How to Love

The other day a friend texted me about two guy friends of hers.  One of them responds quickly and gets all her jokes.  He laughs at her pictures and responds with another one.  The other one responds vaguely, and it’s usually a little more difficult to get ahold of him.  She said she felt really bothered by this.  She said she felt like chocolate, and that yeah, some people don’t like chocolate, but chocolate doesn’t really feel great when it’s unliked, even though most people like it.
I told her that I wasn’t so sure that that’s what it was.  See, everyone has a different love language and a different way of communicating.  But everyone loves the way they want to be loved.  And everyone communicates the way they want to be communicated with.  And so if someone doesn’t respond right away, they probably don’t expect you to.  If they don’t send you funny pictures or have hilarious responses to your jokes, it could be that they think you’re funny, they just don’t communicate that way.  But friendships do take communication.
I feel a lot like chocolate covered bacon, I told her.  If we’re sticking with the dessert references.  I feel like I’m something that people shouldn’t like.  Like I’m something that some people think sounds so awesome until they try me.  Or the opposite, that I sound horrible, but once people give me a chance, they’re hooked.  But even more so, there are parts of me that are so sweet, that people love, and parts of me that are savory that people crave.  However, when mixed, they’re not always what you want.
I feel unappreciated.  I feel like a joke.  I feel like an acquired taste that no one wants to take the time to acquire.  But I hide away so much at the start that I have to put some of the blame on myself.

I had a discussion with people.  I’m being vague on purpose.  We talked about having people in your home when you come home from work.  Especially when your house is the size of three vans.  How 2 extra people can feel like 10.  But the other participants of this discussion dwelled on the noise issue.  People should be quiet after 10pm.  I have social anxiety.  And I’m so much better than I was a year ago.  But for me, dealing with people has very little to do with the noise factor.  It has to do with the presence of unwanted people in my house.  So telling me you’ll keep it down doesn’t make me feel better.

On Wednesday night I came home at 11pm after a stressful day at work to a group of people hanging out in my living room.  Yes, some of them live here, but not all.  And it was too much.  I can’t feel comfortable in my own home.  They said they were being quiet and that they were making brownies, but they also always fail to remember that I don’t have a door.  I went outside to grab my phone charger and had a full fledged panic attack.  Why is it okay for me to come home to that?

And maybe I do need to learn to live in community.  But I’m the kind of person who needs to wade into the water, not be thrown into the waves of the ocean, drowning.  I feel like I’m drowning.  I forgot my life-vest.

Maybe it’s time I move out.  Maybe it’s time I move on.  Because my broken heart can’t keep beating.  My bruised lungs can’t keep breathing. And no one can hear my screaming.  No one can hear the words I pen.  No one reads anything that comes out of me.  Because I don’t even matter.  I’m just trying to live.  I’m just here.  But I want to be more than that.  I want to be loved.  I want to be cherished.  I want to be invited.  I want to be sought out.  I want to be asked.  I want to be chased.  And I want to matter.

Or I could just run away.

Or I could just disappear.

He Doesn’t Even Know It

Sam was on the cusp of an ending.  Really, all she wanted was to give up.  So she did.  And failed.  And tried again.  And failed.  She was ready to try a third time to finish her life, but something changed.  To this day, her friends might take credit for getting through to her.  Or maybe they believe it was an angel that visited her in the night, or that God changed her heart.  Or maybe the drugs she was on finally started working.  And maybe it really was any one of these things, or a combination of all of them put together.  Or maybe it was something else altogether.

Sam met Blaire at a gig she was playing.  She had written a lot of new music while being stuck in her depression, and it was good.  Blaire heard her play and knew he had to know her.  He reached out to her and found reasons to meet up with her so many times.  He purposefully never made his intentions clear.  And Sam fell for it all.
Sam was so excited at this new prospect in her life that her mind was nearly emptied of all else.  Her and Blaire texted constantly.  He would send her a message in the morning just to say hello.  Rarely did a day go by without some form of communication.  But then Sam asked for more.
I mean, really, what should she have expected?  They hung out when she was in town.  They went on drives late at night.  He took her to lunch.  But whenever she got too close, Blaire pulled away.  He told Sam he wasn’t good enough for her.  He promised that she didn’t need a guy like him in her life.  So she finally just gave up.

That was three years ago.  Every few months Blaire and Sam would start up their romance again, but it never lasted long enough to even be called a relationship.  They could have been great, but in the end, it’s best that they settled for what they got.
They don’t see each other anymore, and it wasn’t until a few minutes ago that Sam realized how important Blaire really was.  Because it seems that he saved her.  And for that she is forever grateful.  And he doesn’t even know it.

In Wolf’s Clothing

What if my eyes glowed like a wolf’s in the light?
Would you see me then?  Would you see me then?
What if I howled at the moon, keeping you up at night?
Would you hear me then?  Would you hear me then?

Because I want nothing more than to escape this mask
But now that I’ve told you the truth, all you do is ask
You see only my weakness, missing the strength in who I am
Expecting me to get over this, seeing only a phase
Not seeing me, I am free
I’m not some animal locked in a cage

I’ve grown used to being forgotten
I’m usually left behind
I’ve learned to expect the worst
Then the truth feels more kind

So when you suddenly pay me new attention
It’s only because your enlightened eyes see me broken
Missing the fine stitching that holds me together
And yes I’m aware that sometimes it tears
But I’ve done this before, a few times, even more
So don’t pity me
I don’t need your help, your sympathy
Don’t “keep me in your prayers” because you think I need to be fixed
Realize I am whole, my head’s just a little mixed

I would rather you not know the truth at all,
Even if then we were comfortable in our distance,
Than have most free moments filled with interrogating conversation
Making sure I’m okay in every new instance

I promise you, this facade you think I’m wearing is actually who I am
I’m not hiding behind some wolf’s mask
I just truly am alone
But what you don’t see behind the fear in my face when my heart is racing
Is that I am content

People Care (Why Not Have An Intervention?)

A couple of things, but first: I have another blog.  It’s only temporary, and it’s for a class, but if you’re interested, you can find it here.  It’s about the tv show Mad Men and the culture of the society within the show and how that applies to ministry.  It’s for my ministry and culture class.  I can’t promise that it’s good, but if you’re interested, it’s there.

But that is not what this blog is about.  I want to talk about people who care.  Why this sudden prompting?  Well, the beloved Dean of Students at my school, JJ Peterson had his last day on Friday, because he is moving on to do some other things in his career and ministry.  This makes me sad.  JJ is my friend.  He is also one of the reasons I love my school and have survived the last couple of years.  JJ was one of the staff that showed me that my school cares for its students.

My sophomore year here, at Life Pacific College, was not a good year.  I was hit with crippling depression.  I was having a mental break down.  I wanted to die.  And JJ noticed this.  He reached out to me.  He talked to me and let me know that he understood.  People don’t always understand.  And so it was a sad farewell.  As I’m writing this, I’m realizing that all of the staff that were there for me, that showed me they cared, and that gave me friendship… well they’re all gone now.  All but one.  And soon I’ll be gone too.

Thinking about this brings me to another thought.  Are interventions Biblical?  If someone is making harmful decisions for their life, I know that it is American to let them make their decisions and let their lives fall apart.  But what if these decisions are not only hurting them?  Should we stand here and watch their life slowly unravel.  I know that JJ and the rest didn’t do that in my situation, so should I be doing it for someone else?
I wonder why we sit around and talk about someone, because we know that what we say won’t change anything.  I wonder why we’ve stopped trying.  What if we had an intervention?  I thought friends were family.

 

It sucks when songs suddenly mean something else.

She Is Me

She is me, but in a different body.
And I try to remember the words that I wanted to hear
When I was her, in her place, with her story
And it seems there are no words

All I can say is I promise I understand
I was alone, I was afraid
I tore myself open to escape all the pain
And when that didn’t work anymore, I tried to end it all completely

She is going in circles
Cycling through all the emotions
Her highs are the highest mountains
Oh but her lows, her head is sinking below sea level

She only needs to reach out her hand and He will take it
If only she’d give Him her heart; He promises He’ll never break it
His love is deep, wide, and strong; no, He’d never fake it
Looking in that ocean of glass, I only see my reflection

I can’t save her
I could barely save myself
But I can wrap my arms around her
As He wraps His arms around me

She is me, but in a different body
And if only she’d sit silently, quietly
Waiting for a while
He’d speak

He’d speak and she’d hear His voice
She would feel His arms around her
Because they’ve always been there
The smile plastered upon her face would be real again

Because all I can say is He loves you
He wouldn’t have made you for no purpose at all
He is evermore delighted in you
If you open your ears you will hear His call

She is me, but in a different body
And He’s calling
And He’s calling
And He’s calling out her name

Battlefield

Sometimes I can feel it coming
The darkness bites me, grabs hold of my ankle
It takes everything inside of me to shake it loose before it swallows me whole

I cannot let my light go out
I cannot let my fire die down
But I am powerless
This war inside of me does nothing to promote peace

Constantly I am reminded that I stand in the aftermath
But the flashbacks grow stronger everyday
I cannot let it win
I will not be eaten alive

New place, new people
They do not know who I used to be
It’s like PTSD, I might lash out at any moment
How do they not sense the danger lurking?

The child inside of me whimpers
Cries of terror shake my core
But on the outside, the quakes are mistaken for laughter

When the air stops coming
And gravity grows stronger
I find myself on the ground again
In a pool of my own misfortune
Because I never learned how to fight these battles on my own

Should I let this secret war escape my lips?
Will I be turned away in shame?
Left out on the curb like garbage
It’s the home I’ve grown to know

Spinning freely
Gasping for breath
I awake, drenched
I will never be opened, because I lost the key

The task ahead of me seems impossible
But I’ve come too far to turn back
Temptation to give up is pointless
Yet crossbones still fill my mind

Consciously waiting for the crack in my sanity to break open
The floodgates grow weaker by the second
There is no cement left to fix the leaks in my dammed heart
It beats down the walls; they will break

Holding my hands together
Fingers breaking in my own grip
Ripping apart seams that were never finished
Threadbare and waiting

I am a rock
Not strong enough for foundation
Breaking down into minerals
The light glints off me in the morning
At dawn, I shine

Some facts

I’m just going to type out a bunch of random facts about me; anything that comes to mind.  It may come out poetic, but that’s not the point.  These are some things that I wish people knew, but I rarely have a reason to say, and most of them aren’t really explainable; they’re just really real.

I don’t like when people think I have feelings for them.  It doesn’t matter if I do like them or if I don’t like them, I get really awkward and it’s almost impossible for me to be around them, let alone be their friend.  I used to not be able to hang out with people who expressed feelings for me either.  No wonder I don’t have a boyfriend.

I thought about being a vegetarian.  I gave up meat for lent, and now that that is over, I thought maybe I would just be a pescetarian.  If you don’t know what that is, it’s basically a vegetarian that eats fish.  But I was sitting at dinner the other night, and I realized how much I don’t like labels.  I don’t want to limit myself from occasionally eating foods that I really enjoy simply because I am trying to fit into a certain label.  And so I am an omnivore, but I just don’t eat meat that often.

Going off of my hating labels rant, I do have one label that I will keep.  I am a Christian, and that’s not a secret.  I go to Bible College and I try to have everything I do be for God.  I am where I am because He put me here and I’m good at the things I’m good at because He gifted me with those things.  However, I don’t expect everyone I talk to to see eye to eye with me on my beliefs.  I don’t believe in shoving Christianity down the throats of every sinner out there.  I don’t think we have  a right to make someone else believe what we believe, and I don’t expect those who are not Christian to live under the same guidelines that I live out, because they don’t believe what I believe.  Telling someone they shouldn’t be gay is wrong, if  your reasoning is that it’s wrong because God says it’s wrong.  You can’t tell someone that God doesn’t agree with their actions if they don’t believe in God.  That will just make them less likely to believe in God.  Are you tracking?  I think it’s better to just tell people what you believe, and maybe explain why you believe it.  If they don’t agree, oh well, you tried.  Maybe they have a better belief.  I want to be open to hearing what other people believe, while still holding strong to my salvation.

I am a writer.  In fact, I am in love with writing.  I write because I’m good at it; I write because it keeps me sane; I write because I have to.  If you go back a couple months in my blogs, you’ll see a definite change in who I am and the way I write.  I think Christ has definitely influence that.
As a writer, I am a lover of words.  Which is why I don’t understand why some words are “bad” or “off limits” for certain people to say.  That’s right, I don’t care if people cuss.  I don’t often curse, but I have been known to let shit spill out of my mouth on a regular basis.  Cursing makes me laugh.  I think that if someone is swearing as a habit, or as a filler word, that might not be okay, but filler words are kind of stupid anyway.  And I’m not going to swear around the people who might be offended by it, but I honestly don’t see any reason to avoid saying certain words simply because someone has slapped me with the label of Jesus freak.  I’m not sure that I’m making sense right now.

I am manic depressive and I’m not on drugs.  I usually have it under control though.  I used to get anxiety attacks a lot, but until recently, I thought that I was passed that phase of my life.  I have come to realize that I might always have them occasionally, but maybe it is just something that I will have to deal with.  Depression is the thorn in my side, but is something that I have learned a lot through.  I had an anxiety attack on Tuesday and I couldn’t go to work.  It’s still a little bit hard for me to breathe lately.  But I think I’m getting better; I’m going to be okay.

I want to travel when I graduate.  I want to tour and do spoken word.  I don’t know if that’s possible, but that’s what I want to do.  I want to help lost people to be found, and show young people that it does get better, that they should keep holding on.

I have so many stories in my head, and I hope to someday write them down.  It’d be great if I could publish a novel, or maybe a collection of short stories.  I think a lot.

I don’t have a lot of friends, but I have a lot of friends.  No, you didn’t read that wrong.  A lot of people know me, or know who I am, and consider me a friend.  However, there are very few people who I am comfortable enough with to ask them to hang out, or to tell them anything about me.  In fact, it’s really hard for me to talk about myself.  But 2013 was supposed to be a year of vulnerability for me.  I don’t really know how to be vulnerable, and I don’t know what I can do to make myself more vulnerable.  If you’ve gotten all the way to the end of this list of nonsense, maybe you should shoot me some ideas of things I can do to allow myself to be more vulnerable.  That is if you have any ideas.  Maybe you’re like me, and you have no ideas at all.  Maybe you don’t know how to be vulnerable either.  What can we do?