I finally pulled out my chalks and created something, though it wasn't what I expected to come out. I kind of expected an abstract, but a stylized representation of me, asleep, and nightmares creeping in is what came out. I've been dealing with a lot of nightmares in the past few days, horrible dreams where the ones I love are hurting and people are in pain and there's nothing I can do about it. Many of them involved injury, death, violence, bad people, and inexplicable series of events. Due to the constraints of my illness I can't resist the sleepiness that overcomes me, but I don't like to be there because I wake up aching on the inside and out. Sleep used to be my refuge, but it's become a war zone of late. I hope this is just a phase that passes quickly. It's probably the subconscious workings out of my tortured body and mind, the considerations of the future that terrify me and the thought that "ending it all" might not be so bad except for the pain it would inflict on others. I guess it comes down to the question of how selfish I am. Can I stand to offload all my pain and suffering onto those I love to gain a surcease from my own constant torture? Unfortunately for me, I am not inherently that selfish, but I can't say what rash decisions I might make in the throes of agony. You've been warned.

Rose and I have plans to meet up for a few hours tomorrow during the Celebirthsary weekend that Drogo and I have planned. She's out west for spring break and I'm up north for those two days, so what's the harm in going a few hours more northward to see my bestie? No harm; none at all. I'm SO excited. We've only seen each other for a few hours in the past two years, and though I love her mom dearly she kind of put a damper on our last reunion and it wasn't possible to just sit and gossip over a chick flick like we would ordinarily have done. I was happy just to see her, of course, but I'm looking forward to our reunion amidst the pines and fresh mountain air of the bible college we both attended and were roomies at. We were discussing the rejuvenating effect the wilderness has on us, and how we both come alive when we're able to go out and explore and adventure and just wander… and I guess that conversation brought home the thoughts that have been percolating in my head for some time. The sense of loss when I realize that I can't join her in a merry hike amidst the trees like I want to. Remembering that I have to be sure to pack my pain pills and my other meds and my walker and the footstool set up for my walker so that Drogo can push me when I am too tired/hurt too much to walk anymore. The reality of my situation crashing home, once again.

When I was told that I am dealing with "just" fibromyalgia and not any autoimmune disease of any sort, it was a brutal shock for me. I didn't think that it was possible for "just" fibromyalgia to so drastically affect someone's life, health, and well being in this manner. I was positive that there was something behind the scenes aggravating and inflaming the fibromyalgia symptoms. There had to be something else, something treatable, so that when we found it and started working on it the fibromyalgia would recede as well. That was my working hypothesis. It turned out to be false (unless there's something neurological at play here, which the twitchies would suggest, but who the hell knows anymore?), and now I have to face the reality that it's "just" fibromyalgia, something that is not taken seriously in many cases and places… and something that I didn't really take seriously, in all honesty. But now I have to face the facts, and that includes the fact that my misery is due in large part to fibromyalgia, a little understood neuro-immunological disease/syndrome, and none of the treatments for fibro have improved my situation at all. I've simply continued to worsen. When I learned that it was "just" fibro, the horrible  reality that came crashing home was this: I've had active fibro for about a year and a half, during which I have not responded to any treatments and have worsened dramatically. If I'm looking forward to years and years of this, if the progression continues on the same scale that it has in this past year and a half… will I even be able to walk by the time I'm thirty? How much pain will I be in by then?

There are certain expectations that I have, unless something dramatically improves, certain things I've had to grieve and come to terms with… that I'm still coming to terms with…

I cannot have a family. I can barely take care of myself, and I'm not so good at that, so a baby is out of the question right now. If I were to get pregnant and if I could carry the baby to term (something I've been unable to do so far), I would have to be off of all my medicines, including pain killers. How sick would I be, how much agony would I be in, and how would that affect the development of my baby? The emotions and state of mind of the mother affect the baby, as those things result in chemical secretions. I want to be a mom, to have a family… I broke down crying the other night, and while Khal Drogo was comforting me I sobbed my apology to him that I cannot provide him with a family like he wants. It's something we both wanted, part of our shared vision for our union and our future… and right now it doesn't look like it is going to happen. Maybe if I get some better, and my friend acts as a surrogate like she volunteered to do… maybe I can have a family in the future. We were going to wait several years anyway, to get financially stable and make sure that we can actually take care of any children we might have. No going into debt unless emergency dictates so, or strategic financial planning.

I would be a kickass mom. I so would. I have a strong maternal instinct, kids just gravitate to me, and I practically raised my siblings when I was far too young to have to do so. Did you know that one of my nicknames up north was Mother Goose because of how the kids flocked to me? It makes me smile every time. I love kids. I want to have kids. I want to be a mother, and it kills me that I can't seem to carry my own and that right now it looks like I won't be well enough to care for a family. How fair would it be to bring a child into the world when I can't adequately care for them? Not fair at all. I don't want to disadvantage my babies that way. I dunno. We'll see. I still refuse to believe that I'll never be a mother, and the timing isn't right for a family right now anyway. So this one is on hold. It's far too painful to believe willy nilly.

Okay, here's another one: hiking. I miss being active; long walks at night, day hikes, backpacking trips, just being out and about without paying for it for the next few days. I miss going on adventures, challenging myself physically… Hell, I miss cleaning my house. I miss being able to do stuff myself, instead of relying on others for assistance. It is so infuriating to have to wait for someone else to get around to doing what I would be able to do seven times over in the time it takes them to get around to it (because people have their own lives), and I could do it so much better than them to boot. I have such good intentions of just gritting my teeth and doing a little bit at a time of the things I want to get done… but when the time comes I'm just so tired and nauseous and dizzy and I hurt and I just don't want to do it. It's like trying to function with a really bad flu, and it sucks.

I miss being independent. I am so reliant on other people and it kills me. I used to be the one that did things, that took care of other people, that made things happen… and now what? Now I don't. Here's another one: working. I miss my work as an admin assistant/office manager and peer support group leader and advocate. I miss being able to contribute to the home financially, but more than that I miss being able to make a positive contribution to the world around me, to my community, to the lives of broken girls and women. I miss giving. If life were fair, I'd be able to receive just as much as I gave, but that's kind of in short supply… there are a few key people who help out as they can, but for the most part I feel pretty abandoned. It's like, if you can't do anything for people then you get pushed to the back of the list. I can't claim that I didn't do the very same when I was still capable; I can't remember. And that's just the thing… I get forgotten. Left out. Left behind. I'm needy now, and an awkward burden to carry. I would love to say that I don't blame people for it, but the truth is that I'm super bitter about how little help I get even when I ask, which is a hard thing for me to do. I did find a friend that has committed to helping me clean and cook for a few hours every Saturday, but I'm skeptical as to whether that'll last or not. It's not exactly thrilling, sweeping floors as I hobble around helping where I can. I notice that people tend to not like being around a young person that's ill and un-fixable. It reminds them of their mortality, how misfortune can strike at any time and any age, and that's just a plain ol' downer.

I have to air this out, but only this once because I feel really ungrateful and like a jerk for even having an issue like this… but I'm really ticked about my birthday party. It was so much fun and I had a blast and I was so happy to have so many of my friends over… but so many of the people I invited didn't come. The ones who did show up are the ones that are the most consistent ones in my life, the ones who show up even when there's not cake. But the ones who didn't? They're the ones who claim to love me and we were close, once, for the most part… but they couldn't even be bothered to come to ONE thing? I don't ask for much, I don't think, but this was really important to me. I don't get much of a chance to have a happy, fun day. Most of my days are pretty flat and painful, sprinkled through with little things that make me smile. I have to hunt for them, though. See, about the people who didn't come… every person who bothered to make an excuse had a good one… but they all had excuses and didn't/couldn't come… and that hurt. A lot. Just another example of being shut out, left behind, and forgotten. Ouch. I'm also upset that I had to throw myself a birthday party. Like the logic doesn't even work-- everyone knows that I'm really sick and have a hard time with basic life, but it's left to the girl who hasn't even been cooking because it's too much to plan and execute a party. People knew I wanted a party, but as the saying goes, "If you want something done, you have to do it yourself." Not only did the sick girl have to make her own party happen, but the majority of people didn't even come to the thing that took so much effort and destroyed me for days upon days. Not cool, yo. Not cool.

I'm terrified that it's all in my head, and my limitations are self-imposed. I don't deny the physical aspects of this illness, not at all. But I am afraid that my "can'ts" aren't derived from past experience like I believe them to be but are rather mental constructs sprung up from who knows where. Maybe if I just tried harder I'd find that I really am not as crippled/disabled/sick as I thought? Maybe I just need to push myself more.

I guess I could go on, but the gist of this thing is that I'm reeling. Not only is there not something treatable lurking in the background, but this thing that I have has not responded to any treatments in the past or present. My year long sabbatical from the Healing Journey to get better? It's probably a permanent thing. My whole attitude of "just wait until I get better and then I'm gonna _______" is pointless, because there's not a "get better" phase to this disease that I can tell. I'm stuck like this, stuck like this forever… and I'm only 26. How many more years of untold suffering await me? I can't really think about that because it sends me spiraling into a panic attack, and do you blame me? Maybe you haven't seen my pain blog (which I only update sporadically now, because none of the doctors ever look at it so what's the frickin point?), but it's a dismal portrait. That… for the rest of my life… and likely to get worse. 

I need people. I need people to do random acts of kindness, to help with basic life activities, to listen to me vent, to throw me parties and buy me Arizona green teas and encourage me to exercise (and help me with it!) and all that jazz. I need people but I feel like I'm standing in this great void where my friends used to be. I do have some very strong supporters… but they live hundreds and thousands of miles away. They play an important role, to be sure, but I need people here. That's the part of my support system that's sadly lacking. I know, I know… people don't want to overextend me and make me sick or interrupt my naps or impose when I'm feeling poorly… I've heard that from my grandparents several times. Here's the thing, though… I don't feel good. Like, ever. Once in a blue moon, but it doesn't last long. If you're waiting for me to feel better before you interact with me, it's never gonna come. That's why I need you. I need help. I need love. I need friends, and I can't come to you. Can you understand that? Do you know what it's like to see your car out the window and know that it's just not safe for you to drive, to know that you're as stranded at home as if you had no vehicle at all? It's awful. I'm stuck here, and unless people come to me I don't see anyone. I'm that crazy old shut in lady at the end of the street, and I haven't even hit thirty yet.

"Just" fibro. "Just" a life sentence of pain, sickness, isolation, and the fight against depression.

Can you comprehend what it's like to know that your life is over at 26? The life I had planned is gone. It's like I died. Cassandra is dead, and I don't even know who I am anymore or what I can/want to do with my life. I was going to be a massage therapist. I was going to visit all 50 states, to travel overseas and try different foods and see art museums and antiquated buildings. I was going to have a family, have children. I was going to be a licensed peer support specialist, a licensed suicide prevention… person. (What are they called? Brain fog.) I was going to be the office manager for the HJ's new location, be the other half of the organization's head even more than I was before. I was going to hike all the way to Telegraph Pass. I was going to backpack from one rim of the Grand Canyon to the other. I was going to go to Alaska and hike in Denali Park. I was going to raise a garden in my backyard. I was going to unpack and organize my fucking craft room! There is so much that makes up Cassandra, so many dreams and ambitions and tightly held hopes… and they're all rendered pointless or impossible now. Maybe after some time has gone by and I've grieved appropriately I will challenge that word "impossible", but for now… the reality that I've been handed is very bitter, and I'm not sure how to handle it. I want to go hiking with my Desert Rose tomorrow, but I know that's not going to happen. I will feast upon her cinnamon rolls because gluten is a thing that's happening in my life again, and I am incredibly grateful for this (even if I am slightly allergic to wheat). It's so nice to have real baked goods again, and I've never gotten to taste Rose's baking. That's one dream that I can fulfill, at least.

Goodbye, Cassandra. Hello… whoever you are. Strong, fierce, stubborn, broken, sad, implausibly hopeful, beautiful, giving, intelligent (despite the brain fog), creative, flexible, sexy, hilarious, needy, angry, still standing despite it all. I feel empty inside from the wrenching away of my future, but I still have good things swirling around the ragged edges. The gaping, cavernous wound will heal with time, I'm sure, but for now… it hurts.

Counselor's.

Urmph.

(That's kind of a muffled sigh as I sink my face into my hands... in case you couldn't tell.)

It was good, don't get me wrong. It was quite good.

But... it brought stuff to light, you know? Hard stuff.

Challenging stuff.

Stuff that takes work to face.

My homework/challenges/things to think about this week?

• Define my "code" for living. I had one as a child. I had one at SOULS. What's my code now?
• Be aware of self-talk, and for every put-down (automatic or not), give myself three "put-ups"
• What does "my best" look like?

I'm terrified of the last one. I started crying in her office.

It's just like... I dunno. Like if I write it down, if I actually define what my personal best looks like... then it's out there. It's real. I can look at it and say, "Yeah. It's not good enough. I was afraid of that, but it was so nebulous that I was able to wave it away. Now I know, and everyone else knows, that I'm a failure... because this is my best. This is it. It's all I've got."

That's it. The fear of "it's all I've got", and that not being enough. I'm so certain it won't be.

At least when my "best" is undefined, then I and others can assign myself a "best", and I can strive to meet that. If I can't meet it, I can come up with a darn good excuse.

She's trying to work on self-affirmation with me.

I can't put into words exactly what I'm so afraid of... but it's going to be a hard one. Real hard.

Perceptions.

I hate how they're so relative.

And yet, I cherish it at the same time.

It's part of what makes life interesting, after all. C and I have different perspectives on a great many things, though we most always manage to find a bridge between the two, or we find that they link together perfectly.

I read an article a while back (I linked to it somewhere in some post, but I'm not going to bother finding it again) about how we're not actually living in the present like we think we are, and how our memories change every time we remember them. That's part of why I like to blog-- it captures a snapshot of what I'm feeling and thinking at a given moment in time, so that later, when I've changed my mind (wait, I never do that! ^_^), I can go back and see what I thought/believed/felt/hoped for at that certain point.

It made me think more deeply about the nature of reality, and perception, and differing viewpoints. Think about it. (They use this argument in favor of the authenticity of the Gospel accounts, by the way.) If something happens, like an accident or a robbery, and several people see it, each person will have a slightly different account of what happened. They each bring filters to the situation that kind of determine what they will notice as important, what will stand out to them, and what will have an emotional impact. Same situation, different perspectives. Are they each wrong? No, not at all, but they certainly won't be a video-recording of what actually happened.

It's interesting that our modern world has gravitated so much towards the clear and unbiased reporting of fact, yet is still so stridently insistent that each person's perspective is unique and right and okay, all the while pressuring us to conform to a certain perspective. It's a mess. But interesting.

Probably as long as there are more than two people on this planet, someone will be "right" and someone will be "wrong". It happens. I don't think it's right (see?), but it happens.

And I know just as well as anyone else that I have my own filters that affect my perception of events. They can skew my understanding of a situation faster than you can say "Jack Robinson". (Although I don't know why you would say that...)

I have crazy filters and responses when it comes to situations with father figures. The situation with B really, really screwed me up. Trying to figure out my place in the S home and my relation to D (and his biological daughters!)... that was a mess. I think I did pretty good, but it was still stressful. I know that my perspective is subjective, and I know that my dealings with dads are greatly, greatly affected by my past history.

Take, for instance, the situation with R.

Yeah, remember that blog post that I never wrote? It was about R.

All that junk went down, and I flipped out. Old wounds and roles and complexes and coping mechanisms just sprang up out of nowhere, and I was lost.

I also admit that I was wrong.

To a point.

What happened, happened. It wasn't as bad as I had initially thought, but it was still... bad. I guess. Inappropriate? I mean, if C responded to situations in the same way that R does, I'd be gone. No doubt. I couldn't live with that in a partner.

Ahh, but R's not my partner. He's my dad.

And he is. Really. He's my bona-fide father, at least in my eyes. He's been the best father I've ever had, one of the few men that I can look up to and actually respect (Grampa being the other one that comes to mind, although I can't literally look up to him, since I'm taller). I ask him for advice, and he comes up with the most amazing things. He knows how to talk straight to me, yet comfort me at the same time. He rescues me over and over again and doesn't think twice. (Yeah, it hurts to swallow my pride and let him, but I'm supremely grateful for it.) He's just... I mean... he's a good man. And I love him. I'm actually tearing up as I write this, because sometimes it just hits me how good it feels to know that I have a dad, after all these years, you know? Someone I can trust, a protector, a strength... someone who will take care of my family because I'm not there to.

He's also human. He has his own filters, his own wounds and roles and complexes and all that. We all do. And so I understand why, in an intellectual sense, he sometimes throws down like he does. I don't like it, I don't like it one bit, but I get it.

But when K called me, when I heard what had happened (the highly emotionally charged, abbreviated version, of course! lol), it felt like I had lost my dad. It felt like the R I know and love had been whisked away and G had been planted right there into the scenario. It felt like I had failed to protect my family, but it also felt like gut-wrenching betrayal, because I'm not supposed to have to protect them from someone I trust?!

It felt like I had lost R, and G had come back again.

And what happened at Christmas the other year, that was inappropriate. I don't agree with how he responded at all, and I refuse to minimize it. It was abusive behavior, and it was wrong. You shouldn't treat the people you love like that. Does that make R an abuser? Not necessarily.

I know, I know, dichotomy. But I truly don't believe that R is abusive. I know I freaked out at first and thought that. I've changed my mind. My perspective changed. And that's okay. He does act in ways that are abusive sometimes. That's true. But he, as a person, as a father, as a husband... he's a good man. A good man with faults and wounds of his own. And he makes mistakes and bad calls and yeah, we suffer sometimes when that happens. But my dad is not an abuser.

Good grief, I'm glad to be able to type that.

But at the time when this "domestic dispute" or whatever went down, I felt like I had lost R. I had lost my dad. Again. F**K! Why does this keep happening? How could I have prevented this? Why did I ever trust him? Why did I ever love him? I should have seen this coming! Etc. etc. etc.

Truthfully, I was scared to talk to him. But... he called me (what was it, like a week later?), and... he was still R. He was still my dad. Still the same guy I know and love. And you know what? He brought up what happened, and we talked through it. I got his perspective, which I hadn't heard before. It helped me see the big picture more clearly.

Nope, it wasn't as bad as I had thought. Also, my emotions weren't as high then. Also, I was coming back out of the depression I'd been in, so I wasn't as emotionally high strung. Heh.

But no. It was still R. I hadn't lost my dad, after all.

After that conversation, and further conversations with Mom, my perspective did change. I thought R was an abuser for a while. I don't anymore. I still don't think that they've got all the wrinkles ironed out, and I think that there are definitely still some dysfunctional dynamics floating around that household, but considering where we all come from, can you really expect otherwise?! I also believe that the family is the healthiest now that it has ever been.

I really have a good deal of hope for my little family.

I wish I had blogged this a long time ago, actually. But the concepts were just so huge, and it was all still so emotionally charged... I just never could bring myself to do it. I didn't know how to wrap my mind or my words around it.

So... summary?

Bad stuff happened. I didn't have all the facts, and I was influenced by my past, and I freaked. I calmed down, R called and we talked, and I realized my error (while still maintaining that bad choices were made-- I'm not absolving anyone of responsibility, here!). Relationship restored, life moves on, and here we are several months later. (Also, since then Mom has had some perspective changes that have domino-effect changed my perspective. Like, how he and she approach money? He's not a miser, she's a big-time spender with no concept of how much money they were actually bringing home. Do you know how glad I am they worked through that?! It's been a source of contention for foreeeeeever.)

I love my dad. He's going to walk me down the aisle. He's going to be a stellar grandpa here soon. And I know he's trying really hard. And I also see the progress he's made, and I'm really proud of him.

So... I guess that's what I wanted to say about R.

Just wish I'd thought to say it sooner.

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. :)

Many, many things crowding for the forefront of my cognitive attentions...

Where to start?

I was talking to Mom this morning. R came home, but he was terrified that they would all hate him and Mom would say it was over. That's not the case, and Mom and R have their first marriage counseling session tonight (actually, they're probably launching into it as I write).

I love Bebo Norman. Pandora's on in the background, and a Bebo song came on, and I just (again) realized how much I love and appreciate his music.

Okay, back to our regularly scheduled programming...

Mom and I were also talking about how group went last night (I'll get to that one-- it's super important!!) and I was sharing with her my new views on God. She was gratified to learn that I haven't *completely* gone off the deep end. ;)

How do I describe where I'm at? Well, while I was reading those books on the origins of the Bible and its trustworthiness and whatnot, I realized how incredibly humanity is mixed up with that book. I'm not sure why, but I always just considered the Bible to be a book that God essentially dropped out of heaven, and people didn't have any influence on it at all. Transcribed, rather than inspired, I guess you could say... but the thing is that people did have an influence on it. The authors had agendas and biases and mindsets and backgrounds and all sorts of things. An interesting realization, that was... and I guess it's impacted my whole view of things.

I believe that Jesus existed, and I believe that he was God incarnate. As far as his utter perfection... well... I dunno. I mean, I'm sure he made mistakes, but that's a totally different thing. I think we tend to confuse sinlessness and perfection, and I'm sure that Jesus made the odd mistake throughout his life, especially as a child. But, yes, I believe that Jesus saves. From what, I'm not exactly sure... but apparently I have no access to God except by Jesus, because I just suck that bad at being good... but I want access to God, and I'm sick of hustling for acceptance, so I have to go that route, don't I? Grace sounds mighty fine when you're exhausted from being a Christian. (One thing I don't get, though... I mean, if Jesus was sinless and perfect and all that, why can't I be perfect? Why do I need Jesus? Cause if he was able to tap into God's power and be all perfect, why can't I do that? I know, I know, I've already messed up my chances, but it wasn't my fault that I was born into a family that didn't know how to guide me in God's way like Mary and Joseph did. God handpicked that family, gave Jesus every advantage... which I didn't have, necessarily. So what's to prevent me from being good enough, like Jesus was? Was it just that he was God and I'm not? But if Jesus had something over us that we can't have, then that's not the fair exchange that it's been made out to be, and that whole "you can stop sinning and live a holy life" thing is out the window. That's been rolling around in my head for months, if not longer.)

Okayyyy... anyways...

I believe in a creator god. I'm pretty sure it's Y--W-H, but not one hundred percent positive. I just know he's out there. And I guess I'm more of a deist, now. I used to wait for God to get involved in the nitty gritty ("God, save me from abuse! Why didn't you?" "God, help me to get a good parking space!" "God, please, help me sell these books..."), but he just doesn't a lot of times, and I've had to come to grips with that. I think it's the people around us that are charged with the act of "doing", of getting involved in the nitty gritty and doing what I've always expected God to do. We learn what is right and wrong, what God would have us to do, and then we live it out, and it's the people making choices for themselves that make up the answers to prayers or the curses that dog our footsteps.

G made a choice. A bad choice. He became a bad person,  by his choices. And I have to live with those choices, because I was in his sphere of influence. I have the choice to become a good or bad person, and the choices I make will impact those in my sphere of influence. When I make good choices and give out positive energy (as new agey as that sounds, it's for lack of a better term), that's God working in the world to me.

I guess God just isn't that personal to me right now. I don't buy into that whole "romantic- God is crazy about you" hype anymore. I tried it. I'm sure he likes us, even loves us (enter Jesus-- he must think we're worth salvaging, yeah?)... but I don't see where he's really into a marriage-y type interaction like some people try to make it.

I also think that many of the things we ascribe to being God working are, in fact, the workings of people's choices and decisions. (According to my previous theory, though, that is God working, but not in the "reach down from heaven and bonk someone on the forehead" type of working, you know what I mean?)

I told Mom that, unbelievably, I've almost come to a place of acceptance. What happened to me happened, and I can't change that. I do believe that lessons and good things can come from everything, and while I would avoid what happened to me in a heartbeat, I know that I can use it to keep it from happening to others. Truly, it's total BS that it happens at all, regardless of who it's to, and this world is full of sick, sick people and it really REALLY ticks me off. Gets my ire up. (I wonder if they call it "ire" because Irish have a reputation for hot tempers?) So for now I'm off of the "God, why me?!" question, and more on to the "What can I learn and how can I help other people with this experience?" question. I know. I never thought I'd be here, either.

Anyway, moving on from the religion topic...

I've realized that I've made some mistakes with my group of girls. It's not my fault, per se, because what I really need is training, but there's been no opportunity to train and then get the group going-- I just had to jump into it. As a result, I've had no idea what to do when girls get into crisis mode or get emotional... so I've just avoided that as much as possible, which is not what they need.

I've been too lax on some things, like cussing, and there's been a gradual slide towards chaos and disrespect as we've gone on. Also, I've been too intellectual and reading-focused, but we need to be doing more healing exercises that will help the girls confront their issues and heal. Not everyone learns from reading like I do. We really need practical application, and less reading.

So, lessons learned, curriculum being totally revamped from the ground up, and I'm doing research on the side to learn how to be a better peer support facilitator.

Last night, we did roleplay and confronted our abusers. E came into the class to help me explain some of the changes that will be going down, and she led this exercise.

There were many, many tears, and a few of the girls didn't feel like they were ready, but I don't blame them. It was tough. E took the role of abuser, and she goaded us on with aggravating questions and statements like, "Why did you tell? I thought you liked it? You acted like you did. You know you wanted it. Why else would you have let me do it?" etc.

It was my turn, and my emotions were definitely running high after seeing the other girls go through it... G's face kept floating to the surface of my mind, and memories... gracious, the memories...

I got so angry. I don't even remember what "he" said, but I basically screamed at him, asking what was wrong with him, etc. The girls on my side of the table fled to the other side, and they all hunkered like they were in a foxhole. It didn't matter, because I wasn't supposed to look at anyone but E. She asked, I answered, and oh, I cried.

I trusted him, you know. He was supposed to take care of us, the only dad I'd ever known... I suppose I was hoping he'd be like Grampa. But please, nothing like G1! No, he wasn't that sadistic, I suppose... he never put me in a hot oven, or stuffed wadded up socks into my mouth, or tried to force me to drink his piss, or laughed while he held me in a bathtub of water filled with floating ice cubes... but he threw shoes at me. He starved me. He beat me. He humped me. He touched my sacred, private parts, and he touched me with his filthy, naked penis. He spilled his semen on the blanket next to me, and I had to sleep in it. He gave me Nyquil to knock me out, and heaven only knows what happened after that. He took my underwear off and molested me in the same bed as my sister, as my siblings... more than once. He did things that I can't even remember, that I don't want to remember, that I won't let myself remember.

And still, I wanted him to be my daddy. Still.

How was I to know what a father is truly like?

Hell, I still don't know what a father is truly like.

So I confronted him last night.

I told him that I hope he gets Bubba for a roommate, and that I hope Bubba likes him just as much as he liked me. I hope he gets the same treatment, and worse. I hope that he gets popsicled like Dahmer, and I hope that he survives so they can do it again. I told him that I would say he doesn't deserve to live, but he doesn't deserve to die, either. He deserves a long, slow torture so that he can know what my life has been like since he gouged holes through my very soul and filled them with decaying garbage.

She asked if I forgave him, and I quickly replied, "Hell, no!"

Do I forgive myself? Softer, this time... "Hell, no."

Why? Because I trusted him. I feel responsible for my family, and I let the abuser infiltrate us for how many years without saying a word? It's not my fault, but I still feel responsible.

And the last, the very last thing I said to him was this:

"You can't ruin my life. You don't have that power."

I also wanted to add, "F--- you."
I abstained for the sake of the girls, though.

But it's true. He doesn't have that power. He's too weak, he's always been too weak. He can't control me, and I won't give him that. He deserves nothing, least of all my submission. If I fall to ruins, he's won, you see. It is only by releasing him that I can truly have my vengeance.

As I said my last statement, I couldn't help but smile a little through my tears and rage, because I know it to be true.

He has no power over me.

He hurt me, but I have survived, and will continue to survive. He loses. :)

Seriously, though, I wish I could bottle this rage and primordial fury. I'd sell it as an energy drink. It really charges you up.

I've made my choice.

Maybe a bit impulsive, but I see the clear benefits.

It just seems like too much of a wide, inviting possibility for me to walk away from it.

Not that it doesn't come with its own prickles and spears of fear.

I... am afraid.

I'm afraid to settle down.

Change... it's what my family does best. We adapt. We flex. More than that...we move. New apartment, new city, new state, whatever. More than the average person, I suppose.

The wanderlust was bred right into me. (In addition, dysfunctional dynamics always require and instill a certain level of constant shifting, moving, changing, running.)

Then... we stayed in one place. For, like, 5 years. The longest I'd lived in one place in my whole life.

And then I escaped. I went away to school.

I came back, presumably to settle down, but the family was gone. I was isolated, lonely, depressed... restless...

So I left again. Bible college, this time. And oh, what a college. Constantly on the road---this city, that city, this state, that state... I think the longest I was ever in one place was our several month practicum. Always on the move.

It was familiar, if stressful. Then again, life before had been familiar, if stressful, non?

Then I graduated. I had no job, no place to live... but by the skin of my teeth, I got a job in ID a few weeks after graduation.

So I moved again. But the job wasn't for me-- I hated it. I was festering and crumbling on the inside, keening death-wails and tortured sobs of grief that few could hear through the thick, shiny veneer of Bible Worker that I had pasted on. So I quit, shortly after moving again.

This time... I stayed. I stayed for a while. Over a year. And--get this-- I thought I could stay. I mean, long term. I was ready for it. But, as tends to happen, the proverbial excrement began its inevitable ascent towards the oscillating cooling device, and... I moved.

Well, this time, I was going to move anyway, but it happened quicker than I had been anticipating.

So here I am, faced with the decision to settle down, or move.

I'll give one guess as to which I'm inclined towards.

I'm scared to try life, scared that I won't be able to hack it... I mean, who blames a nomad for being poor? They are not in one place long enough to accumulate any wealth to speak of. Who blames a nomad for having few meaningful relationships, or for being reticent and uninvolved in a community or church body?

When you're on the move, it frees you from so many responsibilities... preserves so much energy that would be expended in all these other places like family or friends or church or community or, heaven forbid, work.

I'm scared to try this serious relationship long-term. I've been told over and over again that "unless your relationship is built on God, it won't work, it's going to fail and be bitter and miserable and you'll realize too late you made a mistake". You know what? I think that's a lie, if it's presented as the determinate factor between success and failure. It's a contributing factor, but I don't think it's the thing that makes the difference between success and failure.

I think that there is more to it than that.

I think your souls have to be aligned at the deep level, and that's what a common belief in God does for you. But it's much more than that, so much more. (If it weren't, then what's the excuse for any divorce among Christians?)

And I realized today that I've heard this so much that I was believing that C and I couldn't ever really work. But you know what? I didn't know that we couldn't until I was told so. I never wanted to leave until I was told that it was bad for us to be together.

I've been scared to follow this to its natural conclusion, scared that what I've been told will be reality and that our compatibility and our commitment and our love will not be enough, will never be enough, for lack of this one element. It's a self-fulfilling prophecy. Brilliant, really.

But... it's not true.

And I also realized today that I really, really resent the attempts of Christianity to weaken and minimize the individual, to discount and force a surrender of the innate strength of a human soul. I don't think that is how God meant it to be. I resent anything that tells me I am not strong, that I am not capable. Because I am. I may be weak at times, but even in my weakness, there is an undeniable strength. God did not save me from being abused, so I took care of myself. I found ways to cope, to keep myself sane, to make it through. I had a really rough start, and maybe God allowed it to be that way for a reason that I don't understand, but I got myself through. And I'm not about to stop now. I'm going to take care of myself, because I can and I am capable of doing so. I refuse to be a weak person, even if I do have weak moments. They are undergirded with strength by my decision to keep pushing through, putting one foot in front of the other, no matter how difficult it becomes or how infinitesimal the progress seems.

If I can somehow reconcile this inner strength of mine with the teachings of God and his Jesus, then I will be a Jesus follower. If I find that Jesus' teachings are asking me to become helpless, then I will be a follower of the Creator and none other. If I find the Creator to be Yahweh, then I will follow him.

So far, I'm becoming sure that the Bible is no collection of myths-- it's historically verifiable, at least in a general sense. (Granted, not every specific has been proven, and I don't think that will ever be the case. But it's enough, for me.) These are the memories and tales of real people.

But I've decided... I don't want to flee anymore. I don't want to run away, frightened, any longer.

I want to stand my ground and be strong.

Even if that means... committing to something, or someone, or someplace... for the rest of my natural life.

And this is one thing that I can feel good about committing to. He keeps proving it to me over and over again. The way he interacts with my soul and my mind... his gentle compassion yet unyielding intellectualism... is a compelling paradox. And the way he supports me in my times of weakness let me know that this is a man I can depend on to guard my very life.

So... I get the man I love, and to pursue the career I'm dreaming of, and continue the ministry I've been given... all in one option.

Who could say no?

Why would I say no, but for fear?

I will flee no longer.

Last night I shared my deepest, darkest secret ever with C.

I was... afraid... very, very ashamed...

I mean, I've kept this secret for somewhere around 15 years.

Never told a soul.

Ever.

But, one of the girls said something last week that brought it up for me, and I was doing research, and I started freaking out (I think they call those "triggers"?), and so I texted C at work saying that I needed to talk through some heavy stuff when he got home, if he was willing, and that I was definitely going to cry, and to not let me get out of it. (Because I know myself... I would change my mind and say "it's nothing" later on. And I did. But he held me to it.)

So I told him. And I cried. And C... stayed. Talked to me. Refuted the lies that the spiteful, angry part of my mind has perpetuated. The necklace that he gave me- "eternal strength" - now has another layer of meaning. It now means that I deserve happiness, to be loved and cherished, and that I never, ever deserved to be abused. It means that being strong takes time, but that I'm already stronger than I was. It means that he'll always be walking beside me to bear me up when I have no strength, to remind me of my intrinsic worth and value. It means that I'm a good person, really and truly. It means that I've helped people by sharing my story, and that I will help more people.

It means that I'm not the scum of the earth. I am lovable.

It means there's hope.

The shame has in no way fully abated, but it is lessened to a degree. The next step, I think... would be posting about it here. I'm not ready for that yet, but the time will come.

I still feel dirty, somehow... but I know that's not true. (Do you know what it's like to feel dirty, like a whore... at nine? At ten? A child... is not supposed to go through that.) I am clean. What happened to me is not my fault, nor is it my responsibility to bear. He made the choice, and he is the vile one-- not me!

On a not-much-different note, I found a veritable gold mine at this site, Pandora's Project. I will be utilizing many of these articles for my girls in the coming weeks.

It's official...

• I'm starting school in July. Which means... I need to begin applying for loans THIS WEEK. (The finance lady at the school hasn't been very helpful at all when it comes to letting me know what I need to be doing and when. I'm pretty much figuring it out on my own. E, however, gave me some good info on loans and whatnot, so I feel more confident than I did twelve hours ago.)

This also means that I'm going to be seeing my ID peeps in approximately 6 weeks.

What a countdown.

I was so looking forward to taking C up there with me, showing him off, and taking him to my favorite places... but that'll have to wait for another time.

Now, I'm just looking forward to seeing my loved ones again. (I'm sure they will all marvel at my tan.)

• Pre-marital counseling is set. We begin next week, as does my own personal counseling. (The same afternoon, as a matter of fact!)

I felt very honored when C called me on his break to work out the schedule for our counseling, in response to my text earlier that day on the subject. It shows me that he places a priority on our relationship, on respecting my wishes to do this counseling together. Because, really... it could have waited until tomorrow.

• I've got the paint and the sander. I'm ready to rock and roll on redecorating the guest room (a.k.a. "my room"). That will be my project for the upcoming week. (I consider it to be a kind of "room and board" thing.)

• E had a brilliant, albeit obvious, idea today-- instead of freaking out about not being able to find a job that will hire me for 6 weeks (down to 5, now, by the time I get back from P and do my other work this week), why do I not simply go to a temp-hire agency and do work that way, day by day? Duh! Why didn't I think of that?

• I'm really mean to myself. I beat myself up a lot. It hurts. I wouldn't treat other people this way... so why do I do it to myself? (Well, actually, I DO treat other people this way in my head sometimes... I'm a real jerk inside my cranium.)

• I've got an awesome life. Truly. When E asked me, "So, what are you going to do now?", the answer was this: I'm going to go to school, get a degree, come back and marry the man I love, work with E and survivors, and massage people. Does it get any better?! (Not to mention that I'm going to settle down... which involves planting a garden! ^_^) 

And this "awesome life" puts my fears and distresses into perspective. Yes, I'm unemployed. No, I have no money to go to school on. But it's only 5 weeks. Five weeks. It's okay.

As D reminded me today... when God leads you, he also provides for you. "It's a package deal with him!" 

I love it.

I'm past the "it hurts to breathe" phase. That lasted a day or two. That's better than when I broke the engagement...I remember aching for weeks.

It seems unreal, but this whole thing with C only lasted two weeks. What an eventful two weeks it was!

We briefly talked about marriage again this time around. I know for a fact that he'd be happy to settle down with me and raise a family.

And now, in the "I miss him so much!" phase... that's a mighty tempting thought. However, I keep reminding myself of the reasons why I had to get out of there. It's easy to downplay the shadows when you're walking in sunlight again. (And, while I have hope that, in our own place--"my domain"-- I could effect a change of influence, that's not nearly enough to negate the fact that it's too remote of a possibility to bear any weight.)

And what's funny is that, in the process of saying, "No, I'm done. I'm tapping into my resources of strength and putting my foot down," I've gained some of that feeling of worth that I was seeking in C's affirmations of me. (At least, until the next bout of depression...)

I miss him though. A lot. I've got that restless, "I want to see him" feeling. It's only been three days.

No, I don't miss him because I'm desperately sad and I want to feel better. I know that I can be strong and weather these sad feelings. (I've done it before... for three years, was it?) I miss him because of him.

Watched a movie with B tonight- Chick Flick Night! :) It was fun. The movie was called Straight From the Heart, and it was awesome. Horses, cute cowboys, and good, clean romance. Sigh... I miss the northwest!

Anyway, I recall thinking during the movie (about the part where they fall in love), How nice it would be to love someone without all the obstacles...


Seriously. It seems like anyone that I've really liked or really cared about, there are always people around to tell me that it's not a good idea, that he's not good enough, that there is this issue and that issue and so on, so forth.

Is it really just me? Or am I always going to be getting that message from the people I care about when I am romantically involved with a guy?

Maybe I just pick the wrong guy. Over and over. Even though all these guys were so completely different from each other.

On a similar, yet unrelated topic, I've got an appt with my doctor next week to talk about depression. I may end up on meds for a while, but if it brings some sort of stability to my emotional life, then I'm okay with that for a while.

And I've been arguing with myself for a couple of days.
Don't be ridiculous. It's all in your head. You're just looking for an excuse, a reason to stay connected. Yes, but... there's a chance I'm right until I'm proven wrong. Yeah, okay, sure. And if you're right? Yeah, that's what I thought. I'd better be right. You don't want to be right. Right? Right.


Either way, I'll be right, which is nice. Amusing, but nice.

And either way, I'll be at least slightly devastated.

So I guess it's win-win, huh?

Fighting the depression battle, still... and I'd like to think I'm winning :)

I'm coming to grips with the fact that my emotions roller coaster... and that's okay. That's okay.

Had a good past few days. First day of the new job went well. I'm absorbing a lot, and I was even able to answer some questions from customers. I go back in tomorrow, and I'm half dreading it, half anticipating it. I have to constantly tell myself, You can do this. You are capable. You are mature. You are smart. You CAN do this!


It's like a never-ending pep talk lol.

Group went well. (I'm even getting partially paid now! How about that ^_^) We ended early, and I got to sit in on the women's SA group. I gave E a ride home, we talked a bit, and we've got a lunch/therapy date on Monday, which I'm looking forward to. Seems like it might become a weekly thing, which would be nice. I want to start going through this book about healing from sexual assault, but I don't want to do it alone. I learned my lesson with The Wounded Heart.

Next day, headed up to P with Gramma after work. The hotel room was really nice, and I got good sleep- finally. That crazy cat of mine wakes me up about 3 or 4 a.m. and I have a difficult time getting back to sleep. (I decided to do the motel room thing this wkend, rather than the truck, so I think I'll be getting some decent sleep then, too. Hopefully.)

I got this natural anti-depressant/stress-support stuff at the herb store, and my mood has improved over the last couple of days. I wonder if it's really doing anything, or is that just coincidence? R called me when I texted him to let him know what I'd purchased (I like to keep him apprised of how I'm spending his money), and almost the first words out of his mouth were, "Why are you depressed??" LOL We had a great talk. He's so supportive and wonderful. I know that he really loves me and wants to see me succeeding and happy. He was actually able to relate a LOT to what I'm going through, and he gently counseled me to just be patient, to give myself time and not freak out over where I'm not... because, as he put it, I don't have to be anywhere. Just enjoy the journey. It's okay. Plans change, and it's okay. It's not like I'm a bad person for being where I'm at. But I need to learn to be okay with myself, and, unfortunately, that does take time. Apparently, the older I get, the easier it will get. All I know right now is that I love my parents. They are the BEST. I could not wish for more supportive family. What a  blessing.

Yesterday, while Gramma was in her meetings, I went grocery shopping, and spent an obscene amount of money (to me). It's really not unrealistic for groceries, but I felt sick to my stomach when I hit the cash register. Ugh. Never again. I'll live on rice and beans. Although... I am looking forward to homemade granola...

Then J and I got to hang out for a couple of hours. He took me out to brunch. When the hostess was showing us to our table, I realized that we look like a couple. I mean, a guy and a girl out to breakfast, who wouldn't naturally assume that we're on a date? But NO! So I think of it as the anti-date. :)

We've been friends for many a year- since summer '06 canvassing together. He's actually the one that confronted me about my engagement to C and brought up the idea of my going to SOULS. We both agreed that SOULS was the best and worst experience of our lives. Had we known what we were getting ourselves into... and there is no way we'd go back! But it was good, and God used it. It was wonderful in its own way.

Anyway, we had a great time at brunch, then back at his office drinking tea and hanging out with his student aide. I gave him one of my cd's as a birthday present, and he was totally stoked, because he said he LOVES the DSH cd.

The weird thing was... we connected on all these funny little things that I'd never noticed before. Like, he wants to do the truck and trailer thing, too! And take a summer and just backpack to see how far he gets (or better yet, horsepacking). Just... funny little things. Our thoughts on the lifestyles we'd like to live are fairly identical. At one point during the conversation, he started asking me what type of food I like, but as I was answering, I kinda got this "I'm being interviewed" vibe, which was startling. We also talked about how we each struggle with depression at times, but we know that God is good. I had also given him a copy of my last sermon, so I hope that helps him. I had to re-listen to it myself the other day.

When it was time for me to leave and he walked me back to my car, he suggested that we pray for each other, and we did. It was nice. Then we hugged, and he said, "I love you." I responded, "I love you, too," and we parted ways with a promise to get together again next time I'm up that way. I'm so grateful for that guy. His friendship has been priceless, and he's such a genuine, godly man. I'm proud to be his friend.

So I thought and prayed about it yesterday afternoon on the way home and during my walk in the desert, and I've come to the conclusion that, though I'm not "interested" in the sense of having a crush on him, if he had prayed about it and asked if I wanted to get to know each other better (like dating or something), I'd say "yes" at this point. It's funny that that would even come to mind, since I've never been attracted to him, per se. I mean, it's just J. He's my buddy. But after we connected so well yesterday, and I realized that I really do love him in a wonderful, platonic way, I would be willing to give it a shot. Before yesterday, I would have said, "No." Anyway, regardless of whatever happens, I told God that I am giving that potential up to Him. It doesn't need to be anything more than what it is, and I'm very grateful and blessed to have a guy friend like J. He'll make someone a fine husband some day.

And that was my anti-date. It was, honestly, really fun!

I celebrated my last day in Idaho by going cross country skiing for the first time. It was... actually fun! Both less and more work than I anticipated, all at the same time.

I was getting the hang of it, and after lunch, I swooshed semi-confidently around a downhill corner, only to find K seated in the middle of the path where she'd fallen. Immediately, a thought flashed through my mind and spewed itself out of my mouth- "I don't know how to STOP!!" In an effort not to take her out, or to fly off the edge of the path, I chose, instead, to wipe out.

In wiping out, I landed badly and strained/sprained my left knee. (I'll find out the official diagnosis from a doctor tomorrow.) The bad news? We were several miles into the back-country, with only one way out. So I kept on skiing. I feel like a warrior! LOL

Oh, well. All's well that ends well, right? Oh, yeah, and I'm going to lose a toenail, because I traded B his too-tight boots for my looser ones. (We're about the same size. Weird, huh?) They cramped my feet less than they would have him.

What an adventure!

I ended up hanging on to B for dear life when I wiped out a second time, re-hurting my knee. (You guessed it... K was in the path again. *sigh* lol) Oh, yeah, that wasn't the second time that day I'd wiped out, just to clarify. Probably the second thousandth! But the second time with injuries.

My legs were twisted awkwardly, the skis trapped beneath me, and I couldn't lean to one side or the other without seriously hurting myself. So it ended up being kind of awkward when B came over to help, and all I could do was cling to him and try to hoist myself high enough to reach my bindings. Well, I was crying out in pain, so he knows it wasn't just  a ploy. Still, awkward... as was our goodbye. What can you do in that kind of situation that isn't awkward, anyway?

It was good. I'm so glad I went. I hope I can pack my car tomorrow. Heck, I hope I can leave tomorrow!

I don't feel anything, really. A little nostalgic... but it hasn't hit home that this will no longer be home. We exchanged "going away" gifts on Friday night, and last night was a game night that a bunch of friends came over for. Both filled me in different ways, and left me wishing wistfully that I might stay... but, alas, the wandering foot is itching, and I must be on my way.

Still, though... this is the last night I sleep in my bed. Tomorrow is the last time I fix food in that kitchen.

Hmm. I'm going to miss them, and this life that I've been a part of. But I know I can't settle here forever, nor do I want to.

But, oh... I think I'm going to cry tomorrow... and on the drive down.

Tears of joy. Tears of joy. Remembering all the dear ones that hold pieces of my heart up here in the northwest. (K, you're included in that, you know.)

I'll be back. I hope.

Lately, I've been running in place.

You know... running away, without actually going anywhere.

This, from the girl who talked to a support group about how to break the cycle of "survival mode".

I'm still in survival mode.

Although C and I had that talk, it didn't do what maybe she thought it would do. I launched myself into full-scale defense mode-- shut down, withdraw, and survive.

And yet... I know there's been progress, because I can feel the difference. I know what's happening, although I don't know how to stop it... and God's been talking to me.

I realized that the conscious commitment I made to not be hurt anymore is the response of a fallen heart trying to deal with its pain. That's understandable, but not healthy or helpful.

But what do I do with my overwhelming, overpowering desire to be safe? I'm beginning to think that my definition of "safe" and God's definition of "safe" are fundamentally different. My way of being safe is to distance myself, put up walls, and subdue any longings or desires that might lead to an awakening of my heart. If those longings are aroused, and then unmet, or worse, purposely thwarted, well... that could and would be devastating. It's "safer" to not take the risk at all.

And I had decided that I wasn't going to take the risk anymore. No, sir. I can still be pleasant, I can still have friends, but there was a large, padlocked gate re-erected that said, "Hither, and no further" in large, red letters.

And God is trying to talk me out of it. I agree with him, on certain levels, but I'm still just so afraid... afraid of hurting, of pain, of... broken relationships. Of dashed hopes. Of being known, really known, and then abandoned. It's happened too much.

So... what's God's definition of safety?

All I know is that he said, "I'll always be there."

Is that enough? Can I trust that?

I want to.

Running in place... running against the wind.

I'm not getting anywhere... but it's better than not doing anything, right? ;)

I'm trying to be healthy, I really am.

A two week internet fast has been imposed on the S household. Things with K are getting out of hand again, apparently. I told C that I would support her and D, whatever they decided they had to do.

(Love suffers long, and is kind; love does not envy or boast, is not proud, does not behave herself unseemly, seeks not her own, is not easily provoked, keeps no account of evil; rejoices not in iniquity, but rejoices in the truth; bears all things, believes all things, hopes all things, endures all things. Love never fails...)

That being said, I'm still frustrated. Frustrated with the fact that this affects me too... and she probably doesn't even care. As usual. Lord, give me patience... I hate this hard heart of mine. I want to be an encouragement and support to all those in my family.

How am I supposed to work on this ministry God's given me without the necessary tools?! *Sigh* I guess I'll just have to do things the old-fashioned way. At least it's not like summer camp-- no phone AND no computer!

So I will. I will support C and D as they struggle to lead and guide that poor willful child. Lord help us all...

She really doesn't realize a lot of things. I need to remember that. It's not like she's sadistically plotting to throw monkey wrenches into our lives. She just doesn't think through her actions, and she's gotten a taste of something she likes, so she's running with it, heedless of the heartache that attends her every step... and the heartache and ruin that lies before her. She thinks she's sampling freedom, but she's swallowing a slow poison. Oh, girl... if you would only listen to us, so much stress and tension and needless trauma could be avoided. But, no... you have to do things your way. I really, really hope that it doesn't take a complete collapse of your life for you to see reason. I hope you'll stop simply going through the motions in an attempt to lull us into a sense of security you can use to cloak your actions.

I hope you come to.

And I hope you don't ruin our lives in the process.

Well, actually, it's Week Three for me, because we count Staff Training Week as Week One. But it's the second week of having campers.

Both cabins of girls have requested and subsequently loved my playing guitar and singing softly to them while they fall asleep. I don't know what it is, but I guess it's soothing... so it's kind of become my summer camp tradition :)

The improv group that I'm a part of had our first performance on Monday. It was definitely improvisation, because the other activity was cancelled due to rain. We had an hour's notice to pull together some games and get to know each other as actors, since we hadn't worked together as a group before. We spent an hour each day for the next two days working on our improv skills as a group, and though our performance was good (considering the circumstances), we are a lot funnier and smoother now that we've had time to "practice". (Because really, how do you practice improv? You don't. You just prepare, I guess.)

I like my girls in the cabin, but I don't know them very well, because I'm in the kitchen all day, rather than working with the kids. I'm actually kind of liking the setup. I'm not impatient with them, because I haven't been dealing with them all day, so when the other counselors are on their last nerve, I can take over and give them a break. I'm like the on the bench replacement. I think it works okay. I don't know how my fellow counselors feel about it.

I've discovered this week that there is a rather strong undercurrent of discontent that runs through the staff ranks, from kitchen to counselor. I don't talk to the Exec staff hardly at all, but some of my fellow kitchen staff and some of my fellow counselors have opened up to me about their "disgruntlement". I don't blame them. I have some discontent of my own- there are some rather glaring discrepancies that bother me, and I do take issue with some of the ways the camp is run. But I realized this week that it's really not my place to say anything, and voicing that discontent is not going to a.) change anything or b.) make my work environment a happier place... so I keep quiet. Maybe my purpose for being here is to be a Fairy of Good Cheer or something. I mean, not that it doesn't eat at me sometimes, because it does, and I get really irritated... but I'm trying to find reasons to be thankful despite it and in the midst of it.

One thing that bugs me A LOT is the micromanaging, though. I was frosting cinnamon rolls yesterday morning, and the Boss was standing there watching me, and telling me how to do it.

*Point* "Too much frosting there."

(Silently scraping off frosting and relocating it to another cinnamon roll or two)

*Point* "Too much frosting."

(Silently scraping off frosting and redistributing it amongst five other rolls)

*Point*

"I'm working on it."

All the while I'm thinking, Really?! Are you really going to stand there and micromanage my frosting cinnamon rolls? Don't you have a camp to run??

And it's that, compounded with the "we don't want to give the campers a choice or anything fancy or anything nice, really" mindset that bugs me. Because Lord forbid that we put out two colors of juice, because then they might have a choice. Heaven help us if the salad is "too fancy" (meaning more than lettuce, a tomato wedge, and ranch... possibly some croutons or a slice or two of cucumber). And if you commit the unpardonable treason of putting out options for salad dressing, you might as well kiss your job goodbye.

I'm done ranting. But I do get frustrated with the senselessness of it sometimes. Or the obvious favoritism that is displayed at times.

But I'm not here to worry about that. It's hard enough as it is.

I had a hard week. Several nights, I had nightmares, and my emotions went spiraling downhill as a result. Those days were hard. I was glad I had an iPod. My health has been suffering, too. Every time I eat, my intestines start cramping and churning. I don't like it. And many days this week, I've had to stop what I was doing several times and sit down, because I was close to passing out and/or throwing up. The Boss broached the idea of taking a week off to rest... and I was sorely tempted to say, "Yes!" I don't want to lose the money, though, or the respect of my co-workers, and the thought that the week I take off   (or the couple of days) might be the week/days that God had brought me to camp for and I would miss it is enough to knock the idea right out of my head.

I might, though, if my health continues to go down... maybe just 2 days. I could stay at H's.

I actually wasn't sure I was going to make it to my day off. 9 days with no break is... too much. That's why God created a 6-day work week. (Here we are, an Adventist camp, and we're totally doing away with Sabbath rest. How wack is that? But I guess it's necessary for the running of the camp that we work...) But I keep reminding myself that God has me here for a reason... and that's what's kept me here. I wasn't driven to the point of desperation by homesickness, but I was just... ready to be done with this. Ready for a day off, I think.

I have to go pay bills, now, in my few remaining hours of computer possession time.

Despite it all... God is good. He's on the throne. I can make it 4.5 more weeks.