I will be honest. I'm having a tough day today.

It isn't just the pain, though that's there. It isn't just the collection of "other" symptoms, though those are there too. (Seriously, where do these fevers come from?!) It isn't just the lag from yesterday's 4-hour-both-way rides to see my geneticist, though that's definitely there. It's just... all of it. All of it and the mental checklist and morass of file folders for undone tasks that's taking over my life and never seems to get any smaller. I have to do ______ for disability process, I have to do ____ and _____ so I can continue to receive basic medical care, and oh yeah, I have to evaluate whether I'm just not trying hard enough and that's why I'm gaining weight that I can't lose and why I'm taking money at exorbitant rates from my dad who totally deserves better and why I've doomed my husband to a life of "in sickness" with no "in health" and why I quit school and work and maybe I'm just not really trying, you know, to make the most of my days at home? Maybe I really am just lazy, and being sick is a convenient excuse to give up altogether? Maybe I'm not really that sick and I'm tricking myself into feeling more ill than I am?

I think anyone with a serious chronic illness will ask these questions of themselves at some point, especially if they've given up anything significant because of it, and especially if they're still young. I'm just having a hard time with staring down the years and wondering if I'm going to continue to decline or not. I'm doing my best not to, I really am. Sometimes, especially when you don't see any improvement, it's hard to keep at it, to take the meds, to swallow the vitamins, to do the physical therapy, to eat healthy, to look on the bright side. I'm just tired. I'm so tired, you know?

Anyway, the trip to Tucson yesterday was to see my geneticist, the one who actually diagnosed me with EDS. She had gone to a conference last month, and I was eager to hear if she had any insights for me that were new, and eager to discuss some research that I'd been doing into various co-morbid diseases and syndromes and possible other diseases that could be aggravating the EDS. (For anyone who is new and doesn't know what EDS or Ehlers-Danlos Syndrome is, the Ehlers-Danlos society has a nice, concise run-down of the various "types" found in the syndrome family. I fall very neatly into the Hypermobile type of EDS.) Unfortunately, there are no miracle cures as of yet, but she did have some interesting observations on preventative care.

The conversation we had was wonderful-- I enjoy a good discussion peppered with medical terms :)-- and I came away with a clearer understanding of what symptoms lie in the domain of the EDS, what symptoms come with comorbid diseases or syndromes, and what symptoms are the completely unusual outliers that I can focus on in a bid to find more answers about what's broken inside of me. I have a few interesting leads, but I don't really want to discuss them yet, not without further research. Something I am going to try out is kenesio tape, which I'm not really familiar with but she says is great for EDS because it supports the joints and provides compression to aid with blood flow. I've heard of it before, but not really looked into it because I'm allergic to adhesives, but I think I can make it work anyway, maybe with something like "vet tape" that doesn't have any glue. The idea is to be more proactive with splints and braces, to avoid injury before it happens instead of treating it afterward, and that's a new approach for me. I guess I hadn't really accepted my diagnosis yet, kind of hoping that it was all a big mistake or something... but if I'm being proactive about it, then that means that I accept that it's a thing, and that makes it real. It's not like I haven't done that before, but the funny thing about "chronic" is that it drags on through years and years and you have to face things more than once. I've read that chronic illness is cyclical, and I believe that the acceptance is cyclical too. Or maybe it's just a process. Either way, it just feels big and scary and I don't wanna! But on the other hand, if it can make me feel even a bit better, it's totally worth it, cause that means that I can apply that energy that was tied up in feeling crappy and making myself power through so much unpleasantness and I can use it for something productive, even if it's just having a friend over for tea.

Well, whatever. All I can do is keep trying, right? Plodding forward, one millimeter at a time, that's me. Maybe this plodding will lead me forward into a better place. I can only hope so.

What do you do, when everything comes crashing down around your ears? I don't mean literally, of course, although I had my doubts while Corey was up in the "attic" crawlspace to install the ceiling fan we bought for our bedroom (go tax returns, yeah!) and trying not to fall through the ceiling.

I dunno. Sometimes it all just kinda hits me, you know what I mean?

What do you do when you hate every second of your disease, but it's so imprisoning that you can never forget that you have it for any of those hated seconds? I'm talking Ehler's-Danlos here, although Addison's has been giving me a run for my money lately too, trying to manage my adrenal glands manually. Always a tough challenge for me, even more so lately.

So do you just hate your life, then, because the two are so inseparable? Usually I try to wrap my world in beauty, to find it, create it, whatever I have to do. Sometimes, though, the cold stones that weigh in the pit of my stomach overcome me and all I can see, all I can feel, is the destruction of the life that I had, the life that we planned, the future of my personal dreams and our mutual hopes. And it's hard, really hard, to not hate your life when every moment is agony and you know that there's no cure, there's no hope, there's no remission, and it keeps getting worse. I try not to think about what it'll be like in a year, 3 years, 25 years, but when I'm huddled on the bed and sobbing into my husband's pillow while trying not to move because it hurts, I think about those things. I think about them, and I am afraid.

I don't want to do this. The weight of the agony that waits for me is too heavy a load for me to bear. It's scary, but more than that I hate hate hate HATE what this agony has done to me personally, to my husband, and to our relationship. I hate what it's going to do. I appreciate, in a circumspect way, how it's going to make us better people and probably already has--as is the nature of suffering--but that thought remains rather subdued.

When he came to bed tonight and I lay next to him, trying to relax and mayyyyyybe get some sleep (no sleep to be had this night, alas), I eventually spoke up. (Choked with tears, of course.)

"I'm sorry for being so sick. I hate every second of it. I think I hate it more than you do. I hate what it's done to our life."

He didn't respond.

Not a word.

In my time of desperate emotional need, he stayed completely and 100% silent…

…except for the soft and sudden rustle of bedsheets as his foot sought out my two feet, entwining them beneath his leg and covering them with his own as he rubbed his instep against the top of my foot a few times.

All I could do was blink away the tears, sigh softly, and let this renewed sense of peace settle deep into the center of me where I will lock it away tightly and hold on to the hope that it's going to be okay… somehow. Three feet of peace--my two feet and his comforting one-- to remind me so.

"I love you."

"I love you too, lady."

I'm so stressed, you guys. I have prescriptions I need to pick up tomorrow, but I can't afford the $15 to get them. I have a massage scheduled for tomorrow as well, which is one of the only things keeping me able to still walk right now, but there's no way in hell I can afford that. I could get my scripts, but then I wouldn't be able to pay my phone bill… and somehow I still have to make it to Phoenix twice and LA once this coming month for important doctor's appointments. Oh yeah, and the pharmacy in LA I got my pain meds filled at shorted me (and some other patients), and I've been trying to get it straightened out since Monday, but I'm running out today and I'm afraid I'm going to end up back in the hospital again… Damnit. I just don't know what to do. What can I possibly do that I'm not already doing? 

The worst thing is how unfair this is to Drogo. He has always worked hard, saved as much as he can, been responsible with his money, and the present is no exception. He just can't seem to catch a break, though. When it seems we're about to come even and he might be able to get a handle on his bills again and even sock away a hundred or two dollars, something breaks or is more expensive than anticipated, or some new bill crops up. Without fail. He is such a trooper, but how long can he last under such a strain? The poor man feels like a failure, but he is one of the most valiant men I know. How unfair is that? And it kills me that I am the source of this pain and stress. I hate it. I hate myself sometimes for being the instigator of bills that I am.

It's no wonder Drogo and I are having relationship problems from stress. We're both freaking the fuck out, trying to figure out how to just SURVIVE. I hate this. I hate this so much. Being sick is stupid. I have to believe that it will work out somehow, someway… but I really do not see it happening at this point, and it terrifies me.

I've done what I can-- created the fund raiser, sent links/pleas to every single person on my Facebook friend list, even sent the link and an appeal to some pages and businesses that I know… asking them to at least repost the link so that someone, somewhere might see it and have pity on us. I'm working on the inventory and production for my craft booth I've got planned for this winter. I haven't even put any money into supplies-- I'm just using what I've accumulated over the years. I applied for disability and we're just waiting, waiting, waiting… what else can I do? Seriously, what else can I do???

I'm stressed, scared, sick, and generally distraught… but I still have to believe that it will work out. We're doing the best we can. Life rewards that, right? Hard work, sacrifice, integrity… those all pay off in the end, yeah? I hope so. I genuinely, sincerely hope so. 

I really need to have sex with my husband. Not just want, although that's definitely a factor, but need. The problem is… we're not exactly having sex these days, at least not on a regular basis.

It came up in a talk we had as we drove back from the pain doctor last week. I am regularly flirting with him, throwing out double entendres and dirty jokes, making sure to touch him and get Physical Touch in there, and I get chuckles out of him and sometimes a bit of reciprocating physical affection, but more often than not it's just a verbal acknowledgment of the joke and an implied rejection in the silence that follows. Sometimes I get an overt rejection, and rarely rarely rarely does he actually take me up on the offer.

I mean, I get why this is. His reasons are perfectly valid and acceptable, but that doesn't lessen the sting of rejection or the cumulative hunger and longing. It's stress, you see. Our life is super mega stressful right now because of the finances and my physical ailments, and it's been building and building and no matter what we do it just seems to keep piling up around us like a big, invisible grave and I just want to scream because it's just so hard. I feel like I can do anything, take on any challenge, with Drogo by my side, but the stress is eating away at him and burying him deep in soft, suffocating layers and I just don't know how much by my side he is anymore.

I'm a very sexual creature. I am, and I own that. (It's remarkable to be able to say that without shame; something I would never have been able to do a year or more ago!) It keeps me feeling emotionally connected, it relieves stress, it fights pain, and it regulates my mood and keeps me some above the incessant swirling blackness of depression. Being celibate on my terms is one thing, but this enforced dry spell? I'm not handling it well. He said that stress has killed his libido, and okay, that's valid. That's legitimate. But it hasn't killed mine, at least not entirely. Granted, I don't want to have sex as much as I did anymore. I just don't have the energy, I'm usually feeling crappy, and I just… don't. But I have never, ever turned him away when he makes advances. I know that if I give it a minute or two I'll get into it and want to proceed, and sure enough, that's what happens. It's just… you can only be turned down so often before it's just not even worth trying anymore.

I'm constantly flirting, trying to initiate… and now I understand the stories told by men with frigid wives, wives who have lost interest or gotten too busy and distracted with the family. I so get it now. The awful part? The awful part is that I know specifically several men and women who would jump into bed with me if I so much as gave half a consent. I can name them, count them on my fingers right now, but the only thing stopping me is loyalty and love to my husband. It just… it hurts, you know? I know it's not about me, but after a while you just kind of start to wonder, is it me? Do you even want to be in this marriage with me? Why am I so undesirable to you? How can I be such a hot commodity to everyone else, but you won't give me the time of day? And I can't… I can't do that anymore. So I guess I'm going to stop trying. What's the point? It only ever works when he feels in the mood anyway, so why bother? I'm so tired of getting turned down, turned away. Take your stress and leave me the hell alone.

…he doesn't even cuddle me anymore. The loving byplay of yesteryear is gone, and I am so achingly empty and alone. He knows how I feel-- I've not been secretive about this--but I suppose he feels as helpless as I do. He understands it, too. His comments and conversation on the topic makes that blatantly clear. But I just want to feel loved again… I know he loves me-- he says so. (Usually after I've said it first.) But I don't feel it. I feel like a nuisance, a burden, a more or less welcome roommate, an expensive pet maybe. No, he cuddles and caresses the cats more than he does me, so I don't even rank that high.

It hurts. It just hurts. And I don't know how to fix it except to fix myself and get better so there won't be any more crazy bills and not enough money in a paycheck for our basic necessities plus my medical needs and he won't withdraw every night into his man cave and while away the hours not thinking, not feeling, until he climbs into bed and falls asleep.

I know he loves me. But why can't he suck it up and show me? I want that more than anything in the world right now.

Update-- After posting this, I went ahead and succumbed to my grief and the body wracking sobs, though I tried to keep it mostly quiet. Somehow, Drogo has this freaky, uncanny talent of knowing 99% of the time when I'm crying and where I'm at, and today was no exception. I was just picking up my laptop again to edit the phrasing on some of the words (can't even remember now…) when he came into the room, laid down just behind me, and wrapped me up in a big, spooning embrace. That, of course, made me lose it even further, but I feel like I did a good job pretending that I was unaffected, even if he could completely see right through it. At first I thought that he was going to bed but it was much too early for that, so when I guessed/asked about it he answered wryly but truthfully.

As we lay there, ensconced in one another's arms, I found my courage and slowly spoke of most of what I'd written here, not even bothering to change the words. a.) I found them in the first place and I can re-use them if I so desire, b.) they applied so perfectly to the present situation.

Anyway, he vowed that he would be more affectionate with me, said that sometimes he forgets I need the touchy feelies so much. I really appreciated that (still do), and the conversation was quite productive. I feel much more loved, and in fact he answered one of my questions with a surprising yet pretty much protected wet boy. He retreats into his man cave and immerses himself in a fantasy world (whether it's games with the guys, anime, stumbling websites, etc.) partly because he just doesn't like seeing me sick all of the time. Who does? I reframed the question for myself, trying to imagine Drogo in my place and mine in his, and I can honestly say that I have zero confidence that I would not immediately do the same. I would hate to see Drogo sick day in and day out, being helpless to do a damn thing about it, and feeling like a big and clumsy oaf if I try to help him with day to day tasks. No, I completely understand why he does as he does, or at least well enough, but that doesn't lessen the sting or sort out the snarl of emotions.

I'm optimistic about the future. When he realizes there's a problem and says he's going to do something about it, he damn well does it. I don't expect to get more sex, and honestly this wasn't a ploy for more. If I can't get it without resorting to cheap parlor tricks and frosted glass bottles, then I can do without. I'm just really happy that he understands that this is a big deal for me and wants to make it better. I love that man. Oh, and he says that he loves me "lots and lots" :)

Hey friends, just a quick note to tell you that I haven't fallen over the edge of an abyss or anything. After that last blog post, which was particularly soul-searching for me, my mood has actually lightened considerably. I feel much better. I think being able to put my finger on the pulse of the problem helped more than I dreamed it would.

I've spent the last several days setting up a pleasant routine with Drogo when he comes home from work, part of which includes taking the ten minute walk that the neon doc ordered me to. It feels good (mostly, sorta) while I'm walking, but when I get back I usually feel pretty abysmal within a few minutes. Also, I finally got meds to deal with the nasty sinus infection I've had for the last month, so my body is kicking that and kicking my butt at the same time, like with fevers, lots of sleep, crazy nausea, dizziness… Actually, come to think of it, it's not much different from the norm except for the fevers and chills. Hah. Just ramped up a bit.

Anyway, I didn't want to leave the blog on such a morose note, knowing in myself that I'm doing better but with everyone in my blogging family having only the idea that I'm somehow still pining away in my bed for all they know.

I'm alright. For now. Just dealing with the physical maladies as usual, going through that book (I'm reading a chapter or two a night to Drogo after we get back from our walk, actually!), and trying to make the best of things. I've also found another group of friends here in town that I hope to meet in person very soon-- we're trying to organize a get together. We all share similar, yet diverse, interests that most people don't understand, so I suppose that makes us feel closer than we might if we were just happenstance people from the same town. Also, Drogo wants me to meet up and befriend a friend of his from work that he thinks I'll get along with. So maybe my social needs will be met soon, more than I predicted. That would be nice. I don't plan to make any bones about my disabilities, my inability to remain upright for long or go out often. If people want to befriend me, it's got to be the real me and not some fakey pretender.

I'll catch you guys the next time I have some emotional breakdown and need to vent lol. As Vash the Stampede says, "Love and Peace!"

I really need to be drifting off to la-la-land here in a few minutes, as I've got to get up early. Why? Becauuuuuuuse.... tomorrow is The Appointment with The Neurologists. You know, the one where we go over test results and I maybe get some answers?

I feel all sorts of ways about this appointment. On one hand, I know that even if all of the tests come back normal and show us absolutely nothing in the way of what's wrong with me, that means that we can rule things out, and that in and of itself is progress. On the other hand, I am both hoping and afraid that some of the tests will show something and we'll begin to have a clue as to what ails me. I'm hoping to maybe start getting headway in treating the root cause of this ridiculous pain (and all of the other fun stuff that comes with it). I'm hoping that the doctors will be able to get me some pain management (i.e. pain meds) that are more effective than what I've got now. I'm hoping for answers, clues, hints even. Anything.

But I also don't dare get my hopes up. (Despite my best efforts, I find myself hoping for things, but I keep telling myself to stop it!) I really hate it when my hope are crushed and I am devastated. I'm afraid that nothing conclusive will come of this, that I'll still be shrouded in mystery. I'm afraid that they will refuse to help me treat my pain. I'm afraid that I've got something terrible, something degenerative, something debilitating. I'm afraid that I'm only going to get worse. I'm afraid that there's nothing we can do to help me.

I mean, there are so many "what ifs". What if it's degenerative? What if the pain never goes away? What if I can't ever have kids? Hell... what if I'm dying? Some people might think that's being a bit dramatic, but considering how rapidly I've gone downhill, how bad it's gotten in such a short amount of time... it wouldn't surprise me as much as it might someone else. My mom even said this last trip that I looked like a chemotherapy patient-- pale, weak, dark circles all around my eyes from the pain and sleep problems... She also said that she fears this is the last time she's going to see me. I can't travel long distances anymore without great difficulty, and she doesn't have the money to come out my way, so... unless I get better, we won't be seeing each other for a long time.

Do you know how sobering and/or terrifying it is to have your mother look into your eyes and say, "I fear that this is the last time I'm going to see you"? Let me tell you, it's pretty damn scary. It made me take a hard look at myself through someone else's eyes and realize... yeah. I'm pretty sick. I've gotten good at denying how sick I am in my mind... maybe to justify myself to others, to avoid undue sympathy, to keep myself from plunging into a morass of despair? I'm like, "I'm fine yo! Um... Can you help me to the bathroom?" Hah.

Anyway, I need to rest. The less sleep I get, the harder this trip will be. C's dad is taking me, which is very nice of him. We'll be taking C's truck since it gets WAY better gas mileage than R's big old beast of a truck. (Funny... both of my dads are named R now. Go figure!) C will have to use R's truck, as my car is broken and in the shop. (We're going to have to get a new one. This has been about a year in coming, but it's still not a pleasant prospect. At least I hardly drive now, so all I need is a little beater to get me to work once or twice a week and to the store if I need it. No big. It just has to have proper hvac and be an automatic.)

I asked C to cuddle me tonight, and we talked over some of my fears. He told me it's okay to be nervous, and that I'm right in thinking about it as "no matter what happens, it'll be progress". Oh, guess what? I went to my grandparents this afternoon for a small Christmas (opening presents and watching a Christmas movie), and on the ride there Grampa and I were talking about stuff. C came up, as I was talking about how incredibly impressed I am with him as a person and how he's adapted to life with my illness and how well he takes care of me and loves on me. I mean, I knew he was a great guy before I married him, but he's really blown my expectations out of the water and shown himself to be a spectacular specimen of human being. Just an all around wonderful man and husband. Anyway, I was saying things like that and Grampa jumped in with the comment that he did have his doubts when we got married (C being a nonbeliever and all that), but C has really impressed him too and he thinks that my heart was really telling me the right thing when I decided to marry C. To hear that made my heart sing and burst with pride. I love that man. He's amazing. And he has the greatest mustache ever. Even Grampa is jealous! He said so himself during one of the 3 or 4 times he complimented C's mustache throughout the afternoon. Men and their facial hair, I swear...

I asked C to tell me some optimistic stuff about the future, to allay my nervousness and all. He looked at me, blankly amused (he's terrible at off the cuff stuff, especially optimistic or complimentary stuff), so I whispered a few prompts to him. "Tell me it's all going to be okay... and that no matter what happens you'll be here... and we're gonna be alright..." He then kinda stuttered out awkwardly, "I'll be here..." (long pause) "...for you." Then we both laughed because it was so awful. I'm grinning now even as I recount it. He's so funny.

Alright. To bed with me, while I still have a smile on my face. Hopefully I don't stew over the "what ifs" too much while drifting off to sleep. I'll try not to. But oh man.... so nervous!

Stay At Home Moms = Angels

I saw this video today, and it awoke an ache in my heart.

I want to be a mom. People tell me I'll make a great mom. I came close a couple of times, but lost the babies very early on.

Now, however, I watch this video and I'm terrified.

Terrified of wanting something that badly.

Terrified of the awful risk of loving someone else that much, because life is not certain but pain is inevitable. I already deal with the fear of losing my husband. I'm not sure I can handle the fear of losing a child... especially after it is born and I have known it for months and months and become attached.

Terrified that I'll never be well enough to be a mother. I saw all the moving, bending, twisting, talking, bathing, lifting, carrying, etc. that these moms are doing just as a matter of course. I know that I cannot exert that kind of energy throughout the day, much less day after day. It's just not a physical possibility for me right now. And so I have this ache in my heart... this fear that I will never be well enough to be the mother that my child would need. Is it fair to them to bring them into the world knowing full well that I can't care for them like a "normal" person would, just because I want a family? I don't know...

On the other hand, who's to say that I wouldn't still be a spectacular mom? I mean, we could bring in a nanny or something to help me with the physical side of things. It doesn't have to be conventional.

I dunno. There's just so much fear and trepidation and hope and longing wrapped up in the idea of having children... and it seems like so many of my peers are popping out babies right now. It brings the thought to the forefront of my mind.

We're not ready for kids yet; not right now. In a few years, yes. Maybe by then I'll be better.

Honestly... I'm not even sure I really want to be a mom. Not 100%, anyway. The idea is appealing, but can I really handle the reality? I'm afraid I'll regret it... and that would be the worst, for all of us.

In just an hour and a half I begin my first bout of testing for the cause of these twitchies.

I'm a little nervous, I must confess, as C shared with me that the procedure is, well, painful. His mom went through it. How painful it is exactly, he couldn't say, because he's not the one that went through it, and he claims that it's possible that his mom was being a pansy. Problem is... I'm a pansy, too! lol

I figured it might be best not to take pain killers before the test, so that the readings will be accurate, but I was hurting enough that I needed to. The thing with the pain meds is that they don't get rid of the pain, which is highly annoying. They just take it down to (mostly) bearable levels, if I'm lucky. But my stomach hurts a lot with all of this acetaminophen I've been ingesting. I suppose it's a worthwhile tradeoff. Sorta.

Also...

I love the community humor that chronic illness patients have developed. I mean, really... if you can't laugh at this stuff, you'll end up crying about it. And I hate to be droning on about my pain and symptoms all of the time, but... you talk about what's familiar and constant, and this is my life now. C and I were joking about who was going to die first last night. He says that although women generally live longer, with all this stuff wrong with me I've probably lost about 5 years, so that puts us on even footing. He actually thinks he'll come out ahead by a year or two. Could be. I'd rather die first, so I don't have to fight through the grief of losing my mate.

I asked him yesterday about suicide, my suicide. He said that, if I succeeded he'd be very upset, and probably a little angry with me. If I didn't succeed, he'd be very upset and he'd have me committed so that I couldn't hurt myself again. I was feigning offense that he would lock me away and I wouldn't see him anymore, but he assured me that he'd come visit. He also told me that killing myself, or trying, would never ever be doing him a favor. It would never be a good thing for him. I smiled at the assurance that he values my presence in his life, and I assured him that although the thought comes up in moments of desperation, it's never a serious option for me. It's not.

In the depths of my emotional and mental agony and despair, I longed for rest, for a respite from the hurricane of dark forces that ripped through my soul. Now, in the grip of relentless pain, I long for rest and a respite from the endless grinding and battering of burning, choking torment. It's torture, but there is no inquisitioner and no answer that I could give to end the agony.

Despite all that, though... despite the darkness that still rises from time to time to swallow me whole... despite the flames of chronic illness that lap at my naked, defenseless body... there is a solid, shining light that forms a bridge above the darkness, above the flames... and I can crawl to safety. And if I don't have the strength to crawl, at least I can lie on its solid surface and know that the golden pathway remains and will remain. The bridge of light is the meaning and satisfaction that I have found in my life. It is made up of my husband, my work with the Healing Journey, my friends and support system, the simple pleasures of food and tea and good books, the security of my place within my family, and the warm glow of unconditional acceptance from those who have come to love me. It is a bridge that saves me, day after day... a platform to rest upon as I drag myself from the cold burning depths of despair and frustration.

As I contemplate this odd mix of pain and darkness and light and love that is my life, I find myself profoundly grateful and humbled. I have never before in my life had a hope like this to cling to, to save me... and I cherish it. The darkness before was always so chaotic, and I could see no respite but a rock or two to cling to in the midst of the storms. Never before have I had a way out.

I know the pain isn't going anywhere. When I first started getting sick, and for many months afterward, I held on to the hope that this was a passing thing... that it would peak and then recede. I know now, and have accepted, that the pain isn't going anywhere. This is my life now. I fight to diminish it, to overcome it, and to find treatments for what is wrong with me but... this is my future. I don't expect anything else. While that may be considered glum and defeatist by some, I see it as freeing. No longer expending my energy on false hopes, I can focus on walking my shining bridge and beating back the flames that threaten to consume me.

It's an exhausting battle. I won't lie. The darkness still wraps tendrils around me and whispers dark doubts in my mind. But I have something to hang on to now... something that will always pull me back out. And that's why suicide is never really an option.

Nothing overly dramatic to report.

I went to see The Nutcracker last night with the group ladies, as the local newspaper gave us all free tickets. That was really neat, and I took a friend from school with me. It's nice to be making friends, although I notice that I'm much more reserved here than I have been in the past. I think it has to do with the low energy levels... I just don't have it in me to maintain my current relationships and then add some on top of that! Anyway, the ballet was cool. They mixed in some contemporary-style numbers throughout the show, so it ended up being more like "Nutcracker: The Remix". I enjoyed it.

I'm making a crockpot roast for me and the guys today. We'll have a nice dinner together before Nerd Night starts up, and I'm looking forward to it. I even picked up some of those mini Martinelli's from the dollar store last week, since I had five extra dollars over my normal weekly food budget. C bought me dates and OJ concentrate, so I blended them together for a faux-pineapple glaze. We'll see how that turns out...

Finals are in ten days, so I'm really applying myself to schoolwork and study. Good news! I didn't miss a single day of class this last week! Also, I'm like .08 points away from having an A in my algebra class. That is exciting. I found this last week that I have a 99.6% in my A&P class, and I have over 100% in my other class. In addition to all that exciting stuff, I checked with financial aid, and I'm covered for this next semester, which means I can breathe easy about the massage course. Yesssssss! I'm still planning to apply for scholarships, however. The less of the government's money I have to use, the happier I'll be.

I'm doing better with the med side effects. Well, I was, anyway. The pharmacist told me that I can expect to be dealing with them for about a month or so... And that's probably when the meds will start really kicking in. It takes several weeks for them to begin to work. The side effects were diminishing toward the end of the first week, and I was optimistic, but then my dosage had a scheduled increase, so I'm going through it again. Thankfully, it's not quite as severe this time. Boy, can you imagine if they had started me off on the high dosage right away? I would have jumped off a bridge or something.

Unfortunately, from what I read about SNRI's (and Cymbalta in particular), it has "the discontinuation syndrome from hell", which means that, should I ever need/decide to quit, it's going to be rough. Really rough. I mean, the stuff is not addicting, but it's messing with brain chemicals, and that takes adjusting... and has ramifications. *sigh* Calculated risks, you know?

The day after my "I'm scared" day was better. I felt pretty good, so I put up the Christmas tree and studied and went to class and all kinds of stuff... then came down with a roaring headache. Ah, well, can't be completely free, I guess.

Yesterday was okay. I was limping by the end of the day, but it wasn't too bad. C didn't notice until we were walking and his arm was over my shoulder, so it couldn't have been too severe. I spent most of the day asleep, honestly. I woke up in time to throw on some clothes and drive to school, but class let out early so I came home and napped for... the whole afternoon. I think I woke up once to use the restroom, then I was out again. I got up in time to shower and get ready for the ballet last night. By the time my regular bedtime rolled around, I could barely crawl into bed. I didn't even brush my teeth.

So, besides the nausea/lack of appetite and the difficulty sleeping/unbelievable fatigue and the crazy dehydration... I'm doing okay. I have a headache today, too, but that's nothing a couple NSAIDs can't fix.

Oh, and guess what? If I drink alcohol while I'm on my new meds, my liver might explode! Enforced sobriety :) Not that I was a drinker before... Oh, yeah, and smoking will decrease the effectiveness. So I'm forcefully on the track to healthy living. That's funny... because I didn't do any of those things, anyway, but now I couldn't even if I wanted to!

Ahhh, yes. I forgot. SOULS is in town, as of today. Well... I'm sure there will be posts on that forthcoming.

I want to just avoid them (you know, 'cause I'm a backslidden heathen these days), but that's not healthy or productive. Plus I want to see A. I just don't want to get judged or criticized... and SOULS kids are so, so good at doing that... all in the name of the gospel. Of course.

So, we'll see. We shall see.

(Did I mention that I've got my tickets to go home for Christmas?!?!?!?! I get to see Peanut!! Uh, and the rest of the family too. Of course. ^_^)

Aaaaaaaand... we ordered our invitations last night! (They should arrive in a week, week and a half or so.) When I announced that to S and K who were hanging out in the living room, I accidentally said, "I ordered my wedding invitations! Oh, no, our invitations! I mean that we ordered our invitations!!"

The guys burst out laughing, and C said, "Well, I'm glad to know that we ended up with pirate invitations-- 'aaaargh invitations'!" (L.O.L. Seriously! How can you not be smitten with his cuteness?!)

And with some finagling, I saved us like, 12 bucks on our order. Every little bit counts! I also got my SmartyPig card in the mail, so I loaded it up with what money I've saved so far. Now I can buy stamps for the invites, and I can pay off the dress that I put on my credit card. (They didn't have the green available for a while, so when it came back I wanted to snatch it up as soon as possible!)

It's crazy, knowing that today, somewhere, someone is working on printing out my wedding invitations. Someone who doesn't even know me is seeing those pieces of paper. I wonder if they wonder about the people who will receive them? I would. Like, "Hmm. I wonder who C and C are? What will their wedding be like? I hope they'll be happy. Whoever they are, they've got great taste!" (Hehe.) Maybe I think of that because I worked in a graphics printing shop, laboring with love over someone else's creation. (Last night, as I was doing a final proofread and shifting text around in infinitesimal degrees, C said I was nitpicking. You're darn right! I used to do this for a job! I'm a professional. Sort of.)

Also, funny to note: it was C who admonished me to make sure we had one extra invitation. I couldn't comprehend why, but he pointed out that we'll want to have a box of wedding stuff, so that one day we can pull it out and be like, "And these were our invitations..." He's so smart. But seriously? How did he think of that and I didn't?!

And now, on a more solemn note...

I belong to a couple of "indie-wedding" websites, and in one of the forums I posted this little rant yesterday.

"Divorce.

Good grief, I even hate the sound of it... yet it's so common. Thrown around all the time. Nonchalantly. Like two people who built up years of shared history and inside jokes and back-and-forth banter and serious, heavy, mutual decisions didn't decide to call it quits and go their separate ways.

And that's what scares me the most, I think... the fact that, in order to be divorced, you must be married. You have to plan the ceremony and the reception, and say those vows, and promise to be with your partner forever and ever, until one of you is pushing daisies. You have to have once been where I am now: the single side of a wedding, planning to connect your life with someone else's in a very meaningful and permanent way.

But then, it's not so permanent after all, is it?

In the past three weeks, I've heard divorce announcements from two close couple friends of mine and rumblings from my parents.

Really? I mean, really?!

It's like I'm standing near a swimming pool, and all these people are jumping in the pool, splashing around, having a great time... to all appearances. But when I take a second look, I see that only a few people are actually hanging out in the pool. Most of the people are jumping out and shaking off, and I think to myself, "Why the hell would I get in that water if everyone else is getting out? What, is Jaws lurking or something?"

Because you know that most of these peoples had the best intentions. (Just like me.) And you know that they loved their partners. (Just like me.) And you know that they totally thought they were doing the right thing. (Just like me.) And they never, ever envisioned themselves splitting up later down the road. (Just like me.)

It's enough to make me question the purpose of the whole thing. Like, what's the point? You just end up splitting up later, anyway. Because it's not that I don't love my mate and want to spend the rest of my life with him. I totally do! I just... am shaken to my core at the fallibility of what I had once perceived to be an unshakeable ideal.

And I can't help but (morbidly) wonder... all these neat weddings that I see on OBB and APW... how many of those cool "Wordless Weddings" couples will actually stick together long-term?

Or maybe we have a better chance of it, here in the tribe, because we're intentional, honest communicators. We think critically through issues, and we strive for authenticity. We try to practice the things that make real life, and real relationships, work.

So maybe I shouldn't be so scared, after all. Maybe I should look at this as a chance to prove the world wrong. I mean, sure the divorce statistics are totally nauseating. But if I don't go through with my wedding, how can I ever hope to sway them back the other way?

(Not so much a "Primal Scream" as a "Primal WhatthehellamIdoing?! Oh Yeah, That's Right".)

So what say you, tribe? Is divorce just "one of those things" that just happen in a relationship? Like you have no control over it? (Like "falling out of love"?) And how, how, HOW, does one avoid being jaded by the sea of relationship flotsam?"

I called J and got her perspective. (We actually came up with the pool metaphor simultaneously, if you can believe that! Go besties! lol)

I talked it over with C last night, and realized a few things. Firstly, I really, really, really want this to work, and I honestly believe we have a great shot at it... and because I want it, I'm scared to get hurt. I'm afraid that horrible things will happen. I'm freaking out because I like/want this, and I'm just waiting for the bad thing to come along and ruin it. Right?

Secondly, I haven't really had much in the way of good role models to prove to me that the institution of marriage is a.) lasting, or b.) worthwhile/enjoyable/mutually beneficial. Like, even if people stick it out, they're miserable. Right? (Hello, sitcoms... ugh. I hate tv.) Now that I'm more grown up, sure... I can think of maybe one or two, but probably not more than I could count on one hand. So no wonder I'm wary.

C's perspective is a little different. He pointed out that, yes, there are still people in the water, so you know that it's not all a failure. Secondly, bad news travels more than good news. People don't talk about the ones who stay together until they split up, and then you hear all about it. The ones who are solidly, quietly together? They get no medals, no awards, no news coverage. They're just... there. Like, he brought up the old couple who don't have much to say to each other anymore because they've said it all. It's not bad, it's just that they're super comfortable around each other and they pretty much know what the other is thinking/feeling/how they would react, etc. Or the other kind of old couple that kind of banter and tease each other and stuff, but you can tell that they still really like each other. (No malicious teasing, here.) He says to look at them. And he thinks that we can be that someday.

Also, apparently marriage/divorce is like a shark attack. How many shark attacks actually happen? Not very many. But you hear about every. single. one. So it seems like there are a whole bunch. However, in reality, it is more likely for you to be struck by lightning three times than to be attacked by a shark. It goes along with that bad news thing. It's not exactly the scourge I'm feeling it is (because, obviously, there are still people in the pool), but if all I'm hearing about are the shark attacks, it's gonna feel like it's happening a whole lot more often than it actually is.

So that's C's take on it. There was more, but I was/am tired, and that was the meat of the conversation. I came out okay on the other side, more ready than before to take this plunge.

I mean... who else is gonna protect C from shark attacks??

And thus I have an appointment with a "real" doctor this coming week. Mom told me to send the bill to them. I balked and protested (because I said I was never, ever going to depend on them for money again!), but then I realized the sanity of that course. Mom said that they've discussed my financial situation, and they understand. Especially now that Mom's working. Really? I wish I didn't have a financial situation that needed to be discussed! Yet the way out of that is to go to the doctor and get better-er, and the way to do that is through the financial discussions and calming the accusatory voices long enough to ship the bill off to Mom and R.

So I'm going to a "real" doctor, a "primary care physician", who, hopefully, will refer me to one of the two endocrinologists that I could see. It was actually the *nice* endo's office that pointed me to this doctor and said they were really good, so here's hoping. Obviously the two work together, so that's good.

I was doing some research this morning on adrenal insufficiency flare-ups and whatnot, trying to figure out why I get so darned sick for no apparent reason all the time, and I guess that AI is totally linked to hypothyroid, and the two are totally linked to fibromyalgia (which... I wonder...) and all that is totally linked to IBS and (food) sensitivities and all kinds of fun auto-immune stuff. Looks like I got the short end of the stick on the immunity side of things.

Maybe this doc will be able to help me figure it all out.

One thing's for sure... I can't just keep doing what I'm doing and hope that I'll make it okay. That's not going so well. If I want things to change, then I need to take steps toward change.

Thank you, God, for insurance, and for parents who will help me to get healthy.

Young man on the side of the road
Lost and beat up with no where to go
Smells like a hangover from days ago
He does what he can to survive

Single mom with a dead end job
Ninety hour week just to keep what she's got
But the bills add up and now she's caught
She does what she can to survive

Well, let me say
That love won't take away the pain
But don't be afraid
'Cause it will never walk away

If you're scared that you don't matter
If you're lost and need to be found
If you're looking for a Savior
All you gotta do is turn around

Some turn to a bottle
Some turn to a drug
Some turn to another's arms
But it seems like it's never enough

Well I won't say
That you will never fail again
But there is grace
To wash away your every sin

If you're scared that you don't matter
If you're lost and need to be found
If you're looking for a Savior
All you gotta do is turn around

No one listens to you anymore
And your heart has broken down 

You don't need to move, love has come to you 

All you gotta do is turn around
All you gotta do is turn around, turn around

You don't have to
Take the broken road
You can turn around
And come back home

You don't have to
Take the broken road
You can turn around
And come back home

You don't have to
Take the broken road
You can turn around
And come back home

If you're scared that you don't matter
If you're lost and need to be found
If you're looking for a Savior
All you gotta do is turn around

No one listens to you anymore
And your heart has broken down 

You don't need to move, love has come to you 

All you gotta do is turn around
All you gotta do is turn around

So I thought I was depression free. Why do I always think that?

Like, Yeah! These herbs are helping! I mean, I've been "down", but I'm not mired in the darkness like usual. I think I finally found "it"!


Meanwhile, my symptoms have been getting more and more pronounced as I continue on the downward slide... but no, if I deny it, it's not happening!

Think happy thoughts. Life is great, life is grand. I can handle this. I can do it. I. AM. NOT. DEPRESSED. ANYMORE.


It's still mild. Just pronounced fatigue and apathy, overwhelming lack of appetite and/or nausea. I mean... it's not darkness... but it's shadows. And I don't wanna go there anymore.

This is what these outrageously expensive natural remedies are supposed to help with!

I'm seriously, seriously getting to the point where I think that natural remedies only work if you "believe" in them... and even if you do, it's still spotty.  Yeah, you hear all these fantastic stories about natural stuff doing miracles for people, but it's always "someone else", isn't it? Just like accidents, or cancer, or really bad stuff always happens to "someone else", so does natural healing, I think.

Maybe I'm just immune. Wouldn't that be awful? Charcoal never worked for me. Wait, I take that back. It did help me throw up one time, I think. It was either the charcoal or the kombucha.

And hydrotherapy broke my bronchitis fever towards the end of SOULS. And hot water bottles really help my stomach when I'm hurting. And flushing my sinuses with salt water really, really helps when I've got a sinus infection going on.

So, yeah. I can't say that natural stuff doesn't entirely work, but I am becoming quite dubious and skeptical. Great words coming from the employee of an herb store, huh? ;)

I've been toying with the idea of going on that prescription antidepressant my doctor gave me... if nothing but to break the cycle. But the potential side effects are awful! I mean, do I really want to chance it? I start counseling in two weeks... surely I can just hang on until then...

But if I keep going down (and today was an indicator that I am, though I'm going to FIGHT it!), then my productivity as an employee and as a person is going to be seriously compromised...

Maybe I ought to just do it. For two weeks. See what happens.

Ugh. I don't know. I just don't know.

I wonder what Jesus would do. Seriously.

Then again... Jesus wasn't depressed all that often... and his depression was for a "purpose".

Hmm.

You know, I think about how Jesus understands everything that we go through (according to the book of Hebrews), and I understand that he was horribly, horribly depressed in the garden of Gethsemane, and when he was on the cross dying. (It's funny, because a few times I've been so depressed that I simply can't speak, and when I read that Jesus didn't really say anything during his trial, I thought to myself, It's 'cause he was so depressed! I understand that! I've totally been there.)

However, the thing is that, though he was so horrifically depressed... he got to die. I have to keep living, carrying on, and somehow function and be "normal". So I know he "gets it", but maybe not in its entirety.

God, what exactly am I supposed to do?

The most low key song I've ever heard by this group. You can even hear a harp in this one. It's haunting... and I listened to it over and over again until about 2 a.m.

I called a counselor this morning. I had to leave a message, but I'll try again later.

I really want to be better. I know it's not so much an issue of "behaving" better, but of healing the root issue so that I will want to be behave better.

Until then... I want to disappear. Or run away. But I won't do either. I have a life to attend to.

Thank God I'm off tomorrow, too. Maybe I'll feel better by the time my other job rolls around. (At least working with SA kids, I'm allowed to feel crappy 'cause I'm going through stuff too!)

...with depression. Again.

I thought I was over this beast.

My enthusiasm and optimism at making the move kept me afloat for a few days, but after leading my first group meeting last week, it's been a constant battle.

No motivation. Sleeping... a lot. My desire for a relationship with God is going downhill, and fast. Restless. Diminished appetite. Desire for isolation.

And the longer I go without a job, the more my anxiety mounts, despite my efforts to trust God.

Because that's what this is about, really. It still stuns me how much my sense of self-worth is tied in to my productivity, my activities. It's not enough that I'm volunteering running peer support groups for abused girls, and working with the youth at church, and preaching, and doing music gigs (all pro-bono, of course lol), and working on setting up an e-business, and beginning piano lessons. Oh, no. I have to have a "real" job. (I got a job last night, but it's an odd-job, sporadic thing.)

Because Gramma and Grampa are taking up the slack. They're paying for my food. They're helping me with tires. They're essentially supporting me right now, and that bugs me. I'm supposed to be paying my way, not letting them buy stuff for me.

It's like I can't bear to let myself be too dependent on anyone. My grandparents... my parents... friends... adopted families... God... No. I have to do it myself.

And then when I can't, I'm a failure. I hear myself telling myself, "If you were really independent, you'd have a job by now. If you were really an adult, you wouldn't be mooching off of your grandparents. If you were really capable of taking care of yourself, you wouldn't be here. You're worthless. I can't believe you need someone to take care of you."

Dear God, I'm so abusive. I say things to myself that I would never say to another person in a million years... but somehow it's okay when I'm talking to myself?!

"If you were really an adult, you'd have a job by now. You're not supporting yourself because you don't want to. You're as bad as G was... sucking the life out of anyone who will support you. Black widow."

And here I am... paralyzed by my own venom... moving more and more sluggishly... until eventually I stop even trying to twitch in protest.

Why am I so mean to myself?

And how do I snap out of it?

A friend sent me a text today that sent me bawling... because I just feel so worthless and empty.
"PS you are wonderful and thanks for the rescue yesterday. it meant a lot to k. 'Before they call I will answer.' you were sent from God. Love you" (I accompanied a vocal number last minute for K's mom's funeral, because the accompaniment cd was AWOL.)

I know that the answer will come, the revelation will heal, and I'll be okay. But right now... it just hurts.

And unless I can learn to stop this cycle of self-abuse, it's going to keep coming around whenever circumstances don't go the way that I think they ought to to prove that I am a valuable, productive member of society and my family.

God... help me. Please.

I don't want to be this way anymore.

"For thou wilt not leave my soul in hell; neither wilt thou suffer thine Holy One to see corruption." Psalm 16:10

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.

I've come to the point where I'm suspicious of good things. Not all good things, mind you, but things that just seem to be so good and to fit so right... that's what I thought about the summer camp I worked at. It's perfect! I'm so excited! But people can portray reality any which way they want when you don't know them, and it can wind up being a foretaste of hell.

However, that foretaste imbued me with a strength that I would not have gotten any other way. It is from that experience that I realize, I am strong. I can survive. Sure, I fell apart somewhat during the summer (the S's and D know the full extent of that), but I learned. I've grown.

But, man, I sure don't want to make that mistake again!! I'd rather things go well, quite frankly. I can learn without agony of soul and body, thankyouverymuch.

So, I'm researching massage colleges, and there's one that's captivated my interest. It seems so good, just what I want, in a state that I'd like to live in, not saturated with New Age beliefs, and the lady I talked to was so very nice to me. We clicked well.

I'm just afraid to take that leap, to move forward into the unknown, and... totally hate my decision. I'm afraid it will collapse around my ears.

I suppose the question is, does God dictate our moves to us? How do I know God's leading me? Eh? Because, as usual, I'm afraid to make the wrong choice. :)

And, on a totally different and unrelated note-- I'm SO HUNGRY! 7 days of fasting. I can't wait to start eating again. Tomorrow! Tomorrow! It has never been such a sweet word.

Oh, yeah, and one more thing... Why not do the support group? My counselor challenged me on that. If I have the capabilities to help someone while I'm still here, why not? Why put it off? Why wait? I... don't have a good reason, really, just thinking that it might not be the best to start something I can't finish. After all, I'd planned on facilitating it for a whole year. Now, it looks as though I'll be leaving March/April. That's only 5 or 6 months. But those months could mean the world to someone. I'm gonna do it.

I am completely humbled right now. I'm in awe. I'm beyond awe.

I can't believe what God has done for me... It's amazing to me that he would care for me so much... I'm just... stunned. Tear-filled eyes lifted to heaven in a silent Hallelujah.

First of all, I made it safely to Y. I thought that was business as usual, but when my grampa took my car to the mechanic's this morning (to check out a leak that mysteriously stopped the day before I left), he noticed that my left rear tire was, to put it simply, very very bad. There were wires sticking out and everything.

When he took it to the mechanic's, he mentioned that I had just come from California. A turned to him in amazement and asked, "How?! I can't believe she made it here!" Indeed, they weren't even sure my grampa would make it to the Walmart to get a new tire.

The tire had separated. While I was driving.

That's the exact same tire that blew out in The Accident back in '06... you know, the one where I should have died? The one where I went blind?

I just... wow. And see, the thing is, I stopped before I got to J and filled up my tires with air (which we had also done just before the blowout-- I'm so done with filling up tires on the road!!), and the psi was fine, around 35. A little low, but not bad. When they checked it this morning, it was 18! Clearly, this happened after I filled up the tires, and I had no clue.

The tire separated. I am still in shock. I literally could have died yesterday. Obviously, God's not done with me yet. :)

That leads me to my second point... I got a job! (Actually, I came home floating on cloud 9 with this news when I found out about the tire-- it makes it so much more poignant.)

It's volunteer, at first, but I'll actually be getting a paycheck after a while, which is an unexpected blessing.

It came out of my decision to start a support group for abuse survivors up where I'm at in Idaho. I had been struggling with the decision for some time- months- thinking, Is this really the right thing to do? Am I qualified for this? Is this what God wants me to do?

After some things falling into place in my mind lately (especially speaking to E's DV and Sexual Assault groups while in Y, and singing for those beautiful girls at camp), I finally decided to just do it. These survivors need someplace to go where they can heal, where they can find God, where they can experience his love. They need this, and so do I. I'm not going to let my fear of making a mistake and losing God's love and affection stop me, because that's just not truth. It's of God, and I'm going for it.

So today, while I was visiting with my wonderful, beautiful, superlative friend and mentor E (who was actually my Victim's Rights Advocate back in the very beginning of my journey towards healing), I told her that I was going to do it. I was going to start a support group in Idaho.

She then started talking about 503c's and grants and umbrellas and all kinds of stuff, and I realized... she wants me to work with her! I'm not in this alone!

So, basically, I'm going to open up an Idaho chapter of her agency that God just started, The Healing Journey. I'm going to start another blog specifically chronicling  that experience.

Then, she starts talking about paychecks! Because I'm going to be under the umbrella of her agency, I'll be getting paid to run this support group. I'm going to do fundraising for the agency.

Y'all, I'm going to be a director of an agency!

God, what are you doing with me?! You're giving me this job, doing what I love? I was going to do it volunteer! You really put this in my lap? WHAT ARE YOU DOING WITH ME?! You're amazing!!

I'm just so... humbled. Awed. Nervous. Stunned. Excited.

He wants to use me. I'm so broken. I have so much healing to do. I was so untrusting, not sure that he could provide a paycheck for me when I went back home.

And he still wants me... to be that broken vessel, that cracked jar of clay...
He wants me to blaze for him. How can his light pour out of me if there are no cracks? It stays locked inside.

God has chosen me. He's given me a job, doing what I've been wanting to do for how many months and years now? He's given me my passion... and I know it's going to be hard. That's why I'm nervous. I feel inadequate. But it's not me, it's him. And he knew that he wanted me to do this, and he wrapped his hand around my tire and kept it from disintegrating when, in all reality, it should have.

And I'm in awe.

Ahhhhhh....

The house is clean. There's nothing quite like the feel of a home clean and ready for Sabbath. I love it.

Since H's love language is acts of service, I decided to put forth some extra effort and really make things tidy for when she gets back on Sunday. I even scrubbed the shower. I dislike scrubbing the shower.

So, on to the topic of my thoughts for today!

"How are you and D doing?" I get that question a lot. And it makes sense- those who I call are those I'm close to, and those I'm close to know that this is a totally new frontier for me. I'm not offended in any way by their questions, it just makes me chuckle that almost every person would ask the same question, phrased in almost the exact same way. (The alternative phraseology is "How are things going with you and D?")

And things are... going. We're progressing normally, I think. C asked me today if we'd said "I love you" to each other yet. I must admit, I was rather flabbergasted and slightly horrified by the idea. Not horrified by the idea of saying "I love you" to D (that is actually a rather pleasant prospect ^_^), but horrified by the idea of introducing something so weighty into our relationship so soon. I mean, like is one thing, but love? That's a whole different ballpark.

I know I like him. I am attracted to him physically, I think he's quite good looking, and he has the ability to give me butterflies. He has a good sense of humor, and we can laugh together (although once in a while he cracks a joke that I think is kind of crude, but I'm willing to overlook that). As a matter of fact, we do laugh together, quite a bit. He's intelligent, logical, resourceful, he seems to be a good, hard worker, and he loves his mom a lot. He's very good to his mother. (That gives me hints on how he would treat a future wife.) He's encouraging when I'm discouraged, and he's steady but fun. He's kind. He loves the outdoors. (We may have issues there... I don't like hiking as much as he does, I think. I mean, I enjoy it, but it's not my number one favorite activity.) Ahh, yes, and he loves God.

That, to me, is key. He has a testimony, an experience. I refuse to be caught up in another relationship where I cannot worship God alongside my partner. I won't.

I asked him today about his spiritual life. Because it was at the end of the conversation, I posed it as a question to think about overnight, and we can compare answers tomorrow. The question was, "What is your spiritual life like? Also, how would you summarize where you are with God?" I need to think about it myself, and figure out how to put it into words. So... we'll see.

Honestly, I don't know how to tell if someone is spiritually compatible, really, because everyone's relationship with God is unique. There's not a blueprint I can compare his answer with. C gave me some advice, which was that the key thing is that he be willing and wanting to grow, and that I need to take his answer and pray about it, and let God tell me whether or not we are compatible.

So things are... going. We talk when we can. He called me beautiful once. He sent me flowers :) We made mutual admissions of missing each other. I haven't done much in the way "mush", for a few reasons. First of all, I want our relationship to be based on more than mere emotions. Secondly, well... I'm shy. Thirdly, I fear rejection. Fourthly, if we do split up for some reason, I want it to be as painless as possible, so the less I "mush", the easier that would be.

But I do care for him, very much. He's a wonderful man. I'm glad that he's a part of my life.