**WARNING: FRANK DISCUSSION OF SEX AND KINKS TO FOLLOW!**

There's a website called bdsmtest.org where you can go to take a detailed questionnaire and receive results that tell you what percentage of different kind of kinks and fetishes you are. I've taken the test a few times, because I like to keep coming back to it as I explore more and learn more about what I like. This time around, my results came back thusly:

== Results from http://bdsmtest.org/ == 

100% Experimentalist 

98% Bondage receiver 

95% Submissive 

95% Exhibitionist 

94% Degradation receiver 

89% Masochist 

86% Brat 

73% Voyeur 

71% Primal (Prey) 

70% girl/boy 

67% Slave 

67% Non-monogamist 

52% Bondage giver 

51% Ageplayer 

44% Pet 

39% Switch 

35% Master/Mistress 

34% Sadist 

30% Owner 

29% Primal (Hunter) 

27% Vanilla 

21% Brat tamer 

19% Dominant 

14% Degradation giver 

11% Daddy/Mommy 

11% All-Rounder 

See my results online at http://bdsmtest.org/result.php?id=517711

Apparently my number 1 trait is that I like to try everything out. Nice! I'd say the results are pretty well accurate. As you get down past 50%, though, I'm really not into most of that stuff at all. Then again, I haven't really tried much of it first-hand, so I may like it a lot a lot. Never can tell until you try it.

That's all I wanted to share. There's another fun thing I found somewhere, which is a "map" of the different types of kinks and fetishes with color coded pins that you can stick on there to indicate if you've tried a certain thing, want to try, never will try ever, etc. It's really fun. I'll have to poke around and find it again and put the link in here with the bdsmtest. Happy flogging, all!

(image found at http://xkcd.com/137/)

There's been some stuff that I've been wanting to write about lately, but I've held myself back because I'm afraid. I'm afraid of rejection, afraid of judgment, afraid that I might offend those readers whom I call friends so deeply that they will turn away and never come back. I've been toying with the idea of writing it anyway, because really, this is my space to be free and be myself without judgment, and the moment I censor myself because of some imagined consequences at the hands of probable judges, well… I might as well just stop writing altogether.

I do know that some of the things I have to write will be unsavory for certain members of the conservative Christian crowd that I used to run with, and that's fine. Different strokes for different folks, you know? But it's the thought of those conservatives that fills me with such dread, as I know that such a community can be rather… unforgiving in nature, and I don't want to bring that kind of wrath down upon myself. I also don't want to make myself the target of some kind of evangelistic campaign designed to "win me back to the truth" or "bring me to the light" somehow. The choices that I've made have been very deliberate and thoughtful, not hasty compromises made in the throes of passion or despair. 

I don't feel like I'm being true to myself, editing out important bits of my life and personality this way. With this in mind, I have decided to write. Stumbling upon this cartoon earlier this evening just underscored my conviction and reinforced my thoughts. I still wish to take the convictions and repugnances of others into consideration, however, such as the toning down of the language that I often use, substituting swear words and epithets for other phrases. My plan is to speak in broad strokes about what I wish, and if I feel the need to go into detail I'll save it for a separate post, so readers can decide if they want to read that particular entry or not.

Why all this hesitation, all this caution, you ask? To put it simply, I'm an active member of the BDSM culture and community where I live, and I apply the kinks and fetishes I am interested in to my lifestyle on a regular basis. No, Corey and I aren't having sex on a very regular basis anymore, simply due to illness constraints and stress problems, but I can say in all honesty that kink isn't just about sex. That is, it doesn't have to be. It can be, or it can be completely removed from lust and intercourse. You really have to be involved to understand. But yes-- I like leather and lashes and corsets and ropes. All of that good old taboo stuff. There is a huge wide world of kink and fetishes within BDSM, of course. There's no way one could possibly be interested in or involved in everything. What I appreciate most about the culture is its emphasis on Safe, Sane, and Consensual, or alternately phrased, Risk Aware Consensual Kink.

What I would ask is that anyone who is finding themselves repulsed or immediately huffy and judgmental, do some research. There are a million and one websites that explain the basics and the theory without being pornographic, and who knows but that the information may prove of use in the future? Just because a person looks "vanilla" (not involved with kink) doesn't mean they are. Most of us keep up a very good front, afraid to come out of the closet for fear of losing jobs, friends, family relationships… There is a lot of stigma, and a lot of misinformation. That's part of the reason why I want to be open and honest about this; to dislodge and refute stereotypes and negative associations.

The reason I bring this up at all is because it's how I celebrated my birthday. The group in Yuma that I'm a part of has monthly "munches", which are vanilla gatherings where we get together and eat, hang out, and just generally have a fun time together. We also have monthly play parties where we get together and do just what the name implies-- we play, as groups, couples, or individuals. I've attended several parties but I've never had the opportunity to engage in any play before, as one of the rules imposed on me is that I'm not allowed to play unless Drogo is in attendance and gives me permission. His days off were changed to include the day the play party was held, and he came with and gave me permission to engage in some play. He said, "It's your birthday; go have some fun," all indulgent-like. It was cute. I was ecstatic. But I will write a separate post about the party and how it went, what I did, etc. for anyone who wishes to read it. Most of the time, at that party and at all the others, my time is spent hanging out with a plate of food and chatting with my friends. Just like any other party. We really are like any other people, except that our mutual hobbies are considered alternative, or even "bad". (Hence the secrecy.)

Another thing I've been wanting to write about but holding back on is my spiritual journey. If you've read some stuff from the early days of my blog, you may know that I was struggling along in a particularly conservative branch of Protestantism known as Seventh Day Adventist. I have absolutely nothing against the Adventist church, as I was essentially born and raised SDA and have a great number of fond memories throughout my life associated with it. A large amount of the people I hold near and dear to my heart are active SDA members, and I spent 3 or 4 years working as a missionary for the church here in the States. That being said, some of the attitudes and actions of members and leaders in the church really damaged me in profound ways, and some of the beliefs held by the church and by the members crippled me in ways that have been difficult to undo.

After moving back to the Southwest from the Northwest, where I lived for several years, I engaged in about a year and a half of study as to whether the basic tenets of Christianity and the authenticity of the Bible were real concepts that I could trust and build my belief system upon. I didn't find it to be so. When I stopped trying to make Christianity my worldview, life started making more sense. I began recovering from the depression that gripped me with suicidal force and pulled me into a blackness so thick that I could feel nothing else, nothing but crushing despair and agony. I laugh a little bitterly to myself when I think that I have a "reverse testimony"; that is, I'm the opposite of the people that stand up and tell how they were tormented and miserable and did all kinds of things and couldn't find happiness or true satisfaction in life until they "found Jesus", and once they became Christians and got saved then they had happiness and peace and life made sense for the first time. For me, I was tormented and miserable and couldn't find happiness or true satisfaction until I walked away from Christianity. Finally, finally, for what seemed the first time in my life, I had peace. I was happy. And I felt guilty, because from infancy up I had been taught that the SDA church had "the Truth", and if I walked away from that I would be lost forever. I worried that maybe it actually was true, and I was going to be lost for walking away… but I couldn't bring myself to go back, to resign myself to a life of such deep unhappiness and emptiness. Not now that I'd finally started liking who I was, seeing worth in myself and seeing beauty in the life around me and before me.

I've come to the place over these past 2 years where I will now call myself an agnostic atheist. My belief is that deities are the creations of mankind, a projection, a metaphor, something we need to survive mentally and emotionally as beings of higher intelligence. Don't quiz me on facts and details-- I'm still figuring all this out, and I was never a good apologeticist, no matter what side of things I stood on. I've always had leanings toward paganism, though-- Wicca or NeoPaganism and all that, or maybe some of the New Age beliefs. As I've been doing research lately, though, I have found that even Wicca is too "religious" for me. Again, I don't believe in actual, literal deities, and Wicca calls upon the God and the Goddess as literal beings. No, I'm more interested in earth based religions that acknowledge the energy and the life forces in the world around us, in the universe we reside in, and that seeks to reach out and redirect those forces with my own will. I think that the rituals have some kind of scientific effect that we don't understand yet, and so the results are attributed to "magick". A great deal of what is done now, without a second thought, could and likely would have been labeled magick a few centuries ago, much less thousands of years ago. If you went back to 12 A.D. and had a Bic lighter in your hand, do you think the people around you would recognize the interaction of friction and heat and fuel? Nope. You'd be a wizard, a sorcerer, a speaker for the gods.

Anyway, that's where I'm at now. I feel a large sense of relief to have written all that, but I also feel a nervous quivering throughout me as I contemplate pressing the "Publish" button. What if I lose my friends? What if my bestie doesn't wanna be my bestie anymore? *sigh* But then I guess… this part of me is still there, whether I speak about it or not. If I lose friends or family or whatever over this, well… them only accepting part of me isn't enough. That's not real acceptance, nor is it real love. It's just a test I must brave, I suppose.

That in mind… there's no way I'd ever reveal any of this to my grandparents, though. My grampa and I recently got into a very heated disagreement regarding Adventists who keep the Old Testament feasts. I know several people who do, and did myself at one point in time. My point was that they are living up to what they believe is what God wants them to do. Grampa got angry because they're WRONG, doesn't matter if they believe they're right or not, and they need to give up their sin and come back to the truth of God, yadda yadda yadda. He came to me and apologized afterward, admitting that he was being very closed-minded and cruel and it wasn't okay. I appreciated that very much. But if I were ever to tell him that I'm a pagan atheist BDSMer who is heteroflexible? Yeah. He'd probably never speak to me again. I've noticed that as people age they tend to become very inflexible, closed, and narrow minded. Their way or the high way, you know? Maybe it's just older Christians, or older Adventists in particular. I mean, they've spent so long having the idea pounded into them that only SDA's have the Truth, everyone else is wrong, and that a good SDA will tell them they're wrong so that they're not eternally lost. Otherwise it's on your head if they're "lost" and you didn't tell 'em, you know? Just another reason I left. I was sick of the gut sickening feeling I'd get when I walked into a grocery store or a gas station and felt like had to pass out tracts and witness or else I wasn't living up to my commitment as a Christian, and that maybe I'd let an opportunity pass that was the person's last. You know, like they'd die in a car accident right afterward on their way home or something. I hated that pressure. I still exult in my freedom as I walk into the grocery store and know that I don't have to interact with a single damn person if I don't want to, and usually I don't.

As my friend and I were discussing earlier, things change and people change right along with them. I am a very different person than I was just a year ago, or even a few months for that matter! I feel like springtime, like a bud poised on the edge of blooming at any second, like I'm finally growing after a season of being stumped and stunted and I'm coming into my potential at last. It's a great feeling. I'm learning and expanding in so many ways, and I just want to keep going. Everything inside me feels clean and happy, despite being sick, despite my life having taken such a drastic left turn. No, things aren't perfect, and there's still stress on me and in our household due to various things (bills, illness, general relationship stuff that happens to everyone), but I know that I'm already a richly developed woman and that the trend will continue. Honestly? I feel like I'm my own friend for the first time, and I'm actually glad to know me. I'm proud of myself. Isn't that the craziest thing?

I got my hands on an off-brand of Nutella that I can actually eat (can we please stop with the gratuitous soy usage, corporate America?), and I understand everything now. I mean everything. The meaning of life, the universe and everything. Turns out it isn't forty two, it's chocolate and hazelnuts. In spreadable form. The gods have descended and Eden is here. It's like the Ferrero Rocher chocolate candies that I've loved so much for so long but can't have anymore (thanks again to the soy problem) have exploded all over this whole grain toasted pita…slice? (what do you call a single piece of pita bread in all its pockety glory?). Of course, the whole wheat makes it healthy. Right? Right. Also, as a completely pointless side note, I must say that not indulging in the Oxford comma for the phrase, "life, the universe and everything" is killing me, but I am pretty sure that's how it's written and I want to be faithful to the original text. Douglas Adams deserves it. (For those completely lost, I'm referencing "The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy" series by Douglas Adams. It's a series of books that is completely silly, mind bending, and entirely sensible if you read them all through.)

Chewing this deluxe chocolatey treat is killer, though, thanks to the good ol' oral surgery recovery. The gaping sockets where my 3 wisdom teeth used to be are pretty much alright, in that there's no easily discernible spikes of pain above what I normally experience, but the bottom left jaw pain has got to be the incarnation of everything evil in the world. Due to the positioning of that tooth, the extraction involved cutting open the gum and sewing it shut again afterward, and this stitched area is causing me debilitating pain. Yes, even with the copious amounts of strong pain killers that I am taking, and yes, even with all of the little countermeasures you can take against pain in addition to the pain meds, it's keeping me from sleeping at night, keeping me from eating solid food, giving me migraines, making the hours pass soooo slooooooowlyyyyy, and making my supply of pain killers look suspiciously puny. Once or twice a day I give in and eat something that requires chewing, but ouch.

I finally caved yesterday and started applying ice directly to my jaw, and that was an amazing breakthrough... at first… for a bit. Now it doesn't seem to matter. Sorbet has been a helpful friend as well, kind of numbing things out with cold from the inside, plus it's super delicious! The weather, though, has been affecting the pain levels. Clouds have been coming and going and bringing rain, so on the days that the weather is changing my pain is skyrocketing. On the calm days with no clouds and no changing, I was able to get it mostly under control. Since I cannot control the weather, I will simply do what I can to get this healing up as fast as possible. It's nice to know that this intense pain will end at some point. I'm not used to thinking that way anymore.

So. Birthday coming up in a week, give or take a day. I'm going to be the ripe old age of 27. I think it's fair to say that I'm definitely not where I thought I'd be in life at the moment, and things are going to be different than I had planned, but I think I'm coming to grips with that. I feel like I'm coming to after some time in a thick, numbing sleep, coming back to myself and gulping a huge lungful of air. I've had several "off" months and lots, lots, lots of heavy blows in a row. That's had me staggering, trying to come to terms with reality; adapt, adjust, and survive. I have not lost myself, though, and I feel that irrepressible sense of self rising yet again, despite the surroundings and trappings that modify the expression.

While I was on a walk the other day I caught sight of the desert mountains in the distance, and the dark-light pattern of the clouds and sunlight passing over them in turns gripped my heart as it always does. I felt the familiar yearning for a good, solid hike, followed by a mournful thought that hiking is out of the question when I'm scraping along the road with my walker. The second thought I had was, "Fuck that noise!" I refuse to let myself be bleached barren and bled dry by my disease(s). When I go hiking or backpacking I definitely won't be able to travel as far or as fast, but that doesn't mean that I have to give it up entirely. Yes, there's something to be said for working within the parameters of reality, but there's something more to be said for not giving up on yourself and refusing to become a bland mush of a person when faced with limiting circumstances. So no, I won't be a massage therapist like I had dreamed and planned, because that's just not realistic when you consider my connective tissue disease and my fatigue and pain levels. It's not a matter of want, it's a matter of not physically capable, no matter how hard I push myself and aim for the dramatically inspiring documentary story of a life.

But I still massage my husband, my friends, when I can. When I can. I've adapted. I've altered. But I'm not giving up, not unless I want to, and for my own reasons. Because while I refuse to be conquered and give up on my hobbies and my interests because of circumstances imposed on me against my will, I also refuse to be stuck doing stuff that I no longer really want to do or that I didn't want in the first place, simply to prove that my illness "doesn't define me" or whatever. If I were doing stuff just to prove that my diseases don't have me by the balls, in that moment I'd be proving myself wrong. It's a tricky thought, and a tricky balance, and it's taken me some time to get to this place. At first I needed to simply withdraw and lick the wounds inflicted upon diagnosis, to simply ride the tide of one appointment after another, and I'm okay with that. There will be times when I do so again, and that's fine. So long as the reasons are mine, and I'm doing it for me (and not because I've been bullied into it by people or my diseases), I can do whatever I need to do to get by. For me, for now, it means letting myself emerge once more, a slightly different incarnation with all the spunk and sass of my former self combined with a new balance and perspective tempered by pain and trials.

Hey, did I mention that I got glasses? Yep, I sure did, and they make me look hot. I'll get a picture in here sometime when I can, but for now just take my word for it. Here's how great they are: I actually feel more attractive with them on than without! Yeah, I know. That's never been a thing for me before. In fact, I feel very good about my appearance in general lately. Sure, I'm still overweight and trying to slim down, but my hair has been growing out and is now a chin-length bob in my natural color, my skin is clear, I've got really cute glasses, I finally found a type of bra I can wear comfortably, thus my breasts and cleavage look fantastic (even if they *are* sports bras), and I've got some really cute earrings. I want to get more holes in my ears and I've been playing with the idea of a nose ring, a very thin and delicate hoop (see below), but I just don't think it would look that great.

I've always wanted an eyebrow piercing, however, so maybe I'll go for one of those...

I definitely want what the ponytail lady (that's Fergie, right?) has in the way of earrings-- a whole ear-full, all the way down. (I just hope my babies don't decide to reach for the shiny things, you know? Yikes!)

Of course, I want a tattoo in the worst way but since I struggle with hyperalgesia and always will, I figure that it's probably out of the question. Unless I were to use medical grade anesthesia or something for the procedure. Hmm… (Kidding.) My first tattoo, though, would be this:

To wrap things up, and on a completely unrelated side note, I love my kitties. We took Fancy, the new cat, to the vet today to check out her ears--either mites or an infection, either way real bad when we got her but improving while with us--and she behaved so well both on the car ride and during the appointment itself, even while they made use of the rectal thermometer. I know that I wouldn't be as quiet and docile as she was if a rectal thermometer was involved in my exam! Turns out that there are no mites, at least not right now. It could have started out as mites and then progressed as they left their waste behind, but she has a fungal infection that a course of ear drop medication should clear right up, and I expect that we'll see a bit of a change in her disposition once that's better. She's already sweet now, but there's a difference between being nice and sweet while you're in discomfort or pain and being sweet and nice because you're no longer in discomfort or pain. You know what I mean? Well, right now she's kind of a bitch to Bob and Juneaux (pronounced "juno", by the way), hissing and swiping when they come near or if they (try to) pass by, growling at them if she so much as sees them, but it's just driven Bob and Juneaux closer which is what I was hoping for. They're becoming bros, which didn't happen before because Bob actually had his bro, Cortes! So we'll see what happens as the kitty soap opera continues. Tune in next time for more drama on As the World Tunas/General Pawspital/All My Kitties/As the Fur/Litterbox Turns.

By the by… Which is your favorite kitty soap opera name? Got an original one? Let me know in the comments!

I found this coat today on a website that I like to browse, dresslily. I'm slowly coming to terms with the fact that most of their products are made for people smaller than I. (I'm still not used to being an XL with a double-digit bosom!) It's a shame, really, because they have some adorable things!

This coat, silly as it is, really appeals to me. I like bright colors and fun, unexpected accents. I love fur trim. I love old-fashioned looking things, and this is reminiscent of the late 19th century to me. Did I ever mention that for most of my childhood my greatest ambition was to be Amish? I used to actually spend hours scheming about how to be taken in by an Amish community, since they're pretty exclusive.  The simplicity, honesty, and hard work of their lifestyle really appealed to me, and it was all cloaked in the romanticism of childhood fancies. The dream died when my mother informed me that all the Amish were allowed to read was the Bible. Being the bookworm that I was and am, this was an unacceptable compromise, so I sadly parted ways with my fondest wish. (I've since learned that this is not true.)

I had a vibrantly sky blue coat while I was at SOULS. I got it at a yard sale put on by the church we were staying at my first summer in MI. It was a pleather trench coat, dappled in shades of sky and pale blue so that it looked like a pleasantly clouded sky. It made me sweat since there was no air flow through that material, but it was certainly handy for rainy days. GM hated it, I later learned, because it didn't match with anything that I owned or wore it with. I am of the opinion that you don't have to match at all, ever, unless you want to. I also firmly believe that coats are exempt from any outfit matching rules and can be whatever color or style you darn well please.

I finally did part with my blue trench coat, but I think back on it with fondness. It was my way of hanging on to my individuality and the sparkle of my persona in an atmosphere that, while not explicitly demanding conformity, encouraged a sort of bland sameness. Once there I didn't have much to work with anymore-- no unnatural hair colors, no jewelry, no crazy haircuts… Just modest shirts, long skirts, and cute flats. To counter that, I wore shawls, blue trench coats, neon sweaters… anything that was still me I clung to in the lukewarm sea of conservativism. I wasn't the only one. JP had his crazy knee-high socks and his sling, BH had a red track suit he wore in off times, LP always maintained her classic, fun style with grace and ease and lovely scarves, and JR would forego the demand for "propriety" in favor of the leafy embrace of the nearest tree.

Over time, though, I even gave up the bright colors, heeding very literally the counsel to not draw attention to oneself through dress or appearance. I regret that now. I entered the world of conservative Christianity during a (long) period of my life when I was struggling to find myself, to figure out who I was without the clutter and debris of friends and hobbies and expectations and excuses. I became what I thought I was supposed to be, but that was a trick I picked up at a very, very young age. If you are what you're supposed to be, act the way you're supposed to act, etc., then you curry favor with those in power and make yourself less likely to be noticed. A handy trick for abusive and dysfunctional situations. It's taken years, though, to shed that habit and slough off the accumulation of personas cultivated over decades.

I'm finally figuring out me, letting my true self shine out bright and bold… and I think the true me would like a coat like this.

I'm going to be doing something a little different here for a while. I don't know how long it will last, and I will probably continue with my regular blogging habits in the midst of this (because girl gotta vent, you know what I'm sayin?), but I think it will be a fun little diversion. I felt the urge to pull out my old journals and scrapbooks last night and start browsing through them, just to see how different my life is now and, more importantly, how much I've grown and healed in my thoughts and in my heart. (Hint: it's a lot!) So what I'll be doing is posting entries from my paper journals that I kept before I started blogging, probably in no particular chronological order, just as they speak to me. I'm going to call this endeavor Blast From The Past. I hope you enjoy this little bit of time capsuley goodness. I think I will.

 Yesterday was crap for both C and I. (I'll explain later.)

Today is D's birthday, or would be if he were still alive. I've already spent some time weeping loudly and rocking back in forth in grief, and it's only 9 a.m.

Tonight is the vigil.

I woke up with trouble walking in addition to the usual high pain levels. Yesterday when I practiced my song, my wrist and arm was spasming and cramping for the next 5 hours. Mer.

But I'm determined that today will be a... well.. a good day? An important day, if nothing else. I can still move around, albeit slowly, and I did most of the prep for the vigil yesterday. Yeah. It'll be ok. I'm nervous, but that's always the case when I get up front for stuff. I get nervous before hand. It's my fear of failure.

Oh, and I made the front page of the local paper yesterday with an article about the abuse that I survived as a child. Part of the publicity campaign for the vigil, and because I'm one of the speakers. When I read it, it's like I'm reading about someone else, and it horrifies me that someone should have to live through that. When I think about my own experience I minimize, minimize, minimize. But seeing it in black and white, in someone else's words? Yeah. It makes it real, and then I'm like, "Shit. I'm amazing!" LOL

So. On with the day. I'll report back... eventually. Work laptop died yesterday (told you it was crap) so I'm using C's comp again, and it's kind of a pain to boot this thing up and then sit in one position in the computer chair. I don't care so much for it.

I'm lying here, in a world of hurt, contemplating tomorrow.

I don't understand why my pain has just been getting worse and worse, but I'm hopeful (and fearful) that tomorrow will hold answers for me. Well, truthfully, no matter what the tests say I will have answers. Either I have MS or I don't. Either it's lupus or it's not. Either they see something wrong with me or they don't. Either we know what's killing me slowly or we know to look somewhere else, to some other solution.

C seems pleased at my efforts to be healthy and live a full life in spite of the pain and sickness. We took the snake for a walk tonight, and we walked all the way down the block to the canal, then followed that down to the main road before we retraced our steps. I'm proud of myself. I've made it a goal to take a walk every other night, and C is supportive of that. I love taking walks with him, and there's no point in walking during the heat of the day anyway, so I may as well wait for him to get home before I go out.

I worked several hours today and accomplished a great deal, more than E thought I would. She had to go out and run some errands so I finished the tasks she needed done that day and just kept going with filing and other projects that have been lying around for a while. I've got more phone calls and stuff to make tomorrow, but the good news is that the board approved an hour increase for me, so I can work up to 8 hours a week now! That is, if I can physically handle it, of course. But I really want to try to maintain 8 hours a week. Not only can I use the money, but it is also good for my peace of mind and my sense of industry.

As much as I'm involved in the HJ these days, it came as a funny realization to me today that I really don't feel the need to attend the sexual assault support group for myself anymore. At least, not right now. I'm in a good place, I've got good coping mechanisms and healthy tools in my toolbox, and I'm in a pretty steady place in my life. In addition, most of my energy is focused on the fight for my physical health these days, and my emotional health is not the main priority for healing any longer. I'm sure I'll still pop in from time to time, and there may be a time when I need to go back in a more long-term fashion, but... I guess I've moved to a new place in my healing journey, one where I can give support as well as receive it. I am getting support from places other than group now, and it's enough for me.

It's funny... I was musing today that I have gained a lot from my battle with chronic illness. I've grown a lot as a person, my perspective on life has been refined and tempered, and I am much more intentional in my relationships and my lifestyle. My support network has been finely crystallized into a distinct entity, whereas before I just had... friends. I've learned a lot about boundaries and humility and accepting care from others. I've learned a lot about letting others care for me as a friend, and how to care for others in a truly open way. I've learned even more about taking care of myself in all aspects, and I've learned how to listen to myself. (Mostly.)

So no matter what answers (or lack thereof) tomorrow brings, it's just another step in this rich, tumultuous journey that I'm on. I'm grateful for it... but sometimes I wish it hurt less. In so many ways.

Yesterday was the Women's Empowerment Conference that the HJ hosted. We had a lot of help to make it a reality in the first place. For instance, a law firm sponsored us and gave us the money to hire caterers to provide a free continental breakfast and a lunch to all of the women and vendors present. That's nothing to sneeze at, for the total head count was somewhere around 100, way beyond my expectations! I helped to run the registration table by the front door, then I sat at the HJ's booth. There were lots of flyers and information on our table, as well as those silicon bracelets that everyone likes so much, and there was also one of those informational tri-fold cardboard things, but it was very hastily put together for this event. E gratefully accepted my inquiry of making another one for us. I know I can do a great job, and it's important that our information be displayed attractively. Presentation is a large part in what draws people in. (That's why it bothered me so much that some of the books we had to sell in the summer programs were clearly outdated and very unappealing. It made them much harder to sell, and even believing what was in the books already I had a hard time reading them and taking them seriously.)

I didn't stay for the whole day, leaving after the keynote/lunch speaker, but I enjoyed what I was there for. I was there for the majority of the day, and it wiped me out! I did get a free chair massage from the massage therapist who was there, which helped my back pain for a little while. I was definitely glad I had brought my stick and a large quantity of pain killers, though. I can't wait to debrief about the conference on Tuesday at our HJ meeting. I am certain that it will be an event that will continue for many years. I'm so happy that we're becoming a presence in our community with annual events! There's the talent show, for one, and now this Conference. I love being a part of something that makes a difference in people's lives. I really do. I feel very fortunate that I have both the opportunity and the skill set to be a valuable part of the HJ.

I was very tired afterward, though. I came home and napped, then C and I went out to run errands, but I was in bed and asleep before ten last night. We went to the Verizon store and priced phone plans for when I switch over to his plan. It is so expensive! C and I went through the budget item by item yesterday, and I'm discouraged, frankly. I mean, I know we'll be okay, but... I feel guilty for being such an expense to him. It's not like he didn't know it when he married me, but I wish that I had ways to ease his financial burden. If I could work, that would be one thing, but not only am I not able to really work, I bring medical bills and expensive food bills on top of all that! If I could live on rice and beans I would, but I cannot digest beans (or most proteins, really) well and it causes me more problems. After taking out all of the necessities like bills, we have just above a hundred dollars to buy gas and anything else we need. I told him that I will buy my own gas, and not to worry about it. I can manage that much with my paycheck. I'm still trying to pay down my credit card, but it's a very slow process. E and I were talking about increasing my hours this summer, and I'd like to, if just for the sake of finances. (More than that, though, I savor the feeling of making a valuable, viable contribution to something other than myself.)

I was racking my brain, trying to figure out where I can cut expenses to help, but I can't come up with anything. Even when it comes to food, as expensive as it is, I buy only the basics. Fruit, veggies, sometimes chicken, cheese, or fish, rice from time to time, yogurt (though I'm cutting that out for other reasons), rice milk and cereal, oatmeal, applesauce... That's it. My big splurges come in the form of, "Omg, can I have raspberries this week?!" And I know that C's not upset with me for any of this, but I almost expect him to be. Weird, huh? I know where it comes from, at least partially, though, and C's called it on more than one occasion. When I'm fretting about costing him money, he says, "I'm not R, and you're not your mom." It's true. R gets very worked up about spending money, and Mom is not good at not spending it. I do not nonchalantly spend money on things that are not necessities, though from time to time I feel an insatiable urge to spend money on myself in a way that is not necessity-related, like buying a dress from Goodwill or a new bottle of nail polish or a new piece of jewelry from WalMart or Etsy or something. I do, but it always comes out of my own money, what little that is, and I invariably feel the pressure afterwards that I could have spent it on something more productive... but the pleasure in my purchase overcomes the guilt. Usually.

It blew me away the first time C made that comment about R and mom, but I immediately saw the truth of it. And you know what? I'm actually glad they're getting divorced. They have put much work into their relationship and into the family, but it's still very dysfunctional, and it's better for everyone involved if they go their separate ways. I think everyone will be happier eventually, even if they aren't at first. The kids are going to have to get used to living within much tighter means, and while it may be difficult for them it will be a valuable lesson. R is a good person, as evidenced by the fact that he's buying the family a place to live and will be giving them money for a pre-determined period of time. That blows me away. I mean, when you're divorcing someone... usually you don't volunteer to give them money after you're split up. I never had any doubts about him being a good man, but he needs to get his PTSD under control. He's also very moody, which I could never handle. One of the things that draws me to C so much is his stability in nearly every area. R is stable financially, to be sure, but his moods are so subject to change... I always checked with mom to see what kind of mood he was in before I called to talk about money with him. Mom has her own mood swings, but maybe I'm more used to those since I grew up with them. I don't know how to explain her, exactly... I mean, she's generally always upbeat, in the same way that people say I'm always happy, but she can go "manic" and be swept away in some idea of hers on a moment's notice. A trip to the store is never just a trip to the store. You may end up 3 other places before you finally make it there, which always wore me out and made me impatient. (Realizing now that it was probably my lower-than-normal energy levels contributing to that without my realizing it-- not enough spoons!) I mean, I love adventure as much as the next person, but I just want to get my errands done and then decide if I feel up to anything else. I suppose that's the fibro talking. I do cherish the memories of her coming home from work and announcing that we were going to San Diego that weekend. I dunno. I'm ambivalent about it.

There's so much more to the situation, but I'm pretty much just staying out of it. They're adults. They need to work it out on their own. There's a situation that Mom is involved in that I am uncomfortable with and disagree with, but I've made my feelings known and now I just have to let it go. I still love her to pieces, but I'm not her caretaker. It is strange for me to keep my hands off emotionally, but it's taken a lot of work for me to be healthy enough to do that. She's my mother, not the other way around, and though I spent much of my life trying to take care of her... that's not my job. It's not my place. So she knows how I feel and why, and I'm letting it drop. She needs to work things out on her own. (I do kinda feel like a parent watching their child make mistakes, though... it's hard.)

I am sad about not being able to visit for Christmas this year, but Mom has said something about her possibly being able to visit me sometime this year or next, so that's very exciting. I would love to have her here. I told her that she'll be so proud of me when she sees my little house and the life C and I have built, but she said that she's already so very proud of me. Warm fuzzies!

I was telling C about our conversation, and how Mom used to be afraid that being with him would hold me back, "live a small life", because she has always felt that I'm destined for great things. Now, as we're discussing the stability and love that C has brought into my life, we both agree that he's the solid foundation that has and will allow me to grow into my full potential. The analogy was that he's the soil that will let me bloom. When I told C that, we started this joke about how he's dirt to me and how that would sound if we said it around others. So now, as a term of endearment, I shout at him, "You're dirt to me!" It's pretty funny :)

This is a topic that's been on my mind off and on for, well, a really long time... as long as I've been actively fighting chronic illnesses, that is. So... years? Don't think that my battle began with fibromyalgia, far from it!

I've always been "sickly" in some ways. Asthma as a kid and teenager, low energy levels and high need for sleep with a very difficult time getting up, leg pains throughout life... I just assumed all this was normal, and that I kind of sucked at life for not being able to soldier through as everyone else must be doing. I looked at the sporty kids in my high school, the ones that could run the mile without difficulty, and I wondered how they did it. I didn't know that there was something wrong with me, that you're not supposed to feel that way. I remember helping to plant a tree during Bible college, and just ten or fifteen minutes of the exertion of digging left me feeling cold, lightheaded, nauseous, weak, and trembling... yet I kept digging, because my partner was still digging. If they could continue, I could continue. I assumed that they were feeling the same way, but they were tougher than I was. Wrong. I didn't know that exertion isn't supposed to leave you feeling that way!

During Bible college is when I really began getting sick, and the gastrointestinal issues came to the forefront. I powered through as best I could, knowing that I was very sick in some ways, yet not knowing that I was abnormal in others, and a few months after graduation I finally found out that I was allergic to a bunch of different foods and that I had bad hypothyroidism. The next few years were a constant battle with my energy levels, my guts, and also my mind. I started working through my past abuse, all the different flavors of it, and I noticed that as I healed emotionally I also began to heal physically. But I was still sick.

I had reached a place of reasonable stability when the fibro reared its hideous head and began to drag me below the surface of functionality. I'd somehow always managed to stay afloat before, usually motivated by a fear of rejection and sheer stubbornness combined with economic necessity, but now I was sinking, and fast. Since last fall, I've found myself in a place where I require naps on a regular basis, I have a walking aid with me at all times when I leave the house, I regularly rely on painkillers to make it through a day (judge me as you will), and I still struggle with eating and digesting food in adequate amounts. And yes, I even have a handicap parking tag hanging from my rearview mirror. (Which is the bomb, by the way!)

This isn't to say that all is doom and gloom. I do see myself getting better in increments, and I think the Long, Dark Slide Into Oblivion is finally over. Now that I've recovered from the wedding stress, I feel like I'm taking incremental steps back up that figurative stairway that I had been so rapidly descending, and that encourages me! Mom told me today that for a while she began to think that she might have to move out here and just take care of me until I eventually died, that's how bleak the outlook was. (To be fair, she was also worried that I had cancer and they just hadn't caught it or something.) I assured her that I've stabilized (for now), and that I feel as though I'm improving some. I think that helped to put her at ease a bit.

The possibility of returning to my "old" self, or even better, brings me to a painful realization, though, one that I am actually quite loathe to face. It sounds kind of silly to admit even silently, much less to put into words on a page, but... I'm scared of getting better. No, really. I am.

Honestly, I've gotten used to being sick. This has become my reality, my daily battle. When it's "gone", when I'm better, what do I fight against then? What do I aspire to? Life is so simple when it is distilled down to "get better". That's what you focus on. That's the dream, the goal. It's the gatekeeper of other dreams.

I want to travel to different countries and experience different cultures.
I want to try sky-diving.
I want to have a baby and raise it.
I want to have a fulfilling job that I enjoy.

But those things (except for the job, maybe) are not things I can do right now. They would destroy me, and possibly those around me, were I to attempt them now. First things first, I must "get better".

I know it sounds like I've let the sicknesses become my identity. Like I'm saying, "Without them, what am I?" Maybe it's true. Maybe I have. I'd like to think that's not true, but I do know that as long as I'm sick, people consider me to be a fighter. People have this certain idea of me as a person, but when I'm not sick anymore... who am I? I am me, but I've lost a part of what made me "me" for a while. Sure, I can say that the fight doesn't define me, but... doesn't it? Not wholly, no, because I am so much more than a fibro fighter, or a UCTD fighter, or a hypothyroid fighter, or a depression fighter. I am Cassandra. But those different "fighters" are also a part of me, and when I'm not sick anymore, like not really sick, it's like those fighters go away, they step back into the shadows. They've been the visible forefront for so long, because this daily fight is so visceral, so intense, that the other aspects of myself can only come out solo in spurts and glimpses, or share the limelight with the fighters at best. When the fighters recede into the shadows... the stage feels very, very empty.

At least, that's how I perceive it to be. I do have visions of freedom, glorious freedom, you know-- to just do whatever the heck I want for a change?! But maybe it's like Stockholm Syndrome... you get used to your imprisonment, and you even get kind of fond of it. Humans love familiarity, even if it is a terrible familiarity. You get comfortable, and change is frightening. Even good change.

Also, when I am not sick anymore, I am then way more responsible for... everything. Cue my intense fear of failure and my unrealistic expectations. As of now, I can assuage my guilt with, "I'm too sick to accomplish _______, so it's okay." Sure, but what about when I'm not sick? Then it's just my own damn fault.

And maybe part of it is my fear of living in abundance. I come from a place of "I'm doing pretty good considering _______." I've never approached life from a place of, "I'm doing pretty good." There has always been a qualifier. Sickness is my qualifier as of right now. When that is gone, then I must face my life as it is, and the prospect of that is... scary.

That's what it boils down to. I'm scared, scared to lose my familiar cocoon of pain and symptoms and walking sticks... scared to step into the sunlight because that's not what I'm used to. Scared that "better" will let me down. Scared to be disappointed, or worse-- to disappoint.

But as I was thinking about it the other night, I realized that I'll never be 100% "better", not really. At least, not in this current place and time. They don't have cures for what I have. It's all management, really. I am beginning to view it as I view my food allergies-- if I ignore my limits and eat whatever I want, I damage myself and I hurt. I pay a price. Sometimes I pay a price for something that I don't even know the cause of! I can be as good as can be, and sometimes I still just hurt or get sick, and that's a fact of my life. (Momma C always knew when I was stressed even before I did, because I'd start having gut problems and get sick. She's the one that made that connection, not me.) I have chronic illnesses. Chronic means that they're going to be around a long time. I can choose to be good about it and manage them as well as I can, or I can be an inconsiderate dick to my body and pay the price. Even if I am as good as can be, sometimes things beyond my control will cause flares-- weather, environmental stressors, other illnesses like colds or flus, etc. Like my allergies, I can get to a place of stability, where I'm not constantly miserable... but I will spend the rest of my life being constantly aware. The fighters will be lurking in the shadows, keeping tabs on things and patrolling the perimeters. Sometimes they'll have to come back into the forefront, but the goal is to get to the place where they offer background support to the other aspects of myself that will emerge into the light, one by one.

Sure, I'm scared of what it will mean when I'm "not sick anymore", but I think it's worth at least trying. I was scared of the changes I needed to go through emotionally to heal from my past, but I would never trade this health for that dysfunction! Facing the fear and walking through it were valuable experiences... and this is just another aspect of that.

Besides, if I hate it, I know what I have to do to get sick again, right? ;)

(Please know that I'm being facetious! I refuse to play the system for my own gain. Stuff like that ruins the legitimate claims for help that people with chronic illnesses need.)

Also, Dave Walker over at From the Fog did a great post on this very topic the other day, which encouraged and inspired me to actually get this out of my brain and onto "paper". Thanks, Dave, for that kick. I needed to process through this.

I've been feeling better since Wednesday. Stronger. More able to handle the pain, and even to push myself and feel my muscles burn with exertion. It's been a while since I dared to do anything like that. It would have sent me straight to bed in spasms of muscle agony and the groaning torment of severe "fibro flu". Who wants that? Not I.

I did a lot (to me) of packing and moving this weekend. I picked up boxes and carried them out to my car and into the new house. I scrubbed shelves and mopped floors. I wiped down bathtubs and swept the whole house. I hung shower curtains and ate sushi cross-legged on the bare tile floor.

It was a good weekend. I enjoyed feeling stronger than I have in... who can remember how long? When your days are filled with pain and sickness, they tend to blur together. You forget the last time you had a good day, unless it was extraordinarily memorable. I remember my wedding day, but that was not a good day, health wise. It was actually a very bad day, but I enjoyed it nonetheless.

So that makes me think that the acupuncture is actually, finally helping. I feel like I've been gradually slipping down a flight of stairs, and each step is a lower level of functioning than the last. But, at last, I feel like I've taken a step back up that flight of stairs.

Granted, the fatigue was a bit of a bitch today, but I fought it. I did good, but today, combined with the weekend, may have been a bit much. I think I got over-excited about feeling better, 'cause now I'm feeling pretty gross. Not much in the way of pain today, actually. Surprisingly. I don't really know what to do with myself when I'm not actively in the throes of affliction, so I was at a bit of a loss...

While I was waiting in the bank to change my name last week, I picked up a National Parks magazine and read an interesting article about a woman and her husband who started as seasonal Park workers in Glacier. The article was about how they worked Denali for a season or two as seasonal employees, but then they chose to stay there year-round, and how that experience has changed them for the better. It was a good, interesting story. I'd like to see if I can find it online somewhere... Oh! Found it!

Here. Read this. It's great.

Anyway, it really struck a chord with me, as ever since I started really talking to D I've had this intense desire to visit Alaska... maybe even stay for a while. I can't now, 'cause of the dumb fibro (cold affects me very, very negatively in that regard)... and that is what got me thinking, and grieving.

I'm grieving for the Life That Could Have Been.

If I were not sick, what kind of life would I have led?

Realistically, my health has been compromised almost my whole life. I've had fibromyalgia since I was 9, at least, and the fatigue and other things that accompany it really impacted me growing up. I never had much physical stamina, not to mention the exercise induced asthma that I inherited from my biological dad. (Thanks, T!) Maybe I had the thyroid and adrenal issues way back then, too. I don't know. All I know is that the older I've gotten, the sicker I've gotten.

But if I were healthy, what kind of life would I have chosen?

I used to love to roam the desert and go hiking as a kid. On Sabbath afternoons I'd be over at the D's house, and after lunch we'd decide to go for a hike in the desert. I'd borrow some of their son's clothes and shoes, and we'd be off on an adventure. J and I would leave the adults behind and skip up the mountains like little goats-- he was always ahead of me, because of the stamina/asthma thing, but I trucked right along. When I lived in ID, I had a fierce longing to work for the Forest Service, and I was SO jealous when K got the opportunity.

If I had not been sick, that is the kind of life I would have chosen for myself. I would have joined up with the Forest Service, or the National Parks, clearing trails or patrolling the backwoods or whatever was necessary. I'd cross-country ski through the woods in winter, and I'd hike the Grand Canyon from rim to rim. I'd camp out at Denali, and I'd hike McKinley at least once. I'd sleep under the stars at the Arches, and I'd walk the Appalachian Trail, a pack on my back and a dog at my side.

Would I have a husband by my side as well? I don't know. I do know that, were I living the life that my soul dreams of, I would have married someone very different from C, someone more like B or D, or even W, my sister's fiance.

But the thing is... I was born into this broken body, a body that limits me in so many ways... and I will never get to live that life. I had a taste of it, a beautiful, refreshing taste when I lived up north. But now... now I celebrate walking around the block. My body does not do the things that I desperately, sincerely wish that it would and could. And I must accept the fact that it may never do those things. Truly, it will never do all the things that I wish it could, and that's okay. I know that I am more "frail" than some of the rugged individuals out there (I'm looking at you, Miss R, and your man J!), but I still want to work up to doing what I can.

I want to go backpacking again. I want to go camping again.

I want to do those things without fear of falling wretchedly, desperately ill as a consequence of enjoying myself, of pushing myself. It's ironic that physical exertion can make me so, so sick... because getting exercise is supposed to be so super healthy for you! I feel like a leper sometimes. A misunderstood leper.

And so I grieve. I grieve the Life That Could Have Been, the life that would have been, had I been born into a healthy body.

Anyone reading this with a body that follows your commands and obeys your wishes without committing mutiny... I hope that you walk away from this grateful. I mean it. How often do we think about the little things that our body does for us, without even thinking? Washing the dishes. Bending down to pick toys up off of the floor. Rising from a seated position. Chewing food.

These are things that, some days, are difficult or nigh impossible for me to do. Some of my chronic illness friends find these things absolutely impossible on a regular basis. I'm better off than a lot of them, and it's humbling.

If you have health, don't take it for granted. I certainly don't, not anymore. And yes, while I am grieving, I am also celebrating. I am celebrating the health that I have, whether I feel awful or not. I have safe food to eat, I have medicines to take, I have health treatments that are paid for and not putting me in the poor house or driving me to extreme measures to pay for. I have a supportive network of friends and family that both believe me and believe in me. I have a wonderful husband who takes care of me in a zillion little ways, and who wanted to marry me despite the trip down the stairs I've been taking. He has wanted to marry me for years and years... and his love did not dim a whit while I was off doing what I thought was best for both of us. How many people can say that?

Sure, it's rocky. Sure, I'm in pain. Sure, I'm fighting hard against a body that is literally trying to attack and kill itself. But man... I have so much to celebrate, so much to be incredibly grateful for. And it's those tough things that make me appreciate the nice things so. much. For example... I have a new house! And I was able to clean it!! All by myself!!!

I love my life. So while I do grieve the Life That Could Have Been, I don't know if I could or would ever give up the Life That Is. It's just too rich and too wonderful, and I love all the pieces of it... even the hard ones.

I had my first class today.

Welcome, new semester!

More specifically, I had my first yoga class today.

I was dubious about my ability to really participate today, as last night was a rough night. I went to bed a few hours earlier than normal (or what's become my normal, heh), but I didn't end up falling asleep until just after my normal bedtime due to pain. I finally broke down and took the one painkiller mom gave me from her stash the hospital gave her, but I didn't feel that it did anything... except maybe knock me out for a while? After 3 hours I was awake again, needing to eat and still in pain. I took care of that and was able to fall back asleep, but by the time I had to crawl out of bed to get to class on time I was still sooooo tired! And in pain. All over.

So, as you see, I was dubious. To say the least.

However, the teacher advocates an interesting philosophy, one that had me going, "Aha! I knew I was meant to be here!" It was like a message from God/the universe/my dead auntie/whatever. (I don't think I actually have a dead auntie, come to think of it...)

She emphasized "honoring your practice". What does that mean? Well, she explained during various parts of the session that every day is different-- our balance will be different, our energy levels, our mental state, etc. We need to acknowledge where we are that day, accept it, and work within those limits. Can I hold a position a certain day but not another? That's okay. I need to listen to my body and honor what it is saying to me, to find the balance that is right for me, no matter what anyone else in the class is doing. If the teacher takes us from a forward fold to a floor sit but I feel that I need to hold the fold for a few more seconds, then I need to hold the fold for a few more seconds. If we're sitting in a certain pose but my body is saying "No way!", then I need to adjust and find a way to honor my practice.

It is precisely that type of theory that I am trying to put into practice in my every day life. For me, every day is different in so many aspects-- pain levels, energy levels, nausea levels, emotional state, things to accomplish... Every day has its own balance. I need to honor my practice and find the balance within each and every day, within every moment. It doesn't matter what anyone else is doing or saying. I need to find my balance and honor what I am telling myself. I need to trust myself.

This dovetails perfectly with what I was learning in my last round of counseling about unreasonable expectations and being kind to myself.

I'm really glad that I chose to take this class. Did it hurt? Heck yes! I tried not to push myself too hard, but I was pleasantly surprised to see that I was able to keep up. My physical sense of balance is better than I thought it was, which was gratifying.

I am looking forward to continuing to learn and apply this practice of honoring my practice, both in and out of class.

(One problem, though... despite the pain, I'm so relaxed after class that it's hard to function! lol A good problem to have, I suppose...)

Don't feel much like posting lately. I'm sorta numb, sorta frustrated a little, sorta hopeful and optimistic, sorta running low on emotional reserves, and I'm just not in the mood.

Sick today. Body's finally had enough, I guess. I need to find a doctor, and soon. Maybe it's confirmation that I can't wait until Oct. to see the doctor I've heard so many good things about.

One thought that keeps coming back to re-echo in my mind is... Is it wrong to be on a quest?

Is it wrong to be searching, to not be "there" spiritually? To not have "arrived"? (Of course, how does one get there but by journeying, yes?)

I guess I feel a little like a traitor, since so many had considered me to be "there" already... and now I'm seemingly going off the deep end...

But I don't think it's wrong.

Maybe I'm more inclined towards that postmodern relativism than I had previously thought.

I guess it's just weird, and hard, to try to explain to churchy people (even in my head!) how it is in leaving that I am finding my true path. I'm not wandering blindly, as much as it feels like it. There have been guideposts to mark my way, to steer me into ever deeper challenges to my previous ways of thinking...

Oh, forget it. I don't know how to explain it, after all.

I'll just let them think that I'm lost. Then they can content themselves with praying for my soul while I march ever farther into the distance...

... not "haha" funny, but... just funny. Weird. Strange.
How your past can affect you so much without your realizing it.
(As my friend says, "as the twig is bent, so the tree is inclined".)

You see, C got a new video game the other day. (Actually, I'm the one who encouraged him to, which is the ironic part! He wasn't sure his reasons for wanting it were valid enough to actually buy it, but they seemed valid enough to me, so I said he should do it.) And it's not that I have a problem with him playing the games, because I don't. It's how he stimulates his mind and wears his brain out enough so that he can sleep.

It's just...

the last two nights, he seems to basically be ignoring me and just playing the game.

Well, no. It's not that he's ignoring me, it's that I feel ignored. I know that if I wanted or needed his attention, he'd give it to me, but I've been choosing not to.

But lots of people have activities that require focus and they "ignore" those around them-- like my reading, for example.

So why the intense feelings of loneliness and rejection and inadequacy?

Ahh, yes. Because of G. Because he really did ignore us, choosing video games over us kids, over his family. Even if we needed his attention, it was not there to partake of. Only if we got in front of the tv screen would he acknowledge us.

And so the old feelings come flooding back. I'm afraid that I'm going to lose our relationship to a computer game, though I know intellectually that it's not going to happen. But the fear, the insecurity, is there.

I need to talk to him about this today, and let him know what's going on with me, my feelings about the matter. I cannot just expect him to read my mind!

And, as I've been telling myself, even if he were ignoring me and rejecting me in favor of the video game, it doesn't matter, because my self-worth is not tied to C's attentions or affections. I am enough, either way. I do not need him to be happy, or to make me happy, or to have a fulfilled life. So these feelings? They have no bearing. They're there, and I acknowledge them, and I understand them, but they are not going to rule me or drive my behaviors. I'm going to rationally talk to C about this and explain my past and my position, and we'll see what happens from there. I don't expect anything negative to come of this.

It's just... funny.

I'm really glad that I'm self-aware, or else this could have really caused some problems. (It did take me a while of asking myself questions to figure it out, though...)

Last night was agony. Sheer, unmitigated agony. I finally fell asleep sometime after eleven... and my eyes are still puffy today.

Yet underlying the pain is a strength, a resolve that's never been there in my decision to leave C before. Why is this?

I've been thinking about it...

In the past, it was that I had to leave- "This is God's decision and I have to abide by it."

So, since it wasn't really my choice, it was all too easy to wander back again.

Now, I've made the decision for myself. This is my choice, for my best... and I can abide by that. I have the strength... as much as I miss him.

I still feel like I'll never love anyone again, but I know that can't be true, for I loved D.

It's hard. No bones about it. I'm in a great deal of pain.

But I'm also strong. I'm not desperate this time around.

Well, I chose to delay my trip by a day, on the advice of my doctor. However, I got the car packed and ready to go, minus my guitar and my kitty. Those came along with me on the day of departure.

It was only supposed to be a 16 hour drive to LV, but inclement weather dragged it out to a 20 hour drive, with a 4 hour nap. I rolled into town exactly 24 hours after I had left Idaho! How funny.

The trip from LV to Y went well, without any incidents but my kitten deciding that she enjoyed the space below the gas and brake pedals more than any other place in the universe, and trying to obtain lodging in her favored location... while I was driving!! (She was out of the cat carrier pretty much the whole drive with no problems. She just sat perched on my mountain of belongings like she owned the place. It was a sight to see!)

I had only intended to spend the night with my friends in LV. Instead, I spent the whole weekend!
My friends from SOULS insisted that I MUST meet their house mom, because she and I are just alike. I thought, "Yeah, yeah, sure... one of these situations..."

Funnily enough, they were right! She is, of course, a bit different, as we are different people, but we're remarkably similar. I could probably pass for her daughter, definitely a niece or some other close relative. We even have a similar facial structure and body build. She's taller than I am, though.

The absolute best part is how chill she is, especially when it came to my food allergies. She loves to cook, so it was just another challenge to her. This ranks among one of the first times I've visited someone and not felt like an imposition or a drag. The only other ppl I feel that way with are the C's, because their daughter S was GF, too. Anyway, I ate good. And I learned several new recipes, which I love. Oh, and I made copies of our Daughters of Summer Hill cd's and my solo Sound of Music cd for everyone in the house. To pay me back, K took me shopping at Goodwill and the dollar store to stock me up for my trip. What a blessing that was! (Today I ate the green beans for lunch, but they weren't ripe, so they haven't set well. Bummer. I love green beans.)

I accompanied my bible worker friends to the evangelistic series that was going on at the time, both meetings a day. I was so blessed! I love hearing truth out of the Bible, especially the way this speaker presents it. He's so balanced. The only thing I disagreed with was when he was talking about the "Mosaic law" and the statutes and feast days and all that. I mentioned it to S later, only to find out that her dad is a feast keeper, and he studied it with a mutual friend of ours, who is now a feast keeper as well! I guess it's nice to know about others of similar persuasions and convictions... Fellowship, you know. And, quite frankly, it's not safe to talk about with everyone. From what I understand, there's quite a bit of animosity about the subject, and you can get yourself kicked out of church by bringing it up. So, knowing who's "safe" is helpful. (So sad that it should be so in Christian churches. I mean, even if you disagree, do you really have to be hateful about it? So not Christ-like. "Kinda reminds me of the Jewelry Nazi," says Mom. LOL)

My canvasser/Bible worker friends, predictably, canvassed me on canvassing again. No, not canvassing, but leading canvassing teams this summer. I told them, "I don't do that anymore. It's not an option." They said, "Pray about it." I said, "No way am I gonna pray about it! It's not even an option!" They said, "Pray about it."

I did. Haven't heard any word from the Lord yet, though. I did have a nightmare about canvassing that night. LOL

L had a good talk with me. I actually came out and explained to him why I don't Bible work anymore, and why I don't plan to. (I never thought I'd tell him about that! I mean, he's the big guns. It would be impudent, right? Plus there goes my cover of "good SOULS graduate".) He basically told me that he hated canvassing too, but he did it because it was the work of God, and it was what God asked him to do. And he hasn't done it this whole time, either-- it was what God used to take him to the next steps. And God really used him in a powerful way. I mean, if he hadn't done it, SOULS wouldn't be here, and then I wouldn't have gone, and would I still be with C? The ripple effect is astounding.

He told me, though, something very profound-- "Christians are to change people's lives. That's just what we do." And we know that the avenue is between us and God. That is to say, that the specific means for that is dependent on the call God gives us, if that makes sense. Like, Ben Carson for example. God led him to be a neurosurgeon, and that's how he changes lives. L was led to be a canvasser, and to start a school, and other things, and that's how he changes lives.

I can't be afraid of the hard things God asks me to do. I've been thinking, and I realized that I've kinda swung outward farther than I should. Like, the abuse taught me, and the world around me corrobrated, "What you want doesn't matter." And that's how I thought God was. "What you want doesn't matter. You do what I say, because I say it, and that's the end of the story."

So I've been going to a lot of effort to prove to myself and those around me that what I want does matter, and I can do what I want! I do things because I want to, and that's the end of the story. I don't do things that I don't want to do anymore. People need to RESPECT my free choice, alright?!

Now, however, I hear God saying to me, "What you want does matter, and you have the choice to go that way. However, it may not be the best thing for you in the grand scheme of things. Do you trust me to do what I ask, even if you don't want to at the time? I love you. I'm not out to wound you or take away your freedom."

And... I'm getting the message that I'm to keep my car and not go after the truck and trailer right now. That is hard for me to take, because I had this whole idea of freedom and independence and security built up in my mind... and now I have to give that up?

Yet, I sense God saying to me, "I have blessed you so richly. Why do you want to throw that aside? This is what you need! Trust me. It's okay to want the truck, but trust me to give you what you need. I know the plans I have for you, and what fits into those plans best. Will you trust me more than you trust your anxious thoughts, or your dreams for the future?"

Oh my.

But, yes. I want to trust God more than anything else. I want the grand scheme, far flung, eternally solid happiness more than I want the immediate fulfillment of my dreams and desires.

Because, really... how long do we have here, anyway? Even if I got to keep my truck and trailer till I die... 70 years isn't that long. I think I can endure a little "discomfort" for those few years, especially when you compare 70 of that to a million of the other.

Eternity is waiting.

Trust is ensuing.

I had a good chat with my friend J today. She's on the verge of a relationship, and I'm very happy for her. He seems like a really solid, nice guy, and she deserves that. She's pretty amazing. She needs someone good. Anything less and, well... I just can't see her with someone not totally awesome. Her standards are too high.

I shared with her about the confusing text from D, and we talked about him a little bit. What she told me made sense, and having those thoughts bouncing around in my head helped to crystallize some thought processes that were in the works, so as I continued thinking while at work, I came to some realizations.

One thing J said was, "A bird can love a fish, but where will they live?" And she knows this from experience, having been in a similar situation not too long ago. She loved this guy, more or less, but realized that it was not "right". They would not make a good match in the long run, so she ended it.

Another thing she said was that she thinks that I need to do better. Then she rephrased it--"not necessarily a better person, but a better match".

That helped sort of bump me over a mental block I'd been having. A few people have told me, "You can do better," but I think, how? He's such a great person! But we definitely do have clashes in values. It's not that he's not a good person, it's that we're not necessarily a great match.

As I talked with his mom some time ago, I realized, Whoa! I am really not the girl for him! I mean, I could try to be what I think he wants, but how lame is that? Who wants to spend their life pretending?

So, this bird loves a fish, but truly, where would we live?

Anyway, I realized later on in the day... it dawned upon me... I can say no. Just because he says he needs me doesn't mean that I am automatically tied to him. I can say no, and I'll be okay, and he'll be okay. His world will not end, and neither will mine.

You see, growing up in dysfunction and abuse, "No" didn't mean much. In fact, if I said "No", I might lose love. The desire for love is a driving factor in a lot of my choices, or at least, it has been. And deep down I'm fearful that if I say "No", then I will be losing my chance, forever. If I don't seize the opportunity of someone who likes me, I'll be alone forever. So, even though it's not ideal, it's better than nothing, right?

Fortunately, that's not actually true.

I thought to myself earlier today, Why did he have to text me?! If only I could just say "no" and move on with my life!...


Later I realized... I can. Yes, I can. Just because he's longing or lonely or whatever in no way means that I am obligated to reciprocate.

Wow! Does anyone else realize how earth-shattering these realizations are?! I am not obligated to reciprocate!

And I thought to myself, Boy, it sure is flattering to be needed... but don't let yourself be flattered and beguiled into the wrong decision. That's how Eve went down.


 It's just exciting to me to see how God's bringing me along. Used to be that I could not walk away from a potential relationship.

Don't get me wrong-- I'd love to date him again. I mean, I really like him. But I don't think that, at this point, it's best for either of us.

Ah, well, people change their minds all the time. My actions may switch around, BUT these realizations stand!

Where do I start in processing through all the events of late?

Campmeeting was great. It helped me a lot in my consideration and study of the OT feasts. I used to think that feast-keepers were crazy weirdos, but now I realize that they are not. They're really sincere in following God's will as expressed in Scripture, and I really admire them for that. I loved how the studies and talks presented really illuminated God's character further, and even the cross. I didn't think that would be the case-- I was hesitant about the whole thing. But, it proved to be a blessing. I wonder where my studies will lead me?

The S family is so inclusive and warm-- I love it! I got to meet D's side of the family for the big birthday party in his honor (and because he has cancer, it was a kind of "just in case we don't get to see you again" get together). I got to meet a lot of his friends from the olden days (when they were my age), and it was great to see them all interact. We pulled out our guitars and jammed together-- what a blast! I love music.

I visited another massage school down here, one run by people of my denomination. I'm really, really leaning towards it, which is ironic, because I didn't even want to go check it out. I kind of did it as a favor for C. I wasn't thrilled about it, just by looking at the website... I guess I had set my heart on going somewhere where no one knows me, and I don't have the pressure of living up to expectations... Although, the churchgoers in this area are so liberal, I probably wouldn't have to worry about that. Aaaaaand, I'm supposed to be learning about not judging myself according to my perception of other's expectations and trying to act a certain way just because I think that it's expected of me... *Sigh* Easier said than done. Anyway, this school intrigues me, and the director and I really clicked. I've got my lists of pros and cons, I'm praying like crazy, and as I work through this, I think... I'd be kind of foolish to walk away from this school without some serious reasons for turning it down.

Hmm. Oh, yes! Healing Journey wants to give me a scholarship! Yeehaw! We'll see how that works out-- I'm not hanging anything on it just yet, but I'm excited about the prospect. I need to decide what school I'm going to, first. I should have a decision in a week or two at the most. My folks need to know what my sched will be like so we can buy a ticket for me to come visit for Christmas.

J is shocked that I will be making such a decision so quickly. It took her three years to decide where to go to school, what to take, etc. I mean, this decision of mine has been a process of several months, one step at a time, but it's significantly faster than her decision making process. We're just very different in that way. Very, very different. Hehe.

Some friends of mine down here in southern CA have invited me to go canvassing with them tomorrow. Eeep, is all I can say. I want to hang out with them, but I really don't want to go canvassing. We'll see. I just had a convo with JC about canvassing, and both of us not wanting it to have "beaten" us. I almost want to go just to prove to myself that I can, you know? Sort of a "face my fears" type thing... but I know that's not the right motive. Plus, I still really, really don't want to. So if I do, I'll probably just sit in the car or something. Maybe accompany someone else as they're at doors. It's a start.

Some friends of D and C's are taking us out to Indian food tonight. I know for a fact that Indian food contains garlic. I've decided to just bite the bullet and try it. If I perish, I perish. I'm tired of making a big deal about food. *sigh*

Anyway, this trip has been good. I'm very glad that I came. I was unsure of how things would turn out, but, yes, I'm glad I came.

JC has been calling me much of late. I wonder what that means? I think I need to set a boundary on the amount that we talk. I'm glad to have him as a friend, but I'm not interested in a repeat of the Awkward Saga. I know what can happen when you talk too much to a single guy, when you're too vulnerable... and JC and I have this wonderful friendship where we're able to be very truthful and open with each other. Dangerous stuff.

The fam jokes that, if I came down here (to an Adventist mecca), that I'd probably wind up married with a baby, and it'll all be over. I'll say the thought crossed my mind, but I have come to the conclusion that I'm not ready to be married. I've got growing to do... I listened to a sermon by David Asscherick called Hitchhiking For Love that really helped me see with greater clarity some things I'd realized after the break with D. I mean, yeah, I've got the skills it takes to take care of a household, but I'm not the person I need to be yet. I need more time.

That's hard to take, because I want to be in a loving relationship. I really do. I want what I see that D and C have. I want what I see a few other people have... but in the right time. It's hard, but it's better this way.

I'm learning so much from this processing through my relationship with D! Maybe this is what God had in mind when he directed us together?

Life... it moves on, regardless. I'm so glad that God is directing my footsteps. He will open and close the doors for me to walk through.

Have you ever been rather certain of something, and yet you do not want to advertise the certain-ness for fear that you are not, in fact, totally certain, and that you will end up looking like a fool?

Yup, I'm in that quandary. I'm praying and praying that God will guide me, show me whether this certainty stems from him or from my own misguided ideas, and, well, I know I'll be making up my mind soon one way or another. I know myself- I'm not one for protracted examination of... anything. I make decisions fast. (Relatively.) My dad, now, he'll research something into the ground before he makes a decision. I'm better about researching my decisions now than I ever was before. But I'm still a rather rapid decision maker. I'll agonize over my choices intensely, but when I come to a decision, I want to get on with things. NOW! lol

Anyway, that's just a private storm brewing in the recesses of my mind. I'll probably have made my mental choice one way or another (for now) by this time next week.

Ahhh... don't you wish you knew what I was alluding to? :)

J's right. I'm impulsive. I swing from one thing to another quickly. Is that a bad thing?

I just feel something in the air... change. It's coming. Something is going to change, in a big way, and soon. I don't know what it is, but I feel it coming. God's preparing me for... something.

In a way, I'm trepidatious, like, "Does this mean that I'm not going to be able to do my support group after all? After setting everything up? Or does it mean that I'm only going to be able to do it for a few months? Isn't that technically failure?"

Because here I've thought that the very fact that God's opening doors for this group is proof that I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be, doing what I'm supposed to do... and I am. For now. But that may change soon. I think. Maybe. Heh. (That's just my life!)

I don't want to go anywhere until winter's over. I don't like traveling in winter.

Do I think I'll be leaving S's? Maybe. I love this family, and dearly. Desperately. Obsessively. Compulsively. (Ok, ok, just kidding.) But it's very difficult for me to balance "support" with "salvation" right now... and honestly, I'm tired of being dependent. My dad pays for my medical bills (now that's salvation!), my cell phone (I'm on a family plan ^_^), my car insurance, and until this year, my car tags. The S's provide me with food. I pay for my gas, car maintenance, clothes, other basic necessities of life, gifts, and my Bible college bill. Not bad, I guess (especially with no income!), but I am itching to be totally independent. Not that I wouldn't mind a roommate or something- I don't like staying places totally by myself. But I want to be an adult, for crying out loud! I want to strike out on my own and make an impact on the world.

On the flip side... leaving home is scary, and this place is warm, snug, and secure. Why should I leave the womb? (Funnily enough, I actually refused to leave the literal womb.) I long for change and adventure, yet I am loathe to leave the security of the known and predictable. What a trap to be caught in. Which impulse do I obey?

Interestingly, the Holy Spirit now resides within me. I don't know where he was before, or if he was in me/around me and I just didn't know it, but last night I asked God to send the Holy Spirit into my heart and give me what I need (because I'm not always accurate on what I think I need), and then I found Luke 11:13, which says, "If ye then, being evil, know how to give good gifts unto your children, how much more shall your heavenly Father give the Holy Spirit to them that ask him?"

Huh. Well, then, I guess that means that God send the Spirit when I asked him to. That means... that now I don't have to be confused about whether or not he dwells within me as 1 Corinthians 3:16 claims he does... because God said he'd do it, so he did. Cool!


I know that the Bible says that when we are followers of God, when we have faith in Jesus' name for our salvation, that the Holy Spirit will come and dwell in us. It always confused me, though, because I thought, That certainly can't be true! Look at all the junk inside me! There's no WAY God would want to hang out in there... But I guess he does. And I think it's only by hanging out among the junk that he can clear it out. He had to come down and live with us people in order to save us... I think it's the same principle, as near as I can tell. Then again, I'm no authority.

Buuuuuuut... now that the Holy Spirit is for sure for sure living inside me, I know that he'll for sure for sure guide me. God's guidance is not some "somewhere out there" thing that I have to try to decipher. God will guide me, personally, now. How? Not sure, precisely, about all the specifics... Definitely through the Bible, though. I mean, if someone were to come to me for advice, and I'd already written a book, I'd probably give them the book to read if it would answer their questions. It'd be tons easier.

But I know that God guides people in other ways than just Biblical exposition. I was reading Acts today, and the disciples were so amazingly attuned to God's voice! Yes, he sent angels and gave them visions, but those were the exception, not the rule. Most of the time, they went places to preach until, well, until they were done. Then they moved on. It's like they just knew. God told them, I think. They didn't stress about having time quotas to spend in each place, or how many converts they were supposed to get... It was powerful stuff, what they were doing. What's really cool is that they were just going and God would give them an opportunity to speak, and they would (and the Holy Spirit would fall on them and give them the words and the power), and people's consciences would be pricked. Usually, that meant people would profess faith in Jesus, but sometimes that meant the apostles would be stoned or thrown in prison or beaten, etc. And that was alright, because it was God's plan, not theirs, and they knew that whatever was befalling them, God had it under control and it would all work out okay.

WOW.

If I could live my life like that, well... there's no telling what could happen. Talk about adventure ;)

I could live with that kind of transmogrification. Imagine, frightened little me, living a life of bold faith.

Oh, I want it. I want it real bad.

But am I willing to bear the cross that comes before the crown?

Eh... that's one item of junk that the HS is gonna have to clear out... all that trepidation I've got plastered on the walls.