I broke down crying today during my appointment with my "lady doctor". (Yeah, I could just say gynecologist, but I honestly like the phrase "lady doctor" better. It sounds more elegant, don't you think?") Well, not breaking down as in sobbing, like buckets of tears, but I did cry and she handed me the tissues and I felt a little embarrassed because I try to keep my crying to a minimum, and definitely private and not in front of my doctors. She was very understanding, though-- I love having her as a doctor. I only see her once a year, but she's awesome.

She asked what had transpired in the past year, so I gave her a quick rundown on my health, on the status of my marriage, of the stress that we are under (and that's where I started crying), etc. She was very sympathetic and encouraging, and she said that she hates the diagnosis of fibro the most for her patients because it just causes so much pain and horror in their lives. She is a total believer in fibro and how it can wreck a life, and we even had a little chat about pregnancy and fibro, the risks and challenges, etc. She really wished me well and had good wishes for me that I would find out, through the doctors and tests, what on earth is really going on so we can treat this and get it under control.

Get this: even my gynecologist, after just a brief rundown of my health changes in the last year, says straight out that I am dealing with something beyond fibromyalgia. There is another disease at play here and we haven't figured it out yet, but it is continuing to drag me down and make life feel more and more impossible. I want to find the line between reality and complaining, but I also just want to vent and explode into the atmosphere with a supersonic silent scream at how hard every day is, how much I miss my old life, and how sick I feel every day and night, how much acute agony I chronically endure. Since I got taken off of the hydroxychloroquine until my appointment with my rheumatologist in Phoenix, my joints have jumped in on the pain parade full force, even more so than before. I am not aware of a single joint in my body that doesn't ache on a near constant basis, even without use or pressure.

I hardly do hot baths anymore because putting weight on my hands to lever myself up and out of the tub is almost unbearable; walking is painful at all times because of my knees, ankles, and all the articulations in my feet. Did I mention that I received news at my last pain doc appointment that I basically have gout?! I'm a 26 year old woman. How the fuck can I have gout?! So I got this paper that lays out the foods I can and shouldn't eat, but I'd just started to revamp my diet a bit and make it healthier so I can lose weight hopefully, but the gout paper basically told me to continue eating the way that I have been! Just with more veggies. I think it's just going to be trial and error, really. This gout thing is in conjunction with my pain doc's sincere conviction that I have a type of rheumatoid arthritis that doesn't show up on the AI blood tests, but that there are definite ways of diagnosing. That's a very valid theory, especially considering my poor joints now that I'm off of the lupus/RA drug and doing so much more poorly. (My friend with the same type of RA as the doc is postulating takes hydroxychloroquine for it and it helps her. We both think that, you know, if I'm taking an RA drug and it's helping and then I get off of it and I worsen, that combined with other clear symptoms makes a pretty strong case for seronegative RA.)

By the way, a blog that I follow regularly, chroniccurve, has an entire post called Seronegativity for Dummies, and I strongly suggest you check it out if you're at all curious about what the heck I'm talking about. She's a great writer, a strong advocate, and does not spread misinformation. Best of all? She's totally my age or maybe a bit younger, a peer! I love it.

I am looking forward to my appointment the first week of December at the rheumatology department of the University of Arizona. I hope it will be a good and productive experience. Yes, I'd prefer that the doctors are pleasant and funny and good looking as well as intelligent and diligent, but honestly all of that falls on the back burner when I regard information and a correct diagnosis. What would you do for a Klondike bar? I think the question is, what would you do for a real live answer? If I just had a reason for my every increasing pain and continuing fatigue, it might make it easier to bear.

I realized this week that even though he loves me and he is totally there for me and is my #1 supporter, sees everything… Corey will never really understand what life is like for me, what it's like to be sick like this, none of that. (Random insert, but I'm really tired and falling asleep while typing this, so I closed my eyes for a very long blink and had a momentary dream/vision/hallucination of passing out and being lowered to the ground by my group of friends… the ground that was made of various kinds of ice cream. Woooooow.) So, back to Corey. See, he rarely even gets sick, and any pain he's experienced has been acute in nature, not to mention that he's good at putting mind over matter and ignoring the discomfort. Sometime I'll have to share the story of when he sprained his ankle at school in the morning, walked on it the entire day without seeing the nurse, and then walked home. Crazy dude. Crazy! But because of his lack of experience with prolonged pain and sickness, he really has no vantage point from which to really see into my experience and sort of assimilate it into his own, to pretend that he's me in a way.

Honestly, that realization was a little bit devastating to me. I knew he had my back but I had always just kind of assumed that he knew exactly what I was dealing with and was choosing to be dense at times. Oops. Heh. But no, he doesn't truly get it, and that's okay. Who does, really, unless they've lived it? I mean… I know what it's like to have my bones feel like they're filled with fire and etched with acid; I know where the articulation of my joints are because the ache is particularly sharp, thick, and overwhelming there. I know what it's like to literally be crippled by pain and not be able to take a step forward or stand at all, even sit, due to epic levels of concentrated pain in one area or another. I know what it's like to suddenly be dizzy and lose my footing on a completely flat surface. I know the jolting awake from a presumably sound sleep for no apparent reason (or because the pain followed you into your dream and it got too overwhelming), maybe just once that night, or maybe again and again and again, every hour or half hour, and I know the feeling of overwhelming gratefulness that I don't have to try to drag my invisibly battered and bruised carcass into work every day. Objects fly from my hands when a twitch attack strikes, I can't walk, and it jerks and jolts already painful muscles and tendons and joints. I need the walker to walk, especially with my very low back having decided to give up on me in excruciating spasms and weakness at totally random intervals, but my hands hurt badly from the weight on them as I push myself along with the walker and from having to grip the handles the whole time.

On the other hand, that same walker allows me independence that I would not have otherwise, and it allows me to walk a half an hour or more every night, pain or no pain. It's cleansing, this walking, and Corey joins me for that, too. It's during the walk, during the errands on his day off, that I realize he will never truly get it unless it happens to him. Good god, may it never happen to him. He hasn't the patience or the proper personality to deal with such unrelenting pain and the constant onslaught of old and new symptoms that always keep you off balance just a little. He does not have the good humor to laugh through or about a particularly painful day or hour or situation. He turns into a grouchy, mean person when subjected to large amounts of pain that are "semi-chronic" (lasting for more than a day). I've seen it first hand! So really, it's better for everyone involved that I'm the sick one, not him.

As you can see, there is much for me to think about and feel when it comes to my current "lifestyle". I didn't choose it but I do have to make the best of it because it's not going away, not anytime soon by my guess, and I'd rather not waste a huge chunk of my life just waiting to get better so I can begin being the person that I want to and doing the things that I want to do. Hell no. Corey summed it up pretty aptly when he said that there was a lot of "trauma" around the change in my life and my sicknesses, and he's right. There is a lot of trauma, stuff that I need to work through, and I really want to. I tried a particular place this week that seemed promising based on a lead from Bisbee when I was visiting the other week, but the people here were somewhat rude and quite unhelpful and it did not pan out at all. No counseling for me at this time; can't afford to add another doctor to the mix right now. Not when every penny of what I use to pay my doctors and get prescriptions and such is a gift from family or friends or somebody. God I hope I can sell these crafts that I've made somehow. It's the only way I can think to make some money right now that's within my physical capabilities. I haven't made much in the past few weeks, though. Been too… depressed. Sick. Totally unmotivated on top of feeling so feverish and flu like and drained and just blah. I'm still super shocked that I actually had a great time in Tucson and wasn't all that ill.

I blame our mattress, actually. My sister in law's mattress helped keep my pain down, I think, but ours beats me up like hell. We need either a new mattress or one of those memory foam topper thingies for it, and we also need new pillows, like, SO bad. Have for a couple of years now. Anyway, I can barely keep my eyes open, and I'm just rambling at this point in any event. Hit me up if you wanna buy us a mattress or pillows, or if you wanna buy some crafts, yeah? Keychains, beaded autumn wall hangings, necklaces, earrings, painted prescription bottles, and more. Maybe I'll do pictures some time. Maybe. If I remember… and feel like it. Heh.

Also, I was just hit with a strong but irrational desire to go to the zoo. What's that about?

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!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Yes."

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

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

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

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

"…Alright, fine."

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

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.

Yesterday was a seriously confusing set of emotions for me. Very complex, very intertwined, and very pervasive. It left me feeling both invested in and totally invalidated, which is a strange and repulsive mixture. I don't recommend that you try it anytime soon.

Remember how I was all excited that BJ and I were doing lunch and shopping? Well, we did. We also had a lot of time to talk while doing those things, and it was during lunch (our first activity) that things started going downhill for me.

I have come to the conclusion that BJ is not actually a safe person.

This is hard for me to come to grips with, because I have always assumed that she was. Indeed, for a long time she has seemed to be, especially given the largely dysfunctional and toxic people that I was surrounded with. She has been a safe person for me for so long that to have that status shifted is, well... very unsettling. It's almost like an identity crisis of sorts.

I suppose I should clarify what I mean by "safe person", just to be on the safe side. (Heh.) A safe person is someone whom we can have a safe relationship with, versus someone who is toxic and unsafe. According to authors/Drs. Cloud and Townsend, this is how you can identify a safe person:

"So, what are safe relationships? A safe relationship is one that does three things:

1. Draws us closer to God. (Matthew 22:37-38)
2. Draws us closer to others. (Matthew 22:39)
3. Helps us become the real person God created us to be. (Ephesians 2:10)

When John (Townsend) and I asked people to describe a “safe person” to us, they gave us these descriptions:

• A person who accepts me just like I am.
• A person who loves me no matter how I am being or what I do.
• A person whose influence develops my ability to love and be responsible.
• Someone who creates love and good works within me.
• Someone who gives me an opportunity to grow.
• Someone who increases love within me.
• Someone I can be myself around.
• Someone who allows me to be on the outside what I am on the inside.
• Someone who helps me to deny myself for others and God.
• Someone who allows me to become the “me” that God intended.
• Someone who helps me become the “me” God sees in me.
• Someone whose life touches mine and leaves me better for it.
• Someone who touches my life and draws me closer to who God created me to be.
• Someone who helps me be like Christ.
• Someone who helps me love others more."

Okay, clearly these guys are Christians, and maybe I'm not looking for someone to blatantly Bible me into being a better person, but you get the idea.

You see, BJ's house was always a haven of refuge for me from my crazy home life. Even when I was "drifting into the world" as a teenager, I always felt unconditionally loved and accepted by her and her family. When I went away to SOULS, she expressed some concerns that I wasn't learning the whys and wherefores of things, but that I was conforming to peer pressure, and she was somewhat right. (She reminded me of this during our talk.)

In recent years (or year), however, it feels like... I dunno. It feels like I'm responsible for her emotional happiness and stability in some ways, though the cues are so subtle that I'd be hard pressed to put it into words. Honestly, I'm hard pressed to put any of this into words! I know, I know, me without words. Hard to believe, right? *sigh*

There are two driving issues here: one is my health, and the other is my spirituality/life choices.

BJ is a nurse, and somehow it feels like we always end up talking about my sicknesses, especially now that fibromyalgia has reared its ugly head. She can't seem to wrap her mind around why I'm so sick, and I keep getting those cliche phrases that I hate so much, such as "You're too young to be sick like this!" Today she mentioned multiple times that she doesn't understand why I got so ill so suddenly, why my health suddenly took such a nose dive. Heck, I don't understand it, either! It just happened. But I always, always get this creeping feeling like somehow it's my fault... like I did something or am not doing something right... but yesterday, she was so bold as to say that she thinks I got fibromyalgia because I left God. Wow. Really? Really? That's harsh, man.

The thing is, when I feel even subtly attacked, I find myself falling over myself to explain myself more and open up further depths of my soul to her, as if sharing more truth will somehow help her to understand and accept and stop blaming me and bringing out the guilt. (I wonder if her kids go through this, too?) It doesn't. It just complicates things further.

We were talking about my future as a massage therapist, and how C takes care of me so well, and I mentioned that there is a possibility that I may end up bedridden from fibromyalgia, as I know people in that boat. She immediately and vehemently protested this, insisting that I shouldn't focus on that, that I shouldn't even be considering or contemplating it. No matter how much I explained myself or insisted that I'm not choosing this outcome, but that it is indeed a reality that I must face and accept, she maintained her position that even acknowledging it is the same as choosing it, and I shouldn't even allow myself to think about that, and that I'm going to get better and that I'm underestimating what God can do... (as if he would heal me anyway, 'cause it's not like I haven't asked him a billion times before, back when we were on good terms, but I digress...) Basically, she completely dismissed my illness and insisted that I'm going to get over it. At least, that was my interpretation of the situation. As there are two sides to every story, I fully admit that I could have been completely misreading her.

I explained it like this-- if you have cancer, you have to face the fact that a possible outcome is death. That doesn't mean you're choosing it, or even that it's highly likely, but it's still a part of reality. She came back with a fiery and intense rebuttal of, "Only if you have terminal cancer is that the case. Any other kind of cancer, you have other options."

Look, it's not like I want to be this damn sick all the time. I miss hiking, and I miss cleaning my house. I miss doing more than two or three "things" in a day. (I struggled with fatigue already, but that was small potatoes compared to my life these days.) But I really, really resist the attempts to whitewash my reality and my future and exclude reality from my plans and my thoughts. She told me that I was spending too much time researching fibro online, basically saying that I was focusing on the negative aspects of my illness too much. Um, no. I get down in the mouth from time to time, but I'd like to think that I'm actually rather optimistic about being in severe pain every waking moment. I just felt so... dismissed. Invalidated. Disrespected, I guess. Like she was saying, "No, your interpretation of reality isn't correct. It's too pessimistic. Here, let me replace it with my own. This is the right one. Now, don't go back to your way of thinking! It'll only hurt you." I felt as though she was implying that, if I get sicker (or because I've gotten this sick in the first place, and because it came on so suddenly), that somehow it's my fault and that I was probably focusing too much on the negative and not wanting to get better well enough or something like that.

On that note, check out this funny cartoon! (One of my friends, M, showed it to me when I came home all distraught over my encounter with BJ, after I had explained the whole thing to them... or vented, more like.)

The second issue is my spirituality/life choices. I already mentioned how she thinks that I'm sick because I'm drifting from God, or at least that the two timings coincide quite suspiciously. (Because I got sick so suddenly, remember... because it's not like there are any illnesses out there with sudden onsets. Lord forbid I not be able to pinpoint the exact second I got ill and link it to a specific incident. Okay, sorry, sorry... sorry for the sarcasm.)

Basically, I'm not making choices with my life that she approves of, because I've left the path that she deems to be the path of life. She insists it's not about church, but that it's about God, but... I feel that the two are too synonymous in most people's minds to really make a difference. She's devastated because I'm living with my fiance before we're married, but the Bible doesn't say anything about that. The church does. I'm sure EGW probably does somewhere. But God doesn't. Sex before marriage? Yeah, there's stuff in there about that. I know that one, and I'm not going to go into my reasons for why I'm okay with it in certain situations right now. That's not what I need to talk about here. (Besides, there are other things that I'm okay with that God demands people be stoned for, so God and I... we have our differences above and beyond my anger issues with him.)

She told me that I broke her heart, just like her kids have broken her heart, because she/they (she and her husband) gave us everything, hoping that we'd learn to love the Lord and follow him but we've all walked away and she feels like a failure, and... also that I can never again break her heart or hurt her like I already have, because her heart is already broken so badly.

First of all, I resent being "gifted" with the ability to devastate someone like that with the choices that I'm making with my life. Do my choices affect others? Most definitely. Am I responsible for that? Partially yes, and partially no. Others (we're talking mature, responsible adults here, not dependents) also have a choice in how they will respond to my actions, whether they will let themselves be devastated by my choices or simply sad, maybe disappointed. I told her very clearly that I am not making rash decisions, that they are well thought out and wrestled with, and that I have total and complete peace within my own mind about the path that I'm pursuing. She hates that I'm marrying into atheism; I don't mind it. She says that it's going to affect me; I openly acknowledge that it already has, and I quietly acknowledge that I'm grateful for the dose of realism and cynicism. I stated that I am striving to live as authentic of a life as possible, and I am not interested in hiding who I am, where I am, and even why I am.

I just feel that, if I am not making the decisions she feels to be the right ones, then I'm a profound disappointment and I've crushed her soul. No one likes feeling that way, because it's not about my choices, it's about me and my self-worth. I am a disappointment, not my choices. I never, ever feel this way with my mom, with R, or with the S's. They have somehow mastered the art of loving, accepting, and enjoying me, even if they disagree with or are disappointed in the choices that I'm making. BJ has yet to learn this, and I begin to understand why I have felt this strange sense of alienation between her and her youngest son throughout the years. I didn't get why he had this strange, subtle resistance to his parents, especially his mom... but now I do. I feel it, too. You can't thrive in that kind of environment. It's stifling. Her mind is so closed that she can't comprehend that someone else's path might lie along a different track than the one she's taken. She found salvation such-and-such a way and in such-and-such a place; how could you possibly find it elsewhere? It doesn't exist. And if you are outside her understanding of "right", then you will break her heart. *sigh* I'm tired just thinking about it.

The thing is, as long as we kept things light and fluffy, we were fine. We enjoyed ourselves, and had a grand time. It's when things get beyond surface level that trouble brews. I realized last night that I have to draw some boundaries... I just can't let her in to the deeper parts of my life anymore.

I discussed this with C last night, and he told me that he was proud of me, and that I handled it well. I stood up for myself (I didn't go into all the details here, because they're not really important, but I did outline pretty much the whole conversation for him.), whereas a while back I would have quailed beneath her disapproval and cowtowed to her wishes. He pointed out that I'm much stronger than I used to be, even if I don't see it all the time.

Honestly, I am pretty proud of myself, too. I am a little daunted, though, by the task before me of setting boundaries with someone that I've been so open with for so long... but I have to. For both our sakes, I think.

Best part? In days past, I would have been so affected by her words that I would have doubted the decisions that I've made and begun the familiar dance of vacillation. This time, however... I never wavered. I know in my heart that I'm making the right decision for me, regardless of what anyone else thinks, and I'm going to go through with it.

That's not to say that our conversation didn't affect me, because it did. I went to the bathroom and cried. There were "a lot of feels", as my friends would put it. So many feels. Though I managed to tuck it away deep inside me for the duration of our day together, I was swirling in a muddle of torment that evening when I got home. I was able to talk about it with a couple of buddies and with C, so that made processing it a bit easier, and the emotions eased up as I realized what was really going on. I seem to always make the jump to assuming that I'm in the wrong. Always. If something's going on, it's probably my fault.

But the guys helped me to see that such is not always the case. As M pointed out, it seems that the situation was all about her-- her broken heart, her disappointment, the fact that she gave everything and I "betrayed her", so to speak... her confusion about my illness...

Everyone else agrees with me about the whole "facing reality and all the potential outcomes of my illness" situation, by the way. They feel that she is trying to avoid or alter reality... but really, do you blame her? Someone that she's loved and nurtured for over twenty years is suddenly super sick, and talking about how they may end up bedridden someday from this sickness. Wouldn't you panic, too? I mean, who wants that for anyone that they love? I can see why she would deny that possibility and insist that I focus only on the potential for healing. I can see that. I just don't think it's appropriate or helpful.

While I could see her concern and care for me and her sympathy for my pain in her actions throughout the day (not letting me lift things, being considerate of walking distances and having me wait at the front of stores so she could pick me up in the car),  I still don't feel that same support from her that I do from J, or from C, or from my mom, R, and the kids... or even from the guys, for that matter. I don't know what it is, but I just can't consider her to be a part of my support system. She supports me with her actions, but she tears me apart with her words. There is no verbal expression of sympathy or concern for my pain or illnesses, just sighs of sadness and, "Oh, C..." (which, of course, totally mimics disappointment and makes me feel like I've done something wrong in being sick...).

Okay. I'm done. I've waded through this enough. I love the woman, but she's not safe for me anymore. I have to close off that harbor and not anchor there any longer. I can sail through and visit, but I can't unload on the docks.

This is either going to be much, much harder than I think, or much easier than I'm anticipating. We'll see how it goes.

I have something that's heavy on my heart that I want to process through.

Part of me is holding back, since I know that some people actually read this, and, well... maybe it's not something that I'm entirely sure that I want to share with them... just yet. Maybe. It involves a lot of vulnerability and risk on my end, and that's just darn uncomfortable.

But on the other hand... this is my blog, for goodness sake! I can write about whatever I darn well please! This is my space to figure things out, and I don't write for anyone. I write for me. If someone happens to read it, that's incidental.

So I guess I'm just going to hash out what I need to, regardless of the consequences. Come what may. Here goes. *deep breath*

I know it may seem like I'm going crazy these days, going "off the deep end" with my lifestyle in a way. You know, leaving church and questioning God and trying out alcohol and getting my sexy on and all that jazz. Wearing makeup. Eating dairy, and-- Lord forbid-- doing it on a regular basis! (lol) Piercing my ears. Listening to rock and roll. Watching movies. Talking about sex and masturbation openly and freely with friends.

Some who know me may think that I've changed. I disagree. I think that I'm finally allowing myself to be who I've been all along... and I'm not making these decisions on spontaneous whims, either. (Well, most of them. Some are whims, yes, but that's just a part of life.) I pride myself on the fact that I'm making conscious, informed choices based on what I believe to not only be right, but what I believe will enhance my sense of self and be good for me in the long run, as well as those around me (if that applies at all). Remember, my word for this year is "authenticity". I want to be truly who I am, not some faker with a mask on. Too long, too long... I tried being someone else for too long.

And that's part of the problem that I have with "organized religion" or "mainstream Christianity" or whatever you want to call it. I totally believe that the Bible was inspired by God. I do. But after really deeply searching, questioning, and studying the issue, I have come to the conclusion that it is also a very human book influenced by cultural dictates and expectations of the time, and the author's own personal knowledge, understanding, and personality. In short, God may have inspired the original thought, but it had to pass through a lot of filters before it got down on paper... and I'm okay with that. I realized that I used to believe that God just kind of opened his mouth and the King James Bible fell out of it into our laps. Not the case at all!

Anyway, what I encountered in my bouts of intense Christianity is this-- people and churches hold the Bible up as this standard (which is good, don't get me wrong), but it becomes an inviolable pattern for what a person should be. You must be this way to be spiritual. You must do this to be a Christian. If you don't fit the mold, then you must alter yourself to fit it.

It makes me think of the fashion industry. They hold up this standard of beauty that's totally unrealistic, and then the average woman must pinch, poke, tuck, cut, sew, sweat, paint, pluck, and perform all kinds of contortions to fit herself into this preconceived concept of beauty... instead of acknowledging, owning, and celebrating the innate and inherent beauty that she already possesses. People are all beautiful in different ways, and what appeals to one person doesn't necessarily appeal to another. That's just the way it works.

And I feel it's the same with souls, or personalities, or whatever you want to call it. This standard, this mold, is held up as being The Only Way, and it is left up to you to essentially mutilate yourself to fit into that mold. I hate that. My relationship with God is not one-size-fits-all, and neither is my personality. I'm not like other people in many, many ways.

It's taken a long time before I've become okay with that. My mom was instrumental in the dawning of this realization. I was bemoaning the fact that I wasn't as good of a person as I wanted to be, etc, and she pointed out to me that God created me with the personality that I have. Who I am is part nurture, of course, but part of it is nature, and that came from God. (God, and my genes... That's a subject for later. I don't think God has a chemistry lab full of personality components up in the sky somewhere, nor do I think he has buttons and levers in our heads to "direct our steps", but I think he works through circumstances and events and makes the best of the choices that we make through our free will.)

So I'm becoming more in tune with who I am, really... trying to be an authentic person, and striving to become a better and better person through that-- a healthy, balanced person who can give back to the world around her in a positive way. Not out of guilt, not because I "have to" in order to be accepted by people or by God, not because people are watching me and I want to impress them with how good I am (I went through that pissing contest with Brother G during our "courtship". Ugh. I was SO depressed!).

And that brings me to the heavy stuff.

C and I have been having some interesting conversations about sex lately... you know, since I'm thinking about it and talking about it all the time. Anyway, it's been challenging for me in some really weird ways, as I've had to confront and think through a lot of the issues with sex I've been carrying around for so long. Firstly, my experience with and understanding of sexuality was warped from the get-go, because my introduction was being molested by a father figure. After that started, I began frequenting AOL chat rooms and experimenting with online sex, although I didn't know about masturbation, so I was kind of out of the loop on that one. It was a thrill, but it was really scary and creepy so I quit that.

I don't know why I didn't become promiscuous. I think there is something innately in me that leans toward modesty, and I'm grateful for that. I'm too... faithful, I guess. I want to attach to one person at a time. I simply can't have sex with someone I am not in a committed, serious relationship with. (Not that I've ever slept with anyone besides C, but that doesn't really matter.) Heck, I never even dated someone that I was not friends with first. That's just me. And I think that kept me from sleeping around, because I totally could have swung that way. I so much crave approval and acceptance, I'm mildly surprised that I didn't go that route. But, despite the warpage I received, I've always been pretty naive about sex. (C is "educating" me about some things, and my mind is continually being blown about all the stuff I never knew about. Wowza. Some of it's good, some of it's weird, and some of it's downright creepy and we laugh at it.)

Our recent conversations have been a catalyst for much thought, it's true... and they've brought up an issue that's also been brought up repeatedly in the past. I have done some deep thinking and soul-searching on it, and I came to a rather startling conclusion the other day that has me reeling.

I kind of feel the same way that I did when I got my fibromyalgia diagnosis. It's like, "Oh, that's the name to describe what I've been going through! Okay! So now I have an identifier. Um... what do I do with this? How do I balance this in my life, and how do I deal with this new word that is a part of my life, and all the attendant emotions/repercussions?"

After doing some deep thinking and soul searching, and finally being in a place where I feel okay to be honest with myself, I realized a hard truth.

I'm bisexual.

I'm marrying a man in 8 weeks, but I'm attracted to women as well. I have been for as long as I can remember.

I've denied it for a super long time, especially after entering the world of conservative Adventism. Homosexuality in any form is wrong, and the people must be changed! (Again, back to the mutilation of personhood for the sake of the standard/mold.) I still haven't figured out why God hates gay people so much... but I'm sure it's an issue that I'll be dealing with if I want to keep any kind of relationship with him, which I totally do.

Funny thing is, I've never been able to bring myself to condemn homosexuality, and I never could figure out why, exactly. You know Christians rant and rave about the homos and how God's going to punish them and it's a crime against nature, yada yada yada... I never could get into that. I always felt sympathetic, like, "Dude, it's their choice, their life, and they're not messing with you, so leave them alone! What's your deal?" Like, really? Who am I to tell someone who they can and cannot love?

And now I realize that it's because I identify with them.

It's really, really weird to be able to say that, to put into words an aspect of my life that's been repressed for the entirety of it... to own something so potentially divisive and, well... explosive, for lack of a better term.

I don't really feel the need to tell anyone about it, really, because I am marrying a man in a few weeks, after all. If I were single and went out and got a girlfriend, then yeah. I'd have to explain something to friends and family. As it is, though, I've never really acted on my inclinations. I know they can be ignored, even if they're forever lurking.

The neat thing is that C is totally supportive of me. I am not going to go cheat on him with a woman, just as I would never cheat on him with a man. We're still in a committed, monogamous relationship and this doesn't change that. Sure, if I had owned this sooner I may have ended up with a woman instead of a man, but I love C with my entire being. This changes nothing, except that being able to be honest with him about this and receiving his unconditional love and support has deepened and strengthened our relationship.

I'm feeling very insecure and vulnerable since I "came out" to C the other day, because I'm still not sure where-- or even if-- this fits into my life at all, except that I now have permission to freely check out chicks much as I would check out guys. "Oooh, he's cute!" "Wow, she's hot!" lol

It's just... weird. Owning this, acknowledging this... I feel free, but at the same time terrified. What if I lose friends over this? I keep having dreams that I end up in these helpless situations and SOULS people are trying to kill me. No joke. It's been a recurring theme these past few days. I guess it's that I still care about all my former classmates and the SOULS people... and I kind of miss being part of such a tight-knit culture. But I really (and I mean really) don't fit into that culture any more... and I'm also scared of being judged, rejected, scathingly rebuked, and all that jazz. The friends I have in real life right now? They would be totally fine with it. As a matter of fact, I told S this morning, and he just looked at me like, "So?" LOL. It's just not a big deal, because we all have that mindset of, "You believe what you believe, you live the way you want to live, and as long as you're not hurting anyone we're cool. If you are doing something stupid, we'll tell you, and don't screw anyone over or you'll get your a** kicked... and then we'll be cool again if you've learned your lesson."

I remember back when a friend of mine came out on her blog, while I was living up north. I showed it to C (my adopted mom, not my future husband) and we talked about it a little bit. She then proceeded to ask me if I was gay, and of course I answered no! The ulterior motive was to make sure that I wasn't going to go around corrupting her daughters, which I totally understand. But, you see, I'm not gay. I like guys very much! I'm marrying one, for crying out loud! But I also like girls.

I've never acted on it much... just a few incidents here and there. That's not to say that I didn't want to, but I'd been conditioned to believe that it was okay for other people, but it was bad for me. Dirty. You don't do that if you're a good person, you know? And SOULS definitely reinforced that. But yeah, I've wanted to date several girls in my life. And I've had crushes on girls right along with guys. I tend to like guys more often and with more intensity than girls, but it's still there.

So... yeah. My big secret, blown.

I really hope no one hates me after this. J, are you reading this? Can we still be besties? Are you still standing up with me at my wedding?

I'm literally in tears over the prospect of losing valuable relationships over this, because so many people I know and love are the conservative Christians who condemn this kind of thing on principle... and I really, really don't want anyone to be uncomfortable around me. I mean, I'm sleeping over at my sis J's house in a week, and I don't want her to think that I'm secretly hitting on her or anything. I mean, it's like any other sexual attraction-- just cause you're heterosexual doesn't mean you want to sleep with every guy you see, or even flirt with them. You're not attracted to every guy, you don't want a relationship with every guy... and it's the same thing. I'm not attracted to every girl, and I really haven't changed at all. The only thing is that I'm recognizing and owning a trait that was already there, that has been there most of my life. I'm still the same person, I'm still faithful to my fiance, and I'm still madly in love with him. My platonic relationships are still platonic, my friendships with girls are still just friendships (just as with my guy friends), and my family is still my family.

Again, it's like my fibro diagnosis. Nothing has changed, yet everything has changed. The way I see myself has changed, and I'm trying to work through that. It's tough. I'm scared, vulnerable, and very insecure. But having that warm safety net of C's devotion and affection has meant more than I can say. He loves me-- all of me-- including this facet. Oh man, do you know what it is like to experience a love like that? To be totally known and totally accepted? It's... bliss, man. It's the best thing that's ever happened to me.

I don't know how to wrap this up, frankly. I was afraid that I'd get all this out and then delete it, but... I think I need to take that step and post it. For myself. Because if I delete it, then I'm negating the sentences where I say "I'm okay with myself." I'm giving into a shame that has no source, out of fear of rejection that may or may not happen... I'm letting "what ifs" control me, and I don't wanna live that way anymore. This isn't about my sexuality so much as it is taking control of my own life and not letting fear control me anymore.

And with that.... *deep breath* I'm clicking the Publish button.

Note: An interesting link that explains bisexuality in a very rational way, for those so inclined to further understand what it's all about. The "Tips" section I find especially helpful in explaining the thought process surrounding it. Oh, yes, and then there's this one- 8 Tips on How to Accept a Close Friend's Sexual Orientation. Just some fun food for thought, and a different perspective/thought process for some people.

I think the biggest tools that I've gained from this round of counseling are mindfulness and intentionality.

Today, I don't feel well. And I feel that I should feel well, because I've been "taking it easy" for the past few days (not feeling up to par then, either), and isn't there stuff I could be doing besides resting? I mean, I took two naps yesterday and slept for 10 hours last night, for crying out loud! Shouldn't I be better by now?

Well, Brain says yes.

I've had a crystallizing moment of clarity over the past few days. I have known/suspected for a while that my health and my depression were interrelated, but I didn't know just how. Getting depressed makes me sick? That's what I thought. Now that I'm fighting the depression slide/triggers with new tools, however, a different dance has come into the forefront.

When I'm not feeling well, I have several symptoms that correlate with what I typically consider to be my depressive episodes-- fatigue, apathy, inability to be motivated, irritation, lack of appetite, etc. I have a tendency, however, to being "shoulding" myself and being very, very judgmental when I'm not performing at the level I feel that I should be. I'm thinking that, sometimes, (not ALL the time, necessarily), the "slide downward" begins when I'm just not doing well physically. Then the mental gymnastics kick into play, and I end up spiraling downward into a super dark hole that I can't seem to claw my way out of.

This last depression session was different than previous ones, as I noted. It seemed to be strictly biological, without any of the negative emotional flogging and dark, twisted recoil that typically accompany my spells. Apathy and fatigue, sure. Negative physical effects? You betcha. But the emotional involvement? Limited. It was there, I won't lie. But it wasn't like it usually is.

I think that the diminished health is the catalyst, and then the negative messages, harsh judgment, and unrealistic expectations are what send my soul into paroxysms of grief.

Back to today. Brain says, "You haven't done anything today. Why are you so lazy? You could totally be doing stuff. And don't give me that 'I don't feel well' crap. When do you ever feel well? So many excuses..." And so I start feeling guilty and thinking, "Mleh, I'm a poor excuse for a productive human being. This sucks. I suck."

When I finally made it into the shower today (yet another reason to feel guilty, because I didn't make it into the shower soon enough-- is that silly or what??), Voice of Reason spoke up. She said, "Can you be compassionate enough with yourself to simply inhabit this illness today without judgment?"

Something clicked inside of me. Yes. Yes, I can. I do not have any obligations today except those I've placed upon myself. My schedule is forgiving, set up in such a way that I can do this very thing-- have days where I'm just blah. I did that on purpose, and here I am resenting the very safeguards I built in? How silly.

This mindful breathing that I've been practicing is teaching me to simply observe without judgment. My counselor is teaching me to be compassionate with myself, self-aware, and self-affirming. (I'll admit- it's hard to be kind to myself on days when I don't feel like I've earned it... like today.) To be mindful- aware without judgment- and to be intentional with my compassion and self-awareness are the tools that I think will finally help break the mental aspect of my spirals of depression.

Today, I am experiencing many of the characteristics of a depressive slide. I am aware of this, and I recognize it. But I will not judge. I will simply accept. And I will be compassionate enough with myself that I can simply inhabit today (illness and all) as I need to without passing judgment.

Also, I had to realize that I am not a chronically ill person. I am a person with a chronic illness. Semantics? Possibly. But a very, very important reality shift.

When it comes to planning a wedding, sometimes you have to say, "Forget what we're supposed to do, what do I want? Forget what everyone else has done, no matter how odd or awesome, what do I want to do?" I had to do that with my dress.

I'd been poring over the frothy lace and chiffon creations, trying to find the one that I loved and wanted to have my picture taken in and remember with fondness as the dress that I wore on one of my favorite days of my life, and... basically, trying to find "the one".

And I found one, several actually, that I liked and would look great in... yet I kept coming back around to the search, like I just hadn't found "it" yet.

And then I realized... I don't think there is an "it". I don't think that I will find "the one". Because, really, I could wear any one of those dresses and look gorgeous. I know it. I'd be stunning. But I can't choose them all. Choosing one inescapably means saying "no" to other options, and I had to realize that and come to terms with it. (Also, had to come to that conclusion with choosing a mate. I don't believe in "the one" when it comes to spouses, either. You will inevitably come across people in the future that you could have had a great relationship with, but you chose your spouse, and so you close the door to all others. I think that idea of "one true love" is super damaging, because if you "fall out of love" then it means that they weren't "the one" and now you must continue your quest to find "the one" and leave the one that you chose behind. It's all rather silly, and very, very painful.)

I had to sit down and think, "Okay... I have to choose one dress. What do I want? What do I gravitate towards?" Forget the lace, forget the chiffon, forget the tulle, forget what the bride is supposed to wear. They're pretty, to be sure, and I hope to someday have an occasion to wear a lacy, frothy dress and feel beautiful. But on this day, where I so much want it to be a true expression of who the bride and groom really are, what do I want?

And I realized that I want the forest green renaissance dress. I just hadn't thought it was allowed. I wanted all these other weddings that I'd seen, with the cute vintage dresses and the "we really don't care and just kind of threw it together because we're getting married and that's all that's important". I resonate with that, because it speaks to a truth within me that it is the fact that you're getting married that's important...

Yet I began to err in the same manner as when I was ingesting all that Wedding Industry materialism stuff.

I formed my thoughts around their thoughts. Only a little, but enough to make a difference.

And then when I began to take a step back and say, "What do I want?", I realized... I do want a party. I do want the pretty tables with the pretty plates with the nice centerpieces and the tasty looking cake. I do want a lot of the "weddingy" things, and that's fine.

It also, of course, is about what C wants. And he is more traditional than I am. He's not horrified by the idea of my wearing a dark green dress, but it's pretty much the major concession to weirdness that he's prepared to make. (Keeping in mind, of course, that our definition of "weird" might be a little subjective... since our roomie will definitely be attending in a kilt, and we're both happy about that.) He is steadfastly opposed to my carrying a bouquet that is comprised of anything but real flowers. (So... no pickle bouquet. As I've mentioned.) He did, however, say that I could put the pickle bouquet in a jar on the cake table, so I just might get it yet! And yet I still have to wear shoes when I walk down the aisle.

Anyway, the idea is just that... it's our wedding. What do we want? What do I want? What does he want? We have the authority to make it anything we want, and not be bound by traditions and "supposed to's" that do not apply to us.

I have to keep that in mind as I begin working on the ceremony itself.

Yes, I'll admit, I stole that term. It is oh-so-fitting, I couldn't just leave it alone and coin my own phrase. (Did I mention that I'm pretty enthralled with A Practical Wedding? That's where I got the term.)

I did some thinking about this on my walk tonight. It dovetails so perfectly with my recent themes of balance, contentment, and joy that it seems... I dunno, almost providential?

I went through a little bit of the pre-engagement crazy this spring. C and I had gone through premarital counseling (pre-engagement, really) and knew that we wanted to get married. I, of course, am of the let's do it now! persuasion, while C is not. He's got that whole level-headed thing going on.

While I was in Id, I was so sure that he was going to propose. I was practically obsessed with it. I guess I felt that being engaged would lend credence to my choice, would solidify the relationship and make it so that it was for sure not going to end again. I wanted security, I wanted assurance, and I wanted a ring on my left hand.

Yeah, so that didn't happen. I got a ring, but for my right hand. It's beautiful. It's actually the restored version of my engagement ring that was crushed under the S's rig's tire a couple winters ago. I wear it often, and it usually brings a smile to my face when I look at it. It represents so much of the history that is woven between C and I, and it represents the future that we have yet to create together. It's the past, restored. It's the future, unwritten. It's... perfect, in its own imperfect way.

But security within a relationship does not come by rings alone.

Now that I'm actively planning the wedding, it's calmed down some. My personality type is that of once I've decided to do something, then do it! Pursue it until you run out of steam. And always, always looking forward to the "next thing". So simply being in a loving, committed relationship wasn't enough. Nope. Had to be engaged, had to be planning a wedding for it to mean anything.

There are a couple of factors in this one. One is that I know that a large majority of the crowd I've run with the past five years will disapprove of the match on principle. They don't know C, but that doesn't matter. Or, worse yet, they know that I left five years ago and would liken it to a dog returning to its vomit. So! If I'm married, then they can't do or say anything but ruefully shake their heads, and I'm fine with rueful shaking.

Aha, you say, aha! The sign of a guilty conscience! Turn back now, before it's too late!

Um, no, actually. I just need everyone to approve of what I do. The sign of a codependent.

As I'm growing beyond that, I find that I do not need the ring to give me the confidence in this relationship to withstand imagined guilt trips. I can stand on my own two feet and choose a right choice without fear of the repercussions from those who might not like what I'm doing. (This, by the way, will probably be inevitable at some point in your life. That whole pleasing people thing? It doesn't work out too well in practical application.)

The second factor is guilt. Yes, guilt. Believe it or not, there are a lot of cultural expectations and baggage that go along with relationships-- what's right, what's not, what's appropriate for certain time frames, what you should be doing by a certain point in time, etc. I feel guilty planning a wedding without the ring because, well... I'm not allowed to.

I know, I know. It's silly. But the message has been burned so deep into my psyche that it's almost irresistible. I am afraid that C will be upset with me now that I'm in the actual "buying things" stage. Seriously. I scored that neat-o cupcake holder/candle holder thing last week, but I was scared to show it to him. Why? Well, because I'm only his girlfriend. Like, by planning the wedding, I'm pushing him into something he may not want. I'm not his fiance. He hasn't asked me to marry him. Therefore I have no place planning our wedding.

(Nevermind the fact that he helped me set the date, that he's the one who helped me pare down my side of the guest list, that he's the one who found our invitations, that he... well, you get the point.)

As I thought about it, it occurred to me... do I actually need a proposal? Do I need to hear him say the words, "Will you marry me?"

And no. The answer is no. I do need to be reassured that I'm not bullying him into this, and I do need to be reassured that he does want to marry me, but... I don't actually need a ring on my left hand.

I mean, it'd be nice. I can't deny that. I love gifts, I love surprises, and I love romance. But do I need it? Nope. (Actually, edit that: I do really, really want him to actually ask me to marry him, but I don't need the traditional proposal, per se, or the "status symbol" of the ring. Does that make sense?)

Because I am content. I am secure. I am happy. I am loved. And I know that a ring on my left hand isn't going to change our relationship one iota besides giving me bragging rights and a story to tell. It'll change my title, but it won't change the way he looks at me.

I didn't realize it until today, actually, but I've stopped looking for the proposal. I mean, we're getting married in 6 months. Who cares?!

Back at the beginning of this round, during one of our lengthy, soul-revealing talks, I asked him playfully, "What do you want to be when you grow up?"

You know what his answer was?

"Your husband."

That's my proposal, right there.

I was talking with E while at work yesterday, explaining this odd "contentment" that I'm experiencing... and, of course, she asked how the wedding planning was going. And how C and I were doing. And I couldn't help but smile as I told her, "I love that man!"

And it's true. I do.

It's more than just loving him, though, because I've loved him all along. Even while we were separated those 5 years, even when I thought I'd never, ever get back together with him... even when I had demonized him and defamed his character and convinced myself that he had sold himself to the devil and would stain my soul with his mere proximity... I loved him. I've always loved him.

I did tell him many times during the first go-round that I didn't believe in love. I didn't, really... One of my mom's coping mechanisms (both emotional and economical) was serial relationships. I didn't know that a relationship could last for years and years and years. That's the kind of thing that happened to other people, not me. I didn't expect or hope for anything other than what I had seen or already experienced. No, that's not true. I expected and hoped for relationships that were not abusive. That was my benchmark. If he's not hitting me or the kids, if he's not molesting my children or raping me, well then he must be alright. And we'll go through it until we just don't want to anymore, and then we'll part, and then I'll find someone else until that's over, and on and on and on.

That's the life I knew. That's what I expected. Part of me hoped for a miracle, for a guy to sweep me off my feet and love me forever, but most of me didn't waste time thinking about it. I was young and focused on surviving one day at a time. I didn't have time to wonder about the future. Besides, I figured I'd be dead by thirty, anyway. Probably younger.

Also, I'd been let down so many times before by the men in my life who were supposed to love me but didn't. I had given up. I didn't believe in the "love lie" any longer. Why bother? You're just going to get shafted anyway. Yeah, the "in love" feelings were quite pleasant, and I had my share of crushes! But real love? Doesn't exist.

Much like an ROUS, though, it pounced on me without warning.

C and I were friends for somewhere around a year before anything romantic happened. I mean, I thought he was cute and all, but... not my type. Nice guy. Good friend. But anything else? Why?

Once we began dating, I realized rather quickly that I loved him, which startled me, because I didn't believe in love. So then I figured that maybe I sorta believed in love. Or something.

Eventually, I just accepted the fact that he made me believe in love again, as corny as that sounds. I told him that, too. But then... then I left. After all those years, all that built up trust and love... I left.

It was the right thing to do, I know it. I needed to grow into my own person, to get over some of my co-dependent ways, and just grow up. I needed to have my own adventures, to further develop my own opinions and passions and grandiose stories. He needed to do the same. (But without the grandiose stories. Hehe.)

And then... then we went to the Renaissance Festival together earlier this year. It's not like I hadn't seen him at all in the intervening 5 years. I did cut off all communication for a couple of years after the trial, because I wasn't strong enough to not be with him as long as we were still talking and seeing each other. But the hours we spent in the car riding up there, and how we ended up talking the whole night, and spending the day walking around the faire together (just like old times!), the car ride home... I just felt like he was the one I belonged with. The times I had seen him before were more about defensiveness, trying to prove that I don't need you! Look how happy and successful I can be without you!

And then it became I don't need you... but I want you.

Oh, but I still had doubts. So many doubts and misgivings. What if I was doing the wrong thing? I mean, I wanted this, so it's wrong, right? And he's not Christian like me, and we don't believe exactly the same way, and God's gonna hate me and my friends are gonna be horrified because I left him so long ago and they'll think I'm apostatizing and... and... and... Sure enough, the "what-if's" and the pressure from my Christian friends and family and the thought of losing my salvation were too much. I walked away again.

For like, two weeks.

And then I was pregnant.

So what do you do when you're pregnant? You talk to the baby-daddy, of course! It was in those long, exploratory, deeply emotional conversations that I got to see the real C. Not the one that I'd built up in my mind, not the one that I'd assigned virtues and vices and motives to, not the one that my friends told me about. No, the real C. His plans, his hopes, his dreams, his beliefs, his ambitions, his convictions... his heart. And I realized that I wanted what he had to offer, and that this baby could be the best thing that ever happened to me.

But then, when I lost the baby just a few weeks later, I was forced to look at the situation. With no child tying us together, did I really want to be there? Was being with C what I really wanted? Was it worth braving the disapproval of those I've known and loved over the past years?

The answer, I found, was yes. (Pre-marital counseling was really the nail in the coffin for me, I think... Combined with those heart-searching conversations of yore, I found that we are deeply compatible and even good for each other.)

How does all this tie in with contentment? Yeah, good question. It seems a little convoluted as I try to weave it all together...

The thing is, I still had a wall. And doubts. And fears. It's still so hard for me to trust, for fear of that trust being betrayed... or of losing the object of my trust due to forces outside of my control. (Think illness, injury, death, etc.) It's still so hard for me to love, to really love.

Not that I don't believe in love, because I do, now. I really do. But it's so difficult for me to put it into practice. It's risky. It's scary. And how much better would it be to just avoid that risk entirely by not loving? Am I right? (No, of course I'm not! That's a rhetorical question.)

But I've realized, while musing upon themes of contentment, while talking it over with E... I've let my wall down. When I say, "I love that man!", it's because I really, really do.

As we were falling asleep last night all tangled up and cuddly (my favorite part of the day!), I told him that I had realized something this past week. I realized that I no longer have any doubts or hesitations. I've had a wall for so long, but I've let it down, and I love him unreservedly. And I've realized that sharing my life with him... I am content. I really believe I'm doing a right thing. After every single sentence, he kissed my face, and when I was done he kissed me once more and said, "I love you, woman."

It meant a lot to him to hear that. I mean, think about it. It's hard to know that the one you love loves you too, but has doubts and isn't entirely sure about staying... especially when you're planning on spending your lives together! lol It's a little counter-intuitive.

By the way, super cute: he's a reflex kisser. What does that mean? It means that when I'm headed off to class in the morning, I give my sleeping beauty a kiss on the lips and a goodbye. Sometimes he's conscious enough to mumble goodbye back, but today he was fast asleep. When I kissed him, though, he reflexively kissed back even though he was sleeping. It's pretty darn adorable. Like a little kid. :)

So, long story short... I'm really looking forward to Mawwiage.

Thinking about it this morning... even if something horrible does happen and he (for instance) dies... it's still totally worth it to have loved. He knows how I feel, I know he feels the same. Would I rather miss out on this experience because it could end at some point? No way in Hades! I think that's the point he was trying to make when talking to me about D. Yes, he's dying, and I'm terribly sad. Would it have been better to never have cared about him at all, even if one day all I have are memories? No, not at all.

I've just been out of sorts today... maybe the last couple days...

Craving my introvert time, you know :)

But my roomie has been having a hard week. Girl trouble. So he follows me around the house, wanting/needing to talk. It annoys me, though I'll never say it to him. I just stay in my room if I can't handle human company.

I'm aggravated at myself for procrastinating studying for the A&P test. I knew about it like, a week and a half before the test itself... but I put off studying for it until 6 days before the test. Really? Really? I'm talking about it like it's already happened, but I still have a few days.

And part of me tells myself to chill out, because it's about medical terminology, which I already have a basic grasp of in many ways, so I honestly don't need to study as hard as some people might.

The other perfectionist over achieving part is constantly decrying myself for enjoying my week and letting this slip by. Because, really, I did enjoy my week a lot. I've been very tired, and not feeling well, but I enjoyed myself. Rather than having my nose to the grindstone every second, I did things that I enjoy. I spent time on the internets.

Remember, it's the inexorable grind that got you so sick in the first place, and you're just barely recovering. Do you really wanna do that again?

Balance can be so hard, especially when you're accustomed to self-flagellation.

I'm going to do my best on that test, continue studying, and see what I get.

Maybe I just feel badly for not freaking out about it... for being confident enough in my capabilities that I haven't been studying every second? For having a test under my belt and knowing what I'm going to be up against?

Today, I've been very out of sorts. Very tired and just... drained. All day long. Spent a good chunk of the day over at the house I'm sitting, for the peace and quiet. I spent yesterday over there studying because there were people at the house and I need absolute quiet to study.

And I'm due for my period in less than a week, so this could very well be chalked up to PMS. Fluctuating hormones and all that. (Although I haven't stopped bleeding since my last period. I find that a bit odd, but I guess it's just that "spotting" or "breakthrough bleeding" that is one of the side effects of the pill? I hope that this isn't a part of having a regular menstrual cycle!)

I did find my dress, though. No, not the Rena Koh gown, though I still adore that one. I had to come to grips with the fact that, while all the pretty wedding fairy tale stuff is gorgeous and wonderful, it's just not me. It's not "us". And I don't have the budget for that. Better to stick with what I can afford and what I know I'll love.

The dress that I initially fell head over heels for is not available anywhere for less than $650. There's a beautiful knockoff for $400, but I don't want to spend that much. So, re-scouring the internet and my previous bookmarks led me to an Etsy shop owner who makes a beautiful, quality knockoff for $215 (including shipping and handling), and she's willing to do it in grey organza with ivory lace flowers and a corset lace-up backing (so I can wear it later, no matter if I lose/gain weight). Not to mention the fact that it's made to my measurements, so there'll be no alterations, unlike with a used dress (like the Rena Koh beauty).

I found a neat site today that I was poring over--A Practical Wedding-- and the recurring theme in the posts is that a wedding should be what you need and want it to be. Don't worry about the "shoulds", don't worry about the Pinterest boards and the wedding blogs and the ideas of what a perfect wedding looks like. Don't worry about the Wedding Industry that tries to sell you anything and everything.

I realized that I did it. I got caught up in the glitz and the glamour and the DIY centerpieces and the endless personalized touches... and it's not about that.

It's about enjoying our lives, our days, our moments together. It's about C and I believing that we have a future together, a good one. It's about C and I consciously choosing to hold each other exclusively in that special spot in our hearts. It's about... celebration, and family, and love and definitely not about paper lanterns and strawberry trees and cake frosting.

I like the way this post, In Praise Of The Slow Wedding, puts it. As a matter of fact, I really like this ideal as a summation of the intention I have for my life at this point.

"I believe the same things about weddings. I think we each have a fundamental right to joy at our weddings. I think that joy is about the simple things, and about paying attention to what you have. I believe that it is more important that we work with producers (in this case vendors, or wedding elves) that we respect, and that we treat them fairly and compensate them with a living wage that reflects the fact that this is their life's work. It's more important to me to pay people that I fairly than to make sure I get the best deal. And for us, with the resources we had, that meant picking a few things and doing them well.

We had amazing food.

We had a carefully crafted ceremony.

We have exquisite photography.

And we had joy.

And with all of that, it was impossible to notice the flaws in my homemade bouquet, the way my dress wrinkled under the bust line because I hadn't sent it off to a professional seamstress,the fact that we had our yichud in a parks & rec bathroom, our ipod play list, our simple cake, or our lack of favors.

So figure out what your doing with your wedding, what simple elements it boils down to, and then do those things well. Take a deep breath, slow down, pay attention. Put care into the things you value, and no one will ever notice the things that you don't have. Or to put it simply: you have what you need.

Fair warning: the site is addicting. Even more so than Offbeat Bride.

Anyway, I guess I just realized that I want to make it my intention to enjoy C and our life and the simple things every step of the way, rather than rushing through it to get to the wedding. The day is coming, and  fairly soon. But I don't want to miss the life in between the events, you know what I mean?

(Yeah, by the way... you don't have to have wedding favors. Who knew?!)