I watched an anime with Corey last night that really tore me up. There's a stray cat that "adopts" one of the main characters and it's black and lovey and adorable little kitten thing, and through the few episodes it shows up you watch how it just adores this girl and she adores it and they're so happy together… and then it gets hit by a car, but it doesn't die right away. She finds it and it dies in her arms and she (and I) both basically lose it.

I thought I was over the loss of Bob and Cortes, but this silly cartoon brought back all of the grief as if it were totally fresh, and I have been mourning so HARD since then. One thing leads to another and I find myself grieving all the losses of my life at once, and I am paralyzed.

The really, really hard part is that if I had done just one thing differently, both might still be alive. With Cortes, I saw the puddle of antifreeze that had leaked out of Corey's truck before Cortes ever got to it, and I knew that I should sprinkle kitty litter over it to absorb the antifreeze so one of the cats wouldn't get hurt, but… I wasn't feeling well, and I was in pain, so I decided to leave it for later. I had the front door open to let in the lovely spring air, and that's how I saw Cortes lift his little face up and lick his mouth when he had lapped up most of that puddle of antifreeze. I didn't see him soon enough to stop him, but I had seen the puddle maybe an hour earlier and had chosen not to do anything about it, and he died because of my selfishness.

Then there's Bob Cat. He and I both grieved terribly for Cortes, he especially since they were litter mates and had never been separated. Bob had never been alone without his best friend before, and he would walk the house, crying for his brother. It was very distressing for both of us. He eventually got over it a little, as did I, but he didn't perk up entirely. I thought maybe he was still depressed, but he got a respiratory infection type thing and it lingered on for a few weeks. I took him to the vet to find out what was wrong, and it was discovered that Bob had feline leukemia, something he had probably contracted from some other cat in our neighborhood. I could have had him vaccinated, but I had chosen not to because we were struggling to pay for my medical bills already, and we didn't want to add vet bills on top of that. It's not an expensive vaccination, but I thought that I could gamble and win and thereby save money for my medical problems. My decision cost Bob his life. Both of the brothers lost, out of the blue. No warning. (Now I'm very paranoid whenever any of the cats seems to be looking a little run down or displays any kind of health problem.)

I miss my little babies. I raised them from newborns! They were my furry children and I miss them so much, and I hate myself so much for being so selfish that they died before they could even become full grown. My anger and my grief over my lovely babies of course brings up all of the feelings of loss and anger I've had to deal with over the past 5 years, and I feel like it's too much. I just want to lay down and not wake back up. I'm so tired, and I hurt so much.

I have been comforting myself with the knowledge that, had Bob and Cortes not died, I would never have gotten to experience the love and silly quirks of Fancy and Vladimir, both of whom I love deeply. They make me laugh often, and along with Juneaux I am often overwhelmed with their love and loyalty to me. I'm just afraid that I'm going to make a wrong choice somewhere along the line and lose one of them as well. Or worse, one of my people.

I'm just hurting. Hurting and worn down and tired and depressed and really, really frustrated all of the time. I feel like calling myself "princess warrior" is a stupid joke. There's nothing I'm dealing with that I can actually fight or change. I just try not to think about all of the crappyness, distracting myself with books or movies and such, but sometimes a memory or a feeling gets triggered and you just can't help yourself. Writing all this out makes me feel better, actually, along with the irrepressible and all consuming sobs and wailing.

I have some stuff for the weekend I need to get done. Hopefully it'll help distract me a bit, and I'll probably end up blasting some music that always makes me feel better while I work. Either that or I'll nap for a bit, THEN blast the music and work. I'd rather curl into a ball and just fade away, but I've already made promises, so… trudge on, I shall.

I've been turning this around and around in my head and heart for the past few days, and I need to just get it out on "paper" so I can think through it... or at least feel it less... or maybe feel it fully. I dunno.

Saturday night, my youngest (bio) sister J called me in tears. She said that she was breaking down and that she couldn't stop crying and she didn't know who to call 'cause Mom wasn't answering her phone so she called me. I was honored, but concerned. As it turns out, she was having a PTSD flashback attack, being assaulted by memories that she had previously been repressing, and she didn't know how to deal with it or how to stop the memories. I talked with her through it and managed to get her calmed down, and we talked for about 2 hours. She didn't want to talk specifics at all, which I totally understand, but she said that she had memories of bad things happening to her. I guess that I just couldn't absorb what she was telling me, so I assumed she was talking about physical abuse and went with that for the rest of the conversation.

R called me in a panic an hour or two later (well, as panicked as he gets, anyway) saying that J had texted him in the course of a text convo they were having that the same thing that happened to me had happened to her. After our conversation and my piecing together the big picture from context clues in our conversation, I fb messaged her and asked outright, "Those memories that are troubling you... are they sexual in nature?" She responded that they were.

Dear god.

Here's the kicker... we share the same molester.

He's her father. Her biological father. I mean, how sick is that?! One thing that I've clung to all these years is that, "Well, at least he was only my step dad." 

She's been disclosing to family members and calling people involved the past few days... trying to make sense of the whole thing, I think, and also to validate her memories. She doesn't trust herself fully, so she needs someone to confirm that she was, in fact, abused and that she's not making it up. We've been in close contact since that night, whether it be through phone call, text, or Facebook chat. I am so glad that I followed the impulse I had recently to reach out to her and establish a deeper bond and to make myself available to her via regular phone calls. When she needed a support and someone to turn to, she had someone who was there for her.

Although I hate the situation with a passion, it did help to boost my professional confidence that I handled her crisis so well. I had no idea that I knew so much! I'm pretty much terrified of dealing with my girls when they're in crisis mode, and I have avoided giving out my phone number for that very reason. Besides my own trepidation, fear of somehow bungling it and damaging them further, and feelings of inadequacy, I know that it takes a lot of energy to deal with someone in an emotional crisis and I don't always have anything to give. I am selfish, I'll admit it. When I'm home, I don't want to be bothered with someone else's problems most of the time. Now, though... my perspective has changed. I realize how much I know, that I can help someone through a crisis... and I feel like my heart has been opened towards my girls a little more now. I have more love for them. It's hard to explain. But I'll be handing out my card with my phone number on it tonight to all of the girls, and I started a Facebook group last week just for them. I'm glad that I am involved in the teen/tween group again. It's not like it was last time when I was drowning, untrained and casting about on my own while battling my own demons without any weapons. I'm in a much stronger place emotionally, the turmoil of my romantic life has died down, and I've gotten some good counseling and experience under my belt. I've also gone through the program myself for a while, and that was worth more than anything in terms of training and learning.

So back to J. R called me while I was traveling the other day, and we urgently hammered out some of the details for me to fly back and be there with the folks for a few weeks next month. Mom will be having a hysterectomy and will be physically out of commission for a while and J needs a good support system more than ever right now. (She was hospitalized for suicidal ideations again last week.) She and I have really, really clicked and connected, and being a survivor of the same kind of abuse from the same abuser puts me in a unique position to minister to her. She sees that my life is good, that I have not only survived but thrived (HJ mission statement plug, lol), and I think that will give her hope. The beginning is hard, but the healing is even harder, and she's got a lot to work through. K was very abusive to her while they were growing up and it has affected her in dramatic ways. I'm trying to convince her to move here to Y with me for a year or two at the least after she graduates high school this year. I think that going through the HJ program with girls her age that are also wonderful, strong, empathetic survivors would hep her avoid a lot of heartache, pain, and dysfunction in the future.

Those are the facts. But the feelings? I guess I'm just numb still. I'm shocked, disgusted, sorrowful... but it's all kind of muted, far-off, tamped down. It'll probably be really intense while I'm there with her. I had restless sleep last night and woke up feeling all gross inside and I know it's because of this. I guess I've just written G off to such a degree that I can't feel anything about him right now, not yet. But I guess the biggest thing I feel is relief. I am relieved that I can do what I've been doing my whole life and rush in to take care of my family and help make things better, make them run smoother. I don't feel so helpless because I was there for J in her hour of need, I had the experience and training necessary to help her through the critical juncture, and I'll be there physically to be a support for her. I'll be there physically to help take care of my family's physical needs while Mom is out of commission (and even while she's not-- I've had reports that she's overwhelmed right now and not doing so well). I can do something, I already have, and that relief trumps everything else. I can't fix it; I know that. But I can help set the bone and make sure the fracture heals clean while the healing takes place.

I guess that I just never thought he would hurt his own kids, you know? Me, obviously. K, maybe. But his kids? They were obviously his favorites. I can't believe that even after all he did to me I still accorded him some measure of decency. Guess I was wrong. I would do a lot of things to make sure he never sees the light of day again... not for me, but for my baby girl, my sweet little sister. God. I can't even assimilate this. How could he? I don't have english words strong enough for my sense of outrage and repulsion. He is her father. I just... I just... I don't know. My heart is broken and inflamed all at once. My baby... he hurt my baby.

When it was just about me, it was excusable. (I know, I know, logic says it's not, but this is what the inner voices say, ok? I'm working on it. Give me a break.) I took the hit so the other kids would be safe. I took care of them, you know? But then when we were all taken away, when they were out of my care, he hurt her. He did bad things to her. There's nothing I could have done to stop it; I know that. But I spent all of these years believing that I had somehow saved the rest of them... that I had done my job as Second Mommy and taken care of my family to the best of my ability. But now I realize that I never could. I was just a kid, and he was a sick adult bent on draining the life and livelihood of those around him for his own selfish purposes. He never cared about us. It was always about him, only about him. This is proof.

There is no "I should have been there", because there is no way I could have been. The situation was out of my hands. I was too busy trying to take care of K and myself, and then Mom when we got back to her. The kids were with their Gramma and Grampa, so of course they were safe! They were taken care of. I didn't have to worry. Because, I mean, of course he singled me out... I was the oldest. The blonde one. The one that looked different. They were his. He doted on them. He'd take care of them, even if he despised K and I.

I was wrong.

But I can take care of her now. I can help. I can't change what happened, but I can change what happens from here on out... and I'm going to take care of my baby.

Hell hath no fury like that of a woman whose loved ones have been hurt.

I can't even... I just can't. I'm done. So very, very done.

I didn't sleep last night. (I should be trying to sleep now, but the pain is hammering away at me and I'm thoroughly distracted by it.) I was definitely at a 10 on the traditional pain scale, and having a full body twitching episode to boot. C held me while I cried. Well, ok, I dozed some eventually... but I kept waking myself up with cries and moans of pain and alarm. My PTSD symptoms have been escalating gradually over the past few days, and I'm not sure why. They've been interrupting my sleep, and last night was particularly bad. I've been anxious, too... jumpy. Whatever.

Anyway, I wasn't able to drive because I couldn't lift my arms or turn from side to side, but a friend picked me up and took me to my doctor's appointment. While there, the endocrinologist proceeded to exclaim over how I've gained 17 lbs in the past 3 months.

Great. Thanks, doc. I knew I'd been gaining weight, and I'm trying to eat healthy so as not to gain unnecessarily, but I'm pretty much in enforced sedentary mode, here. Not to mention that the Lyrica made me gain some weight, and I never lost the weight I put on from eating all those damn cookies (oh, those delicious cookies!)...

So anyway, I went in feeling crappy and exhausted and miserable and in pain and came out feeling even worse about myself.

I'm so done.

I'm sinking lower and lower into the pit of depression that I recognize oh-so-well... and I feel like I'm too weak to even try to pull myself out, or slow my descent at all. If anything, I welcome the abyss. It's familiar and painful and maybe this inner pain and shredding self-hatred will distract me from the physical pain that is leaching the color from my life and the life from my soul.

Playground school bell rings again
Rain clouds come to play again
Has no one told you she's not breathing?
Hello, I am your mind giving you someone to talk to
Hello

If I smile and don't believe
Soon I know I'll wake from this dream
Don't try to fix me, I'm not broken
Hello, I'm the lie living for you so you can hide
Don't cry

Suddenly I know I'm not sleeping
Hello, I'm still here
All that's left of yesterday

Behold, the rise of Vivian... yet again.

It's been a while.

I'm on this wild roller coaster ride of emotion tonight.

It's a battle, that's for sure.

Interesting note: I've been off of my natural anti-depressant for a few days, since I ran out and don't have the money to get more, and I've had 3 bad days in a row. That hasn't happened in some time.

Coincidence? Probably not.

But this is the kick in the butt I need to get myself back to a counselor, I think.

Just another thing to add to the to-do list.

Shut up, Vivian.

So I've really been mulling over this whole "protection and God" thing, because it really, really bugs me. I've been getting feedback from both sides-- "God never promised to protect us (think of the Natalie Grant song 'Held')", or... well.. actually, that's all I've gotten. The other side is me, saying "Yes he did! I could have sworn he did!"

So I started reading Job again.

I used to love Job.

Job 38 used to be one of my favorite chapters of the Bible. I love the majestic imagery it invokes.

However, I'm having a bit of a problem with the book of Job this time around.

I mean... I see the backdrop of the Great Controversy that I've been trained to see, but superimposed over the top I see these glaring injustices. Not only does God stand back and let Satan totally demolish Job's family, livelihood, and investments, but he seems to be encouraging it. Wtf?! I thought God was supposed to be on our side, not out to prove a point with our suffering??

I also noticed, this time around, that it's not just Job suffering. I mean, what about Job's servants that died? They had family, friends, loved ones. Now those people are left behind to mourn their loss, devastated. What about Job's kids? He had twelve of them-- that represents a lot of other connections like spouses, grandchildren, cousins and nieces and nephews, etc. Those people have a loss, too. Or how about Job's wife? God wasn't egging Satan on to test her, but what's sauce for the goose is sauce for the gander. I've heard her catch a lot of flack over the incident where she approaches Job and tells him to "curse God and die", but I totally get where she's coming from. The woman has just lost everything (and she doesn't even know the backstory!), and she is in pain. A lot of pain. An unfathomable amount of pain. It kind of reminds me of Naomi-- she lost her sons and her husband, her livelihood, and she's in a foreign land. How does she respond? Changing her name to Mara- "bitter". I don't blame her a bit.

And, while Job refuses to "curse God", he does get clinically depressed and suicidal, ruing the day he was born, questioning God's motives... yet he still considers himself to be pure from turning against God, even in this state. And God apparently agrees.

I also noticed that I think much along the same lines that Job's friend Eliphaz does-- "God protects good people, and really bad stuff is happening to you, therefore there's a kink in the line somewhere. Furthermore, since God is perfect... the problem must be you. Get right with God, and he'll be able to protect you again, k?"

Aaaaaand... that's where I stopped reading. I couldn't stomach any more.

Loving God, or cosmic bully? I just can't figure it out.

So I started to get this idea...

It is very clearly stated that God will guide us. (Exodus 15:13, Psalm 73:24, Isaiah 58:11, John 16:13, just to name a few.) So I thought that maybe God doesn't protect us, he just offers guidance, and if we listen then things will go okay, but when someone doesn't listen, then that's when they start hurting people. So if no one in my family was listening for God's guidance or following it (I'm thinking of G here), then the hurt would ensue. I was thinking that maybe God's protection was his guidance, if you see what I mean?

But, then... it's pretty obvious that God does step in and actively protect sometimes. Plus there are Bible verses where he promises to protect. (Psalm 12:7-8, Psalm 91:14-15, John 17:11+15- sorta, 2 Thess. 3:3.)

So now I don't know what to do. If I believe the Bible verses, then I'm faced with the reality that God didn't protect me. (And if anyone, anyone tries to come after me with the notion that God was protecting me by letting me be abused, I'm going to have to gouge someone's eyes out with a rusty spoon.)

(Okay, actually, ew. I would never do that. But I don't want to hear that concept! It rings false all the way to the core of me.)

I cannot live with the kind of pain that comes from believing that I'm a servant to a God who stood by and let me be abused, though he gave assurances of protection in the past, and who now demands my obedience and trust? I think not.

God has protected me at random various times in the past. That's what I don't get. Like the car crash. I could have--should have-- died. Why did God save me? Why did God save me from physical death, but not emotional torture and anguish? Honestly, I think I'd have preferred it the other way around! (Gah, talk about jinxing yourself... I'm getting nervous, here...)

Then again, maybe I've got it all wrong. Maybe I'm misunderstanding what it means to "protect". And there are plenty of places in the Bible where God didn't protect those people back then, either. I'm not the only one he seemingly forgot about.

I just... can't stand the thought of trusting someone who would let something like that happen to innocents! And it's not just about me. It's about the girls I work with every week. It's about the kids I see on the news who have died, starved and beaten to death. It's about the refugees who are trapped in a war they didn't ask for, enduring horrific monstrosities that they can do nothing about. It's about babies being raped and discarded.

And maybe it does hurt God, too. Okay, I'll give him the benefit of the doubt. (So far, he's always been callous and distant in my mental scenario building.) Maybe he's in just as much agony as I am.

So do something.

End it all in a blazing zombie apocalypse. I don't care.

If it hurts you too, then why won't you do something about it? Why are you just standing there? I know, I know... you can't end it all until everyone has had a chance to decide one way or another, because ending it prematurely would call the "unfair" verdict back into question. Some rock and a hard place you've got there. And we are supposed to be out there working our hinies off to get this whole thing spinning down faster, right?

I wish I could bring it all to a close.

But I don't have any good news to bring to anyone.

Trust me... you don't want me out there.

I can't tell people that Jesus loves them because, honestly, I don't believe it.

I can say it. I can even smile really big and kinda glow while I'm saying it. I can get my emotions worked up and feel good while I'm saying it. I can even kinda think I might believe it. I can hope I believe it.

But... I don't.

I'm sorry.

I'm a horrible Christian.

And I don't know what to do about this.

God won't protect me... or will he?

I've heard it said that you're going to experience pain whether you're a Christian or not. That's just how this world works. So my logic used to be, "Well, then, why not be a Christian? I mean, better safe than sorry, right?"

Now, my logic seems to have morphed into, "Well, then... what's the point? Oh, yeah.. heaven. Eternal life. Hmm. Okay... but either way life is gonna suck? Well, then... I guess I might as well... it's either hurt and die forever, or hurt and die for just a little while. Meh. I'll give it a shot."

I've also heard it said that God will only take to heaven the people that will be happy there.

That scares me.

Because God scares me.

Because I don't trust him.

Because it's like having a schizophrenic parent-- you never know whether you're gonna meet the nice, happy, protecting God or the "yeah, well, you shoulda thought of that before you did it" God that refuses to lift a finger to help you. (Yeah, well, you shoulda thought harder about being born into that family, huh?)

I remembered a memory yesterday. G had been molesting me in my bedroom, in my bed, so I actually started sleeping in the hallway. (Um, hello, red flag? Anyone?!)

It didn't stop him.

In fact, that was where some of the most shameful things happened. (Where the horrible thing that I confessed to C happened. I actually didn't tell him the whole story. There was more. I just didn't think of it at the time.)

My mom didn't protect me.

God didn't protect me.

I couldn't even protect me. My best efforts failed.

For crying out loud, I was just a kid.

Won't somebody protect me??

Musically, this is how I've been feeling lately. I'm practically obsessed with the song- it's almost all I listen to. I am determined that I will play this some day soon.

I had a great time with C today. We went to the oldies car show, and I some some absolutely stunning vehicles. Then we went to Walmart to get some Drano, cleared out his drains, and went to a sushi place for lunch. It was a little difficult for me to find something to eat, but I did find several things, and it was very good! C even let me pay the tip :) Then we headed over to Claire's and I got a couple of headbands (since I've been breaking mine lately), and after that to PetSmart for some feeder minnows. C and I headed over to his dad's place to do laundry, and we hung out and talked about ideal government systems with his brother D for a couple of hours. It was enlightening and very, very entertaining. By the time the laundry was done, it was time for C and D to head back home for their D+D session with their buddies. I took off for home, and came back to this message from a dear friend...

Subject heading: "Appeal to stay on God's pathway for your life!!!"

"Dear C,

You are my sister, colleague-in-ministry, and friend! I feel impressed to write to you this morning. I recognize that I don't know exactly what is going on in your life, but you know that I care for you and your joy in this life! Here's the message: (highlighted in yellow and written in red, I might add! lol)
'Stay on God's pathway for your life. Do NOT let the Devil side-line you with relationships that aren't committed to Him. God has brought you too far for you to turn to the left or to the right. You MUST stay straight ahead following Jesus, the Author and FINISHER of your faith. Do not ignore the voice of God or the words of your elder brother D! Call me if you want to follow-up on this further. I am praying for you-- of course, you know that J is always/daily praying for her sister/daughter C. Proverbs 3:5,6 continues to guide my life from day to day.'

From your family in Northern Idaho: 'We love you and miss you!'

God bless you and guide you and remember He can only lead and richly bless as you choose to follow Him!
D"

Curses. Foiled again.

And, quite frankly, I'm ticked off about this whole thing. I really am.

I'm upset with C for not being a Christian. Silly, I know, but I am. Like, what's your stinking problem?! Why won't you even explore the possibility for me? You know that it's the dividing factor, right? Oh yes, you know that... but you need proof. Always proof. Well, I can't give that to you. You have to search for it yourself, and you don't really have the inclination to do that. So fine. Let it divide us forever, then.

I'm ticked at myself for my weakness. Today went well, though. Pious people the world 'round will be gratified to know that I kept my clothes on today.

But seriously? Why, girl, why? Why must you play with fire? Is your need for love that deep? Yes, yes it is.

Yes, I know well enough that this semi-relationship isn't the best... or even good. But, oh, it fills a need deep within me... and everything in me cries out, "Don't make me go back! Please, don't make me walk away from the warmth and back into my emotional Siberian exile again!" I finally feel something... something wonderful... and now I'm supposed to hack it to pieces in the name of the Lord.

That brings me to my next point. I'm ticked off at God.

Why can't this be okay? What is your big stinking problem with it, anyway? What's your deal with C? Why can't we be together, God? Is this another one of your things where I hurt so badly that I want to die, but it's actually for my good? 'Cause I'm really getting tired of that.

I want to be with him. Why is that wrong?

I know, I know... C is not the end-all be-all. He's not the only one that will ever love me, though oftentimes it feels that way. Guys come into my life, they dash my heart to pieces, and then walk out. I think in this scenario, I've broken C's heart more times than I can count. I've been abandoned so much... I don't want to do that to him... again. And, finally, a man who loves me and has stuck around all these years? God, I don't want to lose that.

Foolish girl, if you'd never gotten mixed up with him again, this wouldn't even be an issue...

God, have you seen the way he looks at me? Or the way he loops his arm around my waist? Or the way he threads his fingers through mine? Or the tender kiss on my cheek? Have you seen that? Do you know what seeds of self-worth that waters within me? God, I don't hate myself when I'm with him... and I'm so tired of hating myself. And I'm so tired of being alone. I don't want to be alone anymore.

And it works so well because we're not technically together (which makes me easy, I guess...), and I'm so scared of settling down, that I get the best of both worlds.

I've got 5 months left here. Can I be bad for 5 months, and then straighten up when I go away to school?

Should I even have come here in the first place?

I just want to run away... away from it all. Start clean. Again.

The only things I've got to tie me here right now are obligations, support groups, and C.

Bother. That's pretty much my whole life at this point.

Besides... where would I go? I'm broke.

Mom offered their place... but I can't leave my job. I just started.

I'm going hiking tomorrow. I need it. And I'm going to find a counselor. Maybe if the problems deep inside me get fixed, I won't need C anymore.

And, upon reflection... it is gratifying to know that my friend cares enough about me to write that letter.

Had a meeting with E today. Her grant writer randomly showed up, so we weren't able to actually meet- we'll do that tomorrow. However, it was just enough time to sob my heart out onto her shoulder about C and the mess I've gotten myself into. In the brief discussion about C that followed, she encouraged me to pray for him, and I said I definitely have been and will continue to. She said that we should fast and pray for him, and that she'll join me ("even though I love food" lol). I think that's awesome. She even prayed for him and claimed him in the name of Jesus at the end. It was really neat.

She wants to talk about it more tomorrow, I think. But she did point out to me that God is a god of forgiveness, and that I am human, and, by extension, imperfect.

I've been thinking about that one today.

It is so hard for me to approach God (or even interact with other people) when I've messed up.

Like, seriously? Think about it, girl. We're sinners, right? Saved by grace? So what makes you any different now than you were when you accepted Christ? Still a sinner. Still saved by grace. One more mistake doesn't disqualify you from forgiveness-- as a matter of fact, it qualifies you. You have to have something to forgive. You never were perfect, as much as you like to think that you are.


Christianity is not just for the days that you've got it all together.


One of the things you appreciate so much about C is that he still loves you even though he's seen all your weaknesses and foibles and faults. How can you think that God would be any different?

So anyway, E wanted me to come over to the ladies' group for check in and share what I shared with her. I did. And afterward, this little girl (okay, she was a teen, but she was little) comes over to me and asks if I've read a certain book. I hadn't, so she began to explain it. Basically, it's about setting Biblical principles for dating and sticking to them. She also quoted me 2 Corinthians 6:14- "Do not be unequally yoked together with unbelievers. For what fellowship has righteousness with lawlessness? And what communion has light with darkness?"

She said several times, "I don't want to judge you." I can't help but think, "You may not want to, but you probably are!" lol. But I told her that I appreciated it, and I did. I just find it funny, because, well... I know this stuff. She has no idea that I went to Bible college, or that I've read pretty much every Ludy book, and I've read Josh Harris's book, and Letters to Young Lovers, and...

Yeah. I know this stuff. But knowing it and applying it are two different things.

Right. Right. Set your standards and don't go for anyone who doesn't share your faith in God. Mmm-hmm. Outline the type of person that you want as a mate, and stick to it. Yep. Definitely.

And it's a great thing to do and I feel all warm and fuzzy inside about my firm devotion to truth and righteousness and the fact that I've been alone for years because I'm so committed to God and really I should probably just take the plunge and become a nun and then I could be single forever! A single literature evangelist! Perfect.

Don't mind me. I'm only cynical because I'm convicted. That and I'm pissed at myself for wanting so badly what I know I shouldn't want.

I want to be over there with him right now. Incredibly much.

I think it's something about the incredible relief that comes from the alleviation of sharp, intense loneliness. That and it helps to counteract self-hatred and depression when you are told that you are a good person, and beautiful, and funny, etc. It's like a non-prescription anti-depressant, being with him. I feel better about myself, even as I hate myself more for my actions. Weird? Definitely.

And I spent all these years working on getting over him... pushing away and quashing the feelings, because I shouldn't feel that way anymore. "Should" or "shouldn't", they're here, parading themselves around my heart in all their garish glory.

You know, if he was a jerk, this would be a lot easier. But nooooo, he's a good guy. Blast.

In many ways, he lives like a Christian. But he just doesn't feel a need for God. He's got it all under control. (Sounds like me!) Kinda reminds me of R...

I hope none of my other Christian friends start preaching at me. I already know. Trust me. I know.
Just ignore my foolishness, alright? LOL

G showed up in my dream last night. Not G1 (my first abuser ever. Thanks alot.), but G2, the one I put in prison. He came to my house. And people were telling me that I just needed to get over it and hang out with him again.

Never.

Ever.

I will hate him until I die.

I hate him for what he did to me. Who the hell does he think he is?! Did I ever ASK to be molested? For years, I thought that it was what I deserved, that it was "payment" for any form of kindness he showed me. What person in their right mind thinks, "Hmm. She's young. Too young, in fact, to bear children. Perfect." And your pitiful excuses betray your withered brain. "Your mom and I were going through a rough time..." Bullshit. If you were here, in front of me now, I would punch you in the face. I would rake my fingernails across your disgusting, roving eyes. I would punish you, make you pay for everything you did to me, to my family, to my mother...

But you don't even care. You don't care that you RUINED MY LIFE! You're such a jerk! I HATE YOU! If I never see you again, it will be too soon. And stay out of my dreams, jerkface. I have enough troubles without you coming around to haunt me.

hatred |ˈhātrid|nounintense dislike or ill will ORIGIN Middle English : from hate + -red (from Old English rǣden[condition] ).

Thud. (fist hitting wall)

I HATE YOUUU!


THUD. (miscellaneous object hurled to the floor)

Stop being so WEAK!!(!)


Cue hysterical sobbing, punctuated by loud wails and pounding of walls/floors/own body.

It sounds so... silly... now that I am hours removed from the situation. But in the moment, hatred surged through my veins like heated adrenaline.


It's moments like that... they scare me. I could actually really do myself harm when I'm in that frame of mind. These self-destructive urges... they sweep over me, and it's all I can do to listen to the voice of reason.

Today, I've been toying with the possibility of going ana. My rational mind screams at me, "What are you, crazy?! You're trying to get HEALTHY, not develop a new sickness! You've done the research-- you know that it is NOT the solution to your problems. And besides, what about your plans for the future? It would screw up your whole life. How can you expect to help other people if you indulge this side of yourself?"


And that's the thing... I do, I do, I do want to help other people. I mean, that's the dream, right? So how can I jeopardize that, just so I can feel in control?

But the other half of me says, "Go on, do it. I bet you can't. I bet you'll cave. I bet you'll fail. I bet you don't have the guts. It's what you get, anyway. You think you hurt now? I can show you real pain. What you've got now is all in your head. I can make it real."

And isn't that I want, after all? Something tangible to fight against? Maybe some way of making myself pay for... for... whatever my sin of the moment is. Some sort of masochistic penance.

And then there's this whole thing with Mom... she is so sick. It's really weighing heavily on me. It's not just the fact that she's sick.. it's that she sent me care packages. Finally! The thing I've been yearning for for years! But it's bittersweet... tainted with guilt... stained by my deep sense of unworthiness. Like, she could have spent that money on a thousand different things, better things... but she spent it on me. What a waste. But she did it because she loves me, and it makes her so happy! So I ham it up, and churn out more enthusiasm than I'm feeling, because I want her to be happy, and I am happy to get these things, but not as happy as I sound, necessarily, because she really could have spent her money on something better but I'm not about to tell her that and burst her bubble... and part of me longs, yearns, craves that love she's showing me. It's like rain in a dry desert.

Ah! She loves me! How wonderful. 

I don't know how to explain it. I guess I just really want to be free to enjoy these gifts, but I can't. I'm not. I don't know.

The other big thing is my schedule.
Monday: work for B.
Tuesday: therapy day.
Wednesday: work for B, record, session w/Julene
Thursday: racquetball
Friday: clean house, clean church, group (possibly Bible study w/Johnson kids)
Sabbath: church
Sunday: sometimes something, sometimes nothing

Maybe it just feels like BW all over again, but I'm getting claustrophobic. The walls of my life are starting to close in on me, and I'm freaking out. Seriously freaking out. Like, I'm tired of "doing".  I don't want to "do" anything anymore. This being scheduled for something every day is...well, freaking me out.

I'm just itching to run... No, actually, not necessarily run, but to dump everything and hermit myself away. But the GUILT that comes attached with such an idea is so tremendous that it outweighs all else. I can't quit anything! They need me! I'm committed. To back out would be high treason to them and to God. Because, I mean, look at me... I'm already selfish enough. To just quit everything but the bare basics and hide away is selfish, right? Well, I don't know. That's why I'm asking.

I just can't make sense of my life anymore. It's all unraveling, from the inside out... and what exactly am I supposed to do right now? What does trusting God look like at this point? Just sitting tight and chilling? Quitting? (Because that was the answer at one point before...) Certainly not developing an eating disorder.

But how, pray tell, do I deal with the rage that wells and pools within me? How do I stop hating myself? And how do I get to the point where I no longer want to destroy myself?