can't help hoping

I'm getting myself back again. It hurts but that's okay. Sometimes it hurts because it has to. I don't always see things clearly, in there. The truth isn't always clear, but it's still there. I know who I am. But am I willing to defend it? Am I willing to keep fighting toward something good? I may be doubtful whether people can really change, but I don't have any choice but to have hope that I can have the things I dream of. I can't help hoping. I have to hope. I feel like this is the year of my life in which I get my act together. I'm doing what I have not done before- what I haven't had the courage to do before, despite knowing my faults and insecurities to an even deeper level. I have to get out of this rut. More and more, I don't want to be stuck anymore. I want to be... I wanted to get better. Then I wanted to be better. And now, I just want to be me. That's a job that literally only I can do.

[it's good to feel a sting now and again]

take heart

I feel good, and alive, and excited. I ate an orange just a bit ago, and I enjoyed every bit of it. Even the pith that no one likes to eat. It woke me up a bit. You know? For me it was an orange, but for someone else it might be a sunrise, or a breeze on a cool day- or maybe the way the shadows move on the pavement outside. Fear is a lie. My fear is useless and intrusive. I don't want to be afraid anymore- because I really don't have to be. No matter what happens, I'm happy right now. I feel energized and ready.

So, bring it on.

I'm going to be okay.

death

This isn't morbid, I promise. Death for me has always been a very bitter and terrifying thing. The one thing that truly reminds me of my humanity- of my non-permanence- of my lack of all-knowingness that only God possesses, is death. If there is one thing that reminds me that I am not God, it's death. And in my experience, it's never a nice feeling to realize that you're not the one in control of your life, like you believed. It's easy to believe we are gods. We believe it almost without noticing, or at least I do. I've always had a horribly negative connotation with death (like I suppose almost everyone does). Each relative that has died in the past has jarred and shaken me. The closer death has come to me, the more nervous and anxious I have become about it. Because, no one likes to feel out of control- no one who believes they are their own god rejoices in realizing that they are human like everyone else- human in every possible way and no better or worse than any other human that has ever lived, because they were just as human as you are. Forced humility feels a little bit like claustrophobia.

But probably about this time last week, my grandmother passed away unexpectedly. And she was a woman of great strength, patience, goodness, faithfulness, and hope. She worked hard all her life, and was not one to complain or be ungrateful even when things were difficult or less than ideal. She had always won over my respect for her by the way she approached life so openly- so ready to accept whatever circumstances came her way. I watched her from afar as she lived a life dedicated to the Lord and to serving other people, and treating them with warmth and good humor and companionship. She was a beautiful woman of faith, who I know spent every minute of her life loving Jesus from a deep and unshakable place. I don't doubt that by the time she died, she had been ready for decades to be with Him. She loved Him more than anything. She wasn't afraid of death because she loved Him, trusted Him, had faith in Him to do what He has promised. Her funeral was the first one I have attended in which I felt peace. Mixed with the sadness of not being able to talk to her again was an overwhelming sense of peace- because she is finally with Jesus- she is finally Home, a place she had longed for all her life. And I am so proud to say that I am her granddaughter. And because of her beautiful life and beautiful love for her Creator, I am much less afraid of death.

Death is vital. Death makes the whole equation work. Death is necessary and mandatory for God to exist and for God to love us. Without death, there could be no eternity. Death means there was a punishment given, and therefore a mistake made. Death is the penalty for my misconduct, for my pride in willing to dethrone God. But it also means that Someone cared enough that I made a mistake- cared enough to do something about the irreversible sin I've committed- cared enough to become one of us in the form of a helpless baby to shortly after conquer death altogether for those who claim Him as their Savior. All through my life, from the second I was born, He has been reaching for me- hoping that instead of hoarding the life I have been given, I would surrender back to Him the breath that He has lent me, out of love and devotion and appreciation and gratitude. He cares. He won't let me go no matter what I do. And I know that though my body must return to dust because it was created from dust, my soul will return to God because it was created from Him, in His likeness- in love, for love, because of love. It started with love, and it will end with love.

And I hope that when the last page is turned and the book of my life here is closed, I will have made my grandmother proud. I hope that I will be as fearless as she was about death. And I hope that I will have loved Jesus even half as much as she did. I know that she is safe, and therefore not permanently gone. She is  truly Home, experiencing things that we can't know or understand now. I don't have any choice but to trust that she is with Him- and that one day I will be too.

a little good

Well hello. I'm a little confused about how things have been lately- both up and down and neutral. It's been strange I guess. Oh well. I don't know exactly what there is to say, but I feel weird having nothing current up since my last very depressing post! Usually if I just start typing then things come out like they want to. Here goes.

I'm looking forward to the coming year. I always have hope that the year to come will be better than years past, and while I still have hope that this coming year will have many good things for me, I also know that it will be full of hard work. Full of me turning my soul upside down and shaking things out of it. Today I'm realizing that it isn't as easy as I thought it was for me to talk about the issues I've had in the past- about the things that have hurt. Things seem much more complicated and hard to explain now than they seemed then. It will be hard work.

It's no secret, really, that I struggle with depression. It feels a little good to just admit it. It feels a little good to be seeking out help instead of just waiting for something to change, like I have been for years. The prospect of change is definitely scary, even if it's good change, but I think change is what I need. If I have to be in counseling for the next year, then okay. If it's a chemical thing, then I'll give prescriptions a chance. If I don't do something about this, I'll continue to feel like I'm wasting my life away with these nebulous kinds of illnesses that keep me from doing anything important with my life. If there's anything I'm a natural at, it's not doing anything.

So, here's to new things. Here's to trying. Here's to change.

expert at exit

When I am happy, I miss the fire in my soul. I miss the passion and the grasping for answers. I think depression is of the deepest routes to my soul. There is nothing so intimate as suffering. There is nothing so near to the center of my being as suffering. Nothing seems so natural as feeling the genuine pangs of my fallen nature. Pain is where I feel the most comfortable. Ruin is a sort of home to me. Pain makes the most sense to me- it is always cut and dry- I know it's there because it hurts.

But happiness... Happiness is a fragile, flighty thing. Depression is heavy and weighted- and all the more easier to feel it when it's in my hands. But happiness- happiness is a small bird trembling and twitching to escape through my clenched fists. Happiness is a clever bird, an expert at escape, an expert at exit. And when it is gone, I know it. Not as plainly as I know when pain arrives, however.

Pain is a strange driving rain- where there is a sensation of heat and breath and life without even a word being spoken to prove it. Pain is a thick blanket weighted with lead; happiness is a light breeze playing with the hairs on my head and the smile on my face. Who could build a house on happiness? Who could make their home in the drafty fibers of happiness- always stretching and bending and disintegrating with every attempt to domesticate it? No, pain is domestic and stable and faithful. Happiness is a wild, cruel animal. He may pretend to be my pet for a short while, but he is always a stray- I can never keep him. Pain is more kind than any happiness. Pain is always waiting for me to come back, while happiness forgetfully goes on without me. Pain has a strange love for me, while happiness could care less whether or not I exist.

fight

I've been thinking about change today. Not pocket change. Well, not only pocket change. I waste a lot of time thinking I can fix myself. That my current broken state is livable and tolerable and fine. I guess that's denial. I'm not good at moving on, or moving at all. My life isn't going to change if I don't learn how to do things differently, how to become differently. I can continue to erroneously believe that I can provide the help I need, or I can be more honest with myself than is comfortable and admit that I can't change me by myself. There is a lot of darkness in me that I don't know how to dispel.

And I'm scared.

Processes are not easy for me. I don't transition well. Asking for help, and accepting that help, are not easy for me. But if I don't do something about this, I'm going to just stay the same. And ultimately, I don't really want that. I mean, that WOULD be the easier route- and I've been taking that route for some time now. But I can fight even when I think I can't. I have been incredibly worn out lately- in a very deep, speechless place, but I have no other choice but to fight if I want it to ever get better. I can't NOT fight. The other choice is no choice at all.

I'm real scared.

But I have to go out on a limb here. I've got to get out of here- I need to let my need for rest drive me out of my isolation and into the light where there is warmth and restoration. I'm so tired that I have no other option but to fight as hard as I can back to a place of safety and health and forgiveness. It's going to absolutely suck. But. So what? I can deal with that. Just don't let me do it alone.

[No weeping, no hurt or pain, no suffering- You hold me now, You hold me now. No darkness, no sick or lame, no hiding- You hold me now, You hold me now]

red and white flags

Oh if things could be what there were then. I know it's never a good thing to look back in longing, but sometimes I do. I miss who I was then. I have not become more innocent with time. I think of my friends and of the way I was vulnerable, and I feel a sense of loss. Vulnerability has never been my strong suit, but now it's even less so. I forget how to trust people, forget how to just let go and have fun. Community has become a foreign thing to me, being more than a year out of school, and I have forgotten what it means to be in fellowship. Now, attempts at those things give me massive headaches and a general disappointment in myself- that I cannot easily talk to people, even if they are well-meaning and friendly. I was freer once.

I feel like it's very cruel that I am so painfully self-aware. What a shame that the safest place I feel like I have to say what I need to say is on some stupid website. What little courage I have. What, speak up, you say? I don't think I can, in so many words. What a strange thing that I both struggle with and am comforted by my sense of aloneness. I long to tell you what I think so badly, and yet that longing suffocates me- because at the end of the day I am so glad that it's just me in here and you don't get to see it.

I struggle so much feeling like there has to be a meaning. I have to mean something. My life has to mean something. My talent, my imperfections...they have to MEAN something. Even if that meaning isn't necessarily good or beneficial. I hate this in-between, where there are no solid answers- where the people who have solid answers are just arrogant and make themselves believe something just so they can believe it- so there isn't a strange, nebulous kind of unknowing. You know that nebulous unknowing? The kind that keeps you up at night? Makes the darkness seem like a warm mirror, seem like a breathing room that is listening because your soul is speaking? That's when truth waves a red flag and I wave a white one.

I'm never going to figure it all out. I guess that's okay. Just let it MEAN something, okay? Please.