen dating violence! What a place to have an epiphany, huh?

I'm not going to go announcing this from the rooftops, but I just hope that I don't lose too many of my Christian friends over this... but I guess that if they don't love me if I'm not a Christian, then a.) they weren't really my friends in the first place, and b.) they're not living up to that Christian standard they profess? I know I won't have any problems with my atheist or pagan friends. Shoot, they'll probably be happy for me. C says that he's glad that I'm getting stronger. What he means by that is that I'm thinking for myself, making my own decisions despite the possibility of disapproval from others, and I'm not doing the codependent people-pleasing thing any longer. I'm glad, too. Honestly, I'm scared of the potential rejection and backlash (and I'm really dreading possible evangelism attempts), but I know that I can be true to myself and stick to my guns. I can. But oh... I'm nervous. Please, nobody give me a tough time...

My biggest fear, the thing that brought waves of panic during the countdown to the wedding and an overwhelming sense of dread, anxiety, and nausea during the wedding rehearsal was that getting married would change everything. To be more specific, I was terrified that getting married would ruin our relationship. I mean, everything was so great, so healthy... but most of the marriages I've seen are anything but those two adjectives. They don't even remotely apply... and I was scared. If that's what marriage does to a relationship, I don't want it!

I am relieved to report that this has been far from true. My greatest fear has gone unrealized... and I am so relieved. Honestly, it's basically the same as it was before, but somehow a little better. There's no concrete "this is how being married has changed things", but it's really just a bunch of little moments all stacked together that make me think that being married just might be worth it.

Silly mock-fights in the kitchen as he tries to hang a spoon on the end of my nose, and I retaliate by flinging water at him.

Working in seamless tandem to put away groceries, pack up laundry, and zip through the grocery store.

Him automatically handing me my stick when we exit his truck.

Bringing him a glass of juice from the kitchen, because I'm in there anyway.

Him waking me up from a nap with a big fat kiss on the mouth, and gentle kisses on my forehead.

Curling up against each other in the deep hours of the night, and knowing each other's sleep patterns intimately.

Him kissing the back of my hand and calling me "scrumptious" or "little wifey", or my scratching his back while he sits at his desk and realizing that this is my husband.

Just little things like that. They're nice things, fun things. But there are the hard things, too, that help me realize it's worth it.

When I'm tossing and moaning with fever and intense pain, and he brings me water, turns on the fan, brings me pain killers, whatever I need.

When we're discussing tight finances and he includes me in his decision as to which funds to allocate where.

When I decide to postpone my dream for a year because of health reasons, and he supports me completely because I've talked through my reasons with him and he believes in me and trusts me.

When flashbacks strike and I'm crying, shaking in fear or anger, and he talks me down from the pinnacle of my distress.

So in answer to all those people all asking the same question... Yes. I am enjoying the married life. I think it was a good decision, and I'm really, really glad that I was wrong. (So far. Heh. Gotta leave room for eventualities, right?)

So here it is, folks. Another post about God.

More specifically, a post about God and why his peeps sometimes annoy me.

Okay, I'm going to start this out with an earth-shattering confession...

I don't wanna be a Christian. I don't want to serve God. I don't want to wait breathlessly on his plan for my life. I inwardly cringe when I catch mention of the phrase "God's will" (for your life, for this or that, etc.). I try to avoid talking about religion or God with anyone I don't emphatically know is either a heathen, a pagan, or an atheist/agnostic. (There are, of course, a few exceptions... but they're pretty few and far between.)

Why, you ask?

Because Christians have been given the gospel. And the gospel is all about telling people about God, and going forth, and all that jazz... so when you're having a conversation about God, the near-inevitable outcome is that the gospel rises within them and they go forth to your brain and your opinions and your worldview and proceed to try to get you around to their way of thinking, somehow.

I was there once. I know how this game is played. And now that I'm on the other side of the net? I wish I'd never done that to people.

Seriously. I have so. much. regret. about my canvassing days and the post-SOULS years. So much guilt and embarrassment. Why, oh why, did I do those things to people?

Well, I didn't know any better. I was trained to do that. And I desperately wanted acceptance, approval, and a spot in the world. Oh, and I wanted God to like me.

E says my understanding of Christianity is warped. I say fine. Then I don't feel so bad laying it down and trying to figure out what's real.

I'm not trying to justify my choices at all. I fully acknowledge that a great many people who are or have at one time been invested in my life to a high degree would be disappointed, crushed, heartbroken, or any combination of negative adjectives upon hearing this. But it's not about other people, is it? No, not at all.

It's not just that I have anger issues with God. I fully acknowledge that one, as well. It's more than that, though...

A friend told me not to terribly long ago that I'm a very accepting person, very open, and it's true. As black and white as my thinking tends to be, I have a hard time seeing the world around me in strictly blacks and whites. The claim of exclusive truth always felt off to me, and I resent the implications that exclusive truth brings. (Namely, that everyone else is wrong!)

I was walking and praying, probably about this time last year, and puzzling over church, God, my involvement with the two... my heart... my brain... my questions... and then I walked under this tree. And I had an epiphany of sorts.

What if God is a tree? I mean, what if God is the trunk, and all those branches are the different religions or worldviews or whatever? (Keep in mind that I'd just been learning about learning styles in a class of mine.) What if each soul has a particular "learning style", and they gravitate toward the branch that will teach them who God is most clearly? For some, that may be Adventism. For others, that may be Islam. For yet others, that may be Wicca. But each soul learns about who God really is, just through different means.

It made a lot of sense to me. Despite my rigid adherence to SDAism for so many years, I naturally gravitate towards the faiths that find their understanding more in the natural world, through rituals, and through the world around them.

Don't get me wrong-- I totally believe in Intelligent Design. I believe in a Creator. I just realize that I don't know diddly squat about him, and the God that I've been interacting with all these years could very well be a figment of my imagination because he's not like how I've imagined him to be at all and I've just been projecting things onto him... which means that the God I know could be, for all intents and purposes, all in my head.

Do I believe that God inspired the writing of the Bible? Assuredly. Do I believe that it's inerrant? In intent, yes. There are contradictions within the pages of the Bible, both in details and in more philosophical aspects (like God's split personality, for one), and anyone who denies this is really, really living in la-la-land. Even the ABC has books about reconciling the "apparent" contradictions in the Bible. They're there.

Do I believe that the Bible is the only literature God ever inspired? No. I do not.

See, I've had questions for a long time... questions that I've never fully articulated or examined, because I knew that my faith wasn't up to the test. One of the reasons I hated going door to door was that I couldn't stand pushing stuff on people that I didn't fully or really believe myself. I ran across two quotations that really challenged me, though, and disturbed my placid pool of Christianity deeply.

The first is by Epicurus, and is pretty famous. (They're both pretty famous, actually.) It goes like this:
"Is God willing to prevent evil, but not able? Then he is not omnipotent. Is he able, but not willing? Then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? Then whence cometh evil? Is he neither able nor willing? Then why call him God?"

That pretty well sums up why I'm so angry and yes, even somewhat bitter, with God. He could have stopped my molestation and abuse. But he didn't. Didn't he want to? Did he just not see what was happening? Did he not care?

I've gotten the standard Adventist answer about the Great Controversy more times than I can count, and I've handed it out more times than I can count. I've even tried really hard to believe it, and I do sometimes. But it just doesn't satisfy my deep need for a God that cares. Yes, I know. Jesus. Right. Please, I went to Bible college, I've got this down. But that's God caring about humanity. Where's the God that cares about the toddler that was placed in a hot oven that seared her back? Where's the God that cares about the same toddler, locked in a cold bath with ice cubes until her lips were blue and laughed at by her mom's jealous, abusive boyfriend? Where's the God that cares about the skinny child with large bloody bruises across her buttocks and legs from being beat with a leather belt because she interrupted her step-dad's video game? Where's the God that cares about that child as she slept on blankets in the hallway to avoid being alone in her room at night, only to have her abuser join her in plain sight and work his hand between her legs, or spill his semen all over her blankets?

Where's the God that's going to do anything about all that shit? I'm just getting started on the tragic experiences, you know.

Where's the God that listened to the cries and prayers of that girl who believed in him so fervently, who believed all that talk about just asking Jesus and he'd come make everything better? (It's a bunch of b.s., by the way. Just praying to Jesus doesn't make anything better, despite what you hear in Sabbath school. He may be there with you, but he's a pretty passive bystander.)

And shoot, that's just my story. What about the little girl in H who was being raped by her dad and brothers, who prayed and prayed for God to help her, and even made sure to describe how to get to her house after time had passed and he hadn't stopped them? What about the story in Angels Among Us where God sends an angel to keep that little girl from being molested? WTF, God? Really? You're gonna jump in for her, but not for me, or for my girls in group, or for the other countless children that are being beaten, starved, or molested?

I'm sorry, but I'm not content to sit around accept this absent father God anymore.

Did you know that I realized I'm a quasi-Buddhist recently? I stumbled across this Q&A about Buddhism that was really, really well written, and I realized while going through it that I believed a lot of the same things they do. In this last year of searching and thinking and praying, I've developed a lot of beliefs and come to a lot of conclusions that Buddhism has been espousing for thousands of years. Funny, huh? The big, huge difference is that Buddhists do not believe that gods exist, whereas I do. So I can't be entirely Buddhist, but I definitely embrace most of their philosophies. That's pretty much the path I'm taking at this point.

Here's the other quote that shook me up so deeply. This one is from Marcus Aurelius.
“Live a good life. If there are gods and they are just, then they will not care how devout you have been, but will welcome you based on the virtues you have lived by. If there are gods, but unjust, then you should not want to worship them. If there are no gods, then you will be gone, but will have lived a noble life that will live on in the memories of your loved ones.”

That's kind of where I'm at at this point.

I'm tired. I'm tired of performing. Tired of trying to make it work. Tired of trying to be "right"... Should being right be this hard? I mean, if it's right... should it not be at least a little self-evident?

And the thing is... I really can't tell any of this to Christians, because it's appalling to them. It's abhorrent. Especially because I was once one of the elite, a shining star, an example to the other youth and an encouragement to the older generations.

How the mighty have fallen. Heh.

Again, it's not about other people. It's really not. It's about me doing what I perceive to be the best and most right thing... right now.

I am in no way claiming that this is not all subject to change, because it totally is. I could change my mind tomorrow! But that's the beauty of free will, and religious freedom. I have the choice to change my mind.

I just wish that people would accept that, stop trying to change my mind, stop being all disappointed and pouty when the realize I don't believe as they do anymore, stop being threatened by my choices... and just let me be. 

Please. Just let me be. Let me make my own choices. Stop trying to change my mind. I'm not doing this purposely to screw with you, you know. I'm trying to find my way through life, just like everyone else... Except that I don't derive my power to be happy, optimistic, productive, or even functional from God. It's inside me, where it's always been. It was only after realizing that I'm the one that's been doing all the work that I felt free. It's been me that's worked on myself, me that has healed, me that has taken risks and accepted challenges and made mistakes and been a good person. (Granted, a lot of times I was a good person out of fear of what would happen if I wasn't, but it was still me.)

Maybe God uses the strength I have inside myself to get stuff done. Maybe God uses the people around me to lift me up and speak words of life that encourage and inspire me. But I'm done with the image that he's camped out in a tent somewhere inside me with an assortment of factories that he uses to produce various things like goodness, strength, etc.

Anyway, I've probably gone on enough of a bitter diatribe here to last for a good, long time.

But before I quit, I do want to address one more thing that really, really bothers me. 

I am marrying an atheist. It's true.

However, please refrain from the following sentence when you talk about him:

"He's a really good guy, but..."

Yes, the "but" refers to his atheism. It's like all the virtues, all the good qualities, all the responsible behaviors and solid choices and the moral nature are all canceled out by the fact that he doesn't believe in God. That he had questions that were never satisfactorily answered by religion or the Bible. That he saw contradictions and hypocrisy and wanted nothing to do with it. That he was burned by Christians themselves, judged and dismissed because they knew one thing about him that they didn't agree with. 

And I've gotten the "but", too, in regards to my choices.

You're a good person, but you can't actually be considered a good person, because of this. I'm sorry. You fail the morality test. Sure, you got every other question right, but those actually don't count for anything. It's this one that determines whether you pass or fail. (Because really... if a Christian is a bad person or makes a bad choice, well, God can forgive anything, right? And they probably weren't really a Christian to begin with. But if an atheist or some other religion is a bad person or makes a bad choice, well, see? Those amoral hooligans just can't do anything else. They've given in to the carnal nature, and the carnal nature is emnity against God. Yep. It just stands to reason.)

No more "but"s.

I'm a good person. I have been a good person. And I will continue to be a good person.

Whether that's as a Christian, as a quasi-Buddhist, as a Wiccan, or as an atheist, I will still be a good person. Who I am is not what God I believe in, or how I choose to worship him.

So no more "but"s, okay? And I promise to try to be more tolerant of Christians and not roll my eyes so much.

Deal? :)

What an odd sort of week. Good, to be sure... but odd.

I had my second counseling appointment today. It went well, and already she says she can see positive things happening.

We talked a lot about “breaking the cycle” that I go through with depression and stress. Apparently, I’ve already identified my own cycle (true), and I was able to describe how I broke out of it.

Having a sounding board is so helpful to me. She picks up on what I say, reflects it back, and I have to stop and think, “Oh, yeah. I said that, huh?”

Also, HUGE validation from H (the counselor)! We were talking about guilt and self-talk and expectations and all that. As she summarized my life currently, she said, “You have a lot on your plate. You’re very busy.”

I cannot tell you how validating, how good it felt to hear her say that. Weird, I know. But I guess it’s that constant background tape of “Well, you’re not really that busy. You’re not doing that much. Other people do this much and more. You could be doing more. You should be doing more. You’re really not that busy. Don’t get too impressed with yourself-- this is nothing.” To hear someone else say, “Wow, you are really busy,” kind of gives me permission to step back and say, “You know what? Yes. Yes, I am. And I am not going to be ashamed or guilty of the fact that I think my plate is full.” (That’s a tendency of mine, of course. Boundary setting related, I think. Who am I to say that my plate is full? Um, hello, only the one who has to live with all these crazy decisions!! lol)

If my friend told me, “I’m going to school full time, working part time, doing odd jobs on the side, volunteering, and planning a wedding,” I would tell her, “Dude. You’re doing a ton. You’re my hero. Seriously, though, knock it off. You’re going to kill yourself.” (Much like how I feel when I talk to a certain Miss KW... lol) Yeah. My tendency is to over-fill my plate, which leads to collapse, then horrible, horrible guilt for now doing nothing and for collapsing in the first place. To compensate for the horrible guilt (or maybe to appease it and give it what it wants so it’ll stop gnawing at me?), I then load my plate over-full again, which leads to collapse, and then... Gah. Somebody shoot me.

So it was... there were.. lessons. I guess.

Those few weeks of bliss, of balance, have given me hope that I can actually live like that. And I got away from it. I don’t feel like a failure, because all I did was drift back to my normal, comfortable, familiar ways of dealing with life and myself. These new behaviors will take time and practice to learn, and that’s okay and totally normal. I need to be realistic and kind about this.

So! Here’s my toolbox, my Control Panel for adjusting the knobs and buttons of my inner brain workings. First of all, I need to learn how to relax. I need to intentionally set time aside for reward and rejuvenation. (Especially with the adrenal burnout. I’m getting that message loud and clear from my science class, as we’re going over the endocrine system right now. The way to heal adrenal fatigue is lots and lots of rest, and that’s the opposite of what I do with myself!!)

Here is how I am going to be intentional with myself and my thoughts for this coming week (and the weeks beyond, but let’s just take it one step at a time, shall we?).

• Self-validation for work/accomplishment

Part of what I was doing for myself those good weeks was taking time to praise myself and acknowledge what I’d done throughout the day. Rather than impatiently demanding more from myself, I stepped back, looked at the day, and said, “Hey, you’ve really done a lot today C. And you’ve done it well. Good job! So, what fun thing would you like to do as a reward?” That was great! But, well... life crowded it out. It wasn’t a priority. And it needs to be..

• Control-- I have the choice.

Most of my life, I have felt and/or actually been powerless. Life, my circumstances, Providence, etc. It all ran me. I didn’t really choose, I waited around to see what I should do, what I was supposed to do, “what is God/my parents/my godly friends/Ellen White telling me to do?”, etc. Part of what’s been so liberating for me is taking back my freedom to choose, and the responsibility that comes with it. This last week, when I was getting all wound up and stressed about the upcoming trip to Yosemite and the preparations necessary and my homework and work and what have you, I texted BJ and told her that I may not go. She wasn’t enthusiastic about the idea, but just knowing that I could choose whether to go or not and it would all be okay regardless (even if she was disappointed, she’s a big girl and can take responsibility for her own feelings-- I do not have to do that for her!) was the relief I needed to be able to handle what was left to be done. And that’s what got me through the weekend during the most trying times; knowing that I had chosen to be there. This really goes along with, and is a part of, setting boundaries. (Which we all know is something that I’ve been working on.)

• Prioritize-- let it go.

This is something that started percolating in my head with the last counselor. Making lists of all that needs to be done, breaking it up into realistic segments, and learning not to freak out if something doesn’t get done that day. No problem. Just move it to tomorrow. It’s okay. I need to do this with my life, both big picture and nitty gritty. This actually... may change a few things right now. We discussed how when I try to deal with the past abuse, I basically morph into this person that can’t function at all, and I hate it. But my personality is that “get it over and done with” type, and I know that I “have issues” (as we’ve come to call it lol), and I want to get those straightened out! Especially with my health and all... I mean, I know they’re related. As I heal emotionally, I heal physically. Which is why it’s such a novel concept for me to look at my life, evaluate it, realize that I have a full plate (yay!), and... decide to maybe put intensive healing on the back burner for a while. It’s like, now that I’ve added in wedding planning, I have to take something else out to keep the equilibrium.

It feels weird, though... like I’m giving up? But I know I’m not. I think part of taking care of yourself is recognizing when you need to step back for a while. Even the book on abuse I’m reading now says that. I just totally didn’t think it would apply to me! (I distinctly remember thinking, “Oh, yeah. Right. Like I’ll ever do that...”)

• Identify overwhelming triggers

Goes with the above. Take stock, focus, and re-work things so they aren’t overwhelming.

• Logical, patient self-talk (vs. impatient, illogical)

I’m seeing that I’m basically learning to take care of the child within me, the one that was never nurtured. I need to treat myself as I would a child-- kindness, patience, acknowledgement of achievements (no matter how small!), appropriate expectations, fun :D, encouraging development of personality, etc. Logical, patient self-talk will have much to do with this. Especially the patient part. I must be patient with myself. This will definitely be a new one.

I bet the impatience comes from having to grow up so fast. I needed to have arrived already, all the time. I never got the chance to learn at an appropriate pace. I had to be a mother, a daughter, a sister, a housekeeper, a babysitter, a lover (?!), a good student, a kid, a confidante, a friend, a keeper of family secrets... all at the same time. All way too young. Seven? Eight? Nine? Poor kid. Poor little me. I will never, ever do that to my children.

• Meditation

Yeah, I know it’s weird. But this has come up so many times the last week or two, it’s thoroughly ridiculous. From all different sources. It’s like, “God, are you trying to tell me something?” And I know the SDA’s reading this are thoroughly alarmed. A trap of the devil! Runnnnnnn!

Erm, yes. I suppose. I’m kind of over the whole “ruse of Satan” thing, though, because it was applied to pretty much everything for so long that it’s lost its effectiveness. (Cheese! It’s of the devil! lol) I mean, if he’s gonna get me, he’s gonna get me. That’s deception, right? That’s what always puzzled me... “The devil is trying to deceive you! Beware! Be alert!” Yeah, but, if it’s a deception... then you can’t see it. Thus the very nature of the thing. So what’s the point in being all worked up all the time over everything? My philosophy is that you do the best you can and trust (hope?) that God is really what he claims.

I think I’ve become firmly entrenched in my wariness/general dislike for organized religion. Hmm. Who woulda thought I’d end up here? The happy Bible worker? (Puh-leeze!)

So! Back to meditation. Um, I don’t know. It’s like when I went back to eating meat. I’m half afraid that I’m wrong and I’ll get zapped or thrown into Hades or possessed by demons or something. On the other hand... really?! I read a study earlier today about how regular meditation has been objectively and consistently proven to markedly decrease anxiety, depression, stress, and perfectionism. (The answer that leaps to mind is that the devil is oppressing people with these problems and then when they do what he wants--meditation-- he relieves the affliction to hook them. Right? Right? Do I get a gold star?) Data. Hard data. What am I supposed to do with that? And those are the very things that I’m trying to learn to cope with.

The other day on a walk, I was talking to God and asking him why it was that the very things that are hallmarks of Christianity are the things that I’m finding great freedom and joy in bucking? Relinquishing control/surrendering my life. Well, actually, now that I’m taking control of my own life, my mental and emotional distress have eased considerably. (Yeah, it almost seems like my spontaneous depression has abated entirely! Coincidence??) Constantly striving for perfection of character. You know, accepting myself as I am, accepting that I am good enough, flaws and all... that’s really been a huge doorway for me. Hard, but huge. And contrary to what I’d been fed. Today, I was able to tell myself that I loved me, and that I was going to take care of me to the best of my ability. You never would have heard those words from me when I was going to church. Self-denial. Hmm. I feel giddy even saying this, but deciding to put myself first and take care of myself first and do what I need to do for me to be okay in whatever situation I’m in... has been so... I dunno. Healthy. Joyful. Balancing. Freeing. Empowering. I will be damned before I go back to the way I was living at SOULS.

I dunno. It’s just so hard for me to reconcile all this with what I’ve been taught. I mean, what do you do when your experience flies in the face of your church’s teachings? Of course, that would automatically mean that you’re wrong, I suppose, but... I just can’t accept that.

So anyway (not to digress at all), all those little things that I was doing during my weeks of bliss are good, healthy behaviors that I need to practice and replace my old ways with.

Easier said than done. :)

Okay, the guys are right. B and C talked some sense into me.

I was just... scared.

I've spent my whole life without being safe, but wanting safety desperately.

Every time I think I've got it figured out... something knocks that illusion out from in front of my eyes, and I'm forced to face the gaping uncertainty that laces the edges of our lives here on earth.

We had a crazy major storm blow through here yesterday. They call it a "tornadic event", but I think it was more like a hurricane, 'cause of all the wind and rain and whatnot. Anyway, the wind caused a LOT of damage. There are still places without power, and APS says there are over 60 electricity poles just snapped.

My grandparent's sheds were lifted, tangled, and thrown elsewhere while the contents were left to lie in the soaking rain. The contents that include my box of books, my three totes with whatever I couldn't fit into C's place. My books are good and waterlogged, but I'm hoping I can save them. The only one I'm worried about (and distraught over) is my 100 year old book. I'm not sure it'll pull through. It's already falling apart, much to my grief and distress.

What really set me off, though, was the fact that my little file of cards and notes from friends and family got tossed out of one of the bins that had been upended, and many of those were ruined.

One, especially... the awesome "Hear Ye, Hear Ye" birthday card from the S's. When I saw that it was completely illegible and undiscernable at all, I lost it.

I miss them. I miss them so much. And I miss the intentionality of that life. I have purposed in my heart that I am going to go to the dollar store and I am going to get fall decorations and I am going to decorate the house for the season! (Even if we don't really have that season here...) And I am going to make a nice dinner to celebrate the coming of fall, and I'm going to be intentional about doing special things throughout the year, like the S's do. (It's easier to make a big deal out of stuff when you've got 5 people to pull from... there's always a birthday or a first something or other or a good test score to celebrate. When it's just you and a couple of other people who don't really vary their routines, well... slim pickings. Maybe it's time to look for excuses to celebrate?)

And also I'm grieving over D. I know he's not my dad. I know that. And we did maintain an aloofness, but we also had a bond... and I trust him. And it just seems like every time I get even the resemblance of a father figure in my life... they get taken away. And it's not fair. (No, I know I have R. But even that has been back and forth. Remember recently, when I thought he was an abuser? Yeah. Ouch.)

And it's especially not fair to the girls, or to C, because they've had him so long. I'll miss him, but nothing like they will.

And knowing that D was the one who made up that card, and that his message to me was in there, and that someday in the near future, I guess, I won't be able to get that anymore and that what I had was taken away, well.... it just sent me over the edge.

And I'm scared to care about anything at all, because it just opens you up to be hurt.

As B pointed out, though... people who don't care at all usually end up being murderers and rapists. I don't want that.

And both B and C pointed out that having the memories is worth it. Knowing that he was there, and that I cared about him, well... it's worth it. It really is.

And they're right. I guess.

I can see their point, though I'm not entirely sold...

It scares me how much I care for C, because if he were to be taken from me... I'd probably lose it. Like, having to be checked into a mental hospital lose it. Temporarily, of course. But it wouldn't be pretty.

On the note of caring for C... I have it on good authority that C is actively plotting a proposal. I don't know what it is, but apparently it will set the bar a level higher for every other guy under the sun. Apparently it will be a really, really good story.

Do you know how excited I am about that? :D

And also I might possibly have a job. A job I can do without killing myself. A job involving taking care of an adorable 14 month old baby boy. Um, yes please. Where do I sign up?!

See? Life's not all bad, scary stuff. It lurks... but I suppose that I just have to choose to focus on the good.

I said this morning, and I said it later even after I was crying... "Thank you, God, for this good day. It's a good day."

And it is.

Got a message from another friend. B, to be specific.

He says:

Hi C,

    I am unable to sleep, I'm not sure if it's because of an extremely active evening of racquetball, or a mis-interpreted FB message, maybe you can help.

    Let me begin by telling you how I am soooo looking forward to playing racquetball with you in the Heavenly courts where we'll use the power of thought for racquets, and the stars for balls, deflecting them off walls that don't exist. Can you imagine how wonderful that will be!

   CONCERN:   Your choice of words in reply to your mom's FB message  " Are you hiding under my bed? C and I were JUST talking about graphene last night! Odd..." is troubling me.

Please don't misunderstand my motives, I am your friend, and I'm concerned for you.

B

I replied:

B,

I, too, am looking forward to playing racquetball--albeit a little sooner, and I'm pretty sure O doesn't qualify as Heaven, so... ;)

I appreciate that you care, but I don't understand what your concern is. I see nothing wrong with the message, and I don't know how you interpreted, or misinterpreted, the post.

C

Now, I suppose that might be a bit of a mistruth. I think I know what concerns him, but I don't want to jump to any unsubstantiated conclusions.

I'm pretty sure he's worried that a.) C and I are back together, or b.) that C and I are sharing the same bed. Either one could reasonably inferred from the statement. They're both true, and he may very well be inferring both conclusions. And, knowing his conservative religious stance... I can see how that would be a problem for him. (Of course, it could be true that I was talking to C on the phone while in my room, or it could also be true that C and I were simply talking about graphene, with the "under my bed" simply being an expression of speech meant to signify an uncanny awareness of my activities.)

However... it somewhat galls me that he should be the one claiming concern for my emotional or relational life when he was the one who took me on that long, horrific, awkward emotional trip. Really? Really?! I think not.

I appreciate the concern, in a perfunctory fashion. But I'm getting tired of well-meaning friends trying to guilt-trip me back into the church, or away from C. I'm an adult now, tu sabes? So... basically... step off. I've made my choice, although some may not know that. (For instance, the friends I'm having supper with tonight...)

And perhaps I've erred in being secretive in this regard. I just really, really, really don't feel like expending the emotional energy to constantly defend my choice. The problem is that most of those I've surrounded myself with in the past few years-- my chosen culture-- are the type to see this choice as wrong and challenge it. So you see how much easier it is to be quiet, rather than brazen and flaunting...

Oh. Does it appear that I feel like I'm doing something wrong because I'm being secretive? Hmmm... it might. That hadn't really occurred to me.

Well, if anyone asks me, I'll tell them the truth. I'm still not going to flaunt it. But I'm not going to work as hard at being evasive.

It's funny... when you don't have an institution or a peer group or a bunch of leaders (purposely or inadvertently) pressuring you to make certain choices and adopt a certain lifestyle... you revert to who you really are. When there's no fear of abandonment or rejection... you can make the choices that you want to.

And I feel like I've been transported back to my high-school self in terms of values and choices, but more skilled, wiser, and more mature this time around.

I wonder if I've been the same person underneath, all this time, just afraid to let myself show?

Note: Got a letter from B later that basically said my reply had abated his concern, and he has thoroughly been enjoying racquetball. So... my curiosity remains. What was he thinking??