We need a little Christmas, right this very minute

This year I feel like a hybrid of The Grinch before his heart grew and Scrooge before he became kind and good. This year I'm drowning in depression. This year I'm not finished with my classes and still slaving over work as Christmas approaches. This year I'm not very Chrstimassy at all.

I don't know what it is this year. Why I'm so anti-Christmas. I'm happy to give people the gifts they got them but I love giving gifts, gifts is my love language. I suppose I should be happy that we're celebrating the birth of our Messiah, but I can't even muster that. It'll be a White Christmas, but big friggin whoop.

I just lack the Christmas spirit this year.


I'm in too deep, there's no way out, this time I have really led myself astray

I am crippled with depression lately. At least I'm doing my homework which I suppose is something, but I'm not doing it well. I'm not doing it as I should. I'm not hanging out with people. I'm escaping into a world of books and video games, music and movies. I'm isolating into my own world, locking out the people who love and care for me. Throwing up walls, living inside the castle I've built myself and not letting down the drawbridge to let someone in.

I saw my therapist today (yesterday, now). I locked down and completely shut him out. Stupid and foolish, I know, but right now I'm fragile. I'm too afraid to let anyone in, even the people I know that could help. Even the ones I know that could make a difference. Because I simply want to lock out the world. I simply want to exist in my shell. I simply want to exist as I am - a fragment of what life truly is.

Easy answer is fixing my antidepressant situation, but that's a nightmare right now. It's hard finding a doctor who's taking new patients. Who I can click with and trust as that is so key with a shrink. It's what's important, but right now I just need my medications fixed so I can be me again, not quasi-me. I'm not sleeping a lot - largely due to being sick but when I do sleep, I lapse into nightmares. I relive the trauma that living once was enough.

I feel like I'm losing hope, and that I'm drowning in a sea of failure. I feel like I've lost a battle in a war I'm fighting, and I'm going to continue to spiral downwards. I'm so sick of this. I'm so tired of being like this. It's not the way I want to be, dang it. It's not the way my life was meant to be lived, but yet it's the way I live.

We were meant to live for so much more,
have we lost ourselves?

I'm trapped. I'm doing my best to keep up the facade, to only let people see bits and pieces of how bad things really are. Of only showing bits and pieces of how frozen my heart is at the moment, and the thaw is nowhere near. That I don't know how to start the process of melting and in some ways, I just don't even know if I want to. It sounds twisted, but depression is what I'm used to. It's what I know. It's whats familiar  And I don't like change.

And so instead, I live in misery. Which really isn't a good idea, either.


far as the curse is found...

I can't help but think of the parents who can't tuck their children in tonight. I can't help but think of the siblings laying awake sobbing, because their little/big brother/sister won't come home ever again. I can't help but think of the unopened presents. I can't help but think of the parents who will not wake up to laughter on Christmas morning, who will wake up with a gaping hole in their hearts.

I can't help but think of idiots like Mike Huckabee, who gave us this brilliant statement:

Yep, if God were in our schools, this tragedy wouldn't have happened. Clearly. This was my comment on a friend's facebook timeline. Excuse the insane amount of swearing, because it clearly hit a nerve with me.

Dear Mike Huckabee, you are a douche. And clearly clueless because NEWSFLASH: PRAYER IS NOT FUCKING ILLEGAL IN SCHOOLS. Teacher led prayer? Sure, that's not cool but if students want to pray they can fucking pray. If students want to be a Christian at school, they can be a goddamn Christian. GOD HAS NOT BEEN REMOVED FROM THE SCHOOLS YOU DOUCHEWAFFLE. 

Ahem. Clearly he hit a nerve as that amount of swearing is unusual, even for me. Have a heart for the parents who won't be tucking in their babies tonight, have a heart for the parents who won't wake up to the sound of their children's laughter and pleas to "Wake up, mommy"! on Christmas morning. Have a heart for the siblings who went to bed tonight minus their brother or sister, their best friends. People like you make me ashamed to be a Christian, because you obviously don't serve the same God I serve. 

The God I love isn't all "Teehee, you took me out of schools, now I'm going to allow this guy to shatter innocence, to take lives that are not his to take." The God I love is weeping with the world, not being all judgmental and being all "WELL IF YOU HAD ME IN SCHOOLS, THESE KIDS WOULD STILL BE ALIVE!" He is just as shattered as we are, and comforting those children until the day they are united with their parents, siblings, grandparents, and friends. Your version of God is demented.

Go sit on a tack and rotate, Mike.

Xoxo, Nora.
You know what? God is just as heartbroken as we are, yet on a grander scale. God is holding those babies tonight, comforting them, wiping all the tears from their frightened eyes. Cradling them in His gentle hand. That is the God I serve.

I can't help but think of the children in my life I love, and the mere thought of them seeing dead bodies. Lord, I would be a mental case if I saw one at age 25. Nevermind shave 20 years off my life. I don't understand why someone would do this - but do I want to?

Those children, the ones who survived, will never fully recover. And my heart breaks for them tonight. For the families, for the family (that's surviving, from what I've gathered in the news many of them are dead as well) of the shooter. He's a jerk, but he's still a human being who had people who loved him and they have suffered a great loss too. I can't imagine someone I love snapping like that. How can you still love them knowing their shattered so many lives? How can you still love them knowing their actions rocked a nation? I suppose you still do - but that must compound your grief so much.



And the world will be a better place

Think of your fellow man, lend him a helping hand
Put a little love in your heart

There are so many stories in the news of all the bad in the world. We lie in extreme days and dark times. But even as we are coated in snow, even as our hearts are frozen, there are still good and kind people in the world. There are still people who reach out to others in need and want to make a difference in people's lives.
I was walking to Starbucks and there wasn't much of a sidewalk and what was wasn't shoveled.  It's below freezing and the walk was slow and tedious. As I'm passing the vet clinic, struggling through the snow (it's tough when not on crutches!) a young man asked me if I was waiting for the bus. I responded no, just going up the street to Starbucks. He then introduced himself (a young lawyer) and offered me a ride to Starbucks. It was out of his way, but he was still willing to help me get to where I needed to go. I gratefully accepted.

To him, it was a small gesture to help out someone. To me, it was so much more. It was me accepting help, and not being a stubborn pain-in-the-arse. It was me getting where I needed to go safely (and yes, I usually don't accept rides from strangers but he checked out fine and again, it was cold and I needed to get to where I was going). It was me trusting someone. The point is?

There are still good people in this world. There are still people who want to help other people. There are still people who have a heart, who "put a little love in it." It was awesome to get a ride and not struggle to get there. It was great to have someone help me out. And it's prove that even in these dark days, good people still exist.


and friends are friends... when?

I've come to a realization at Concordia. I've been there a year now, and I am friendless. I have people who are my Facebook friend and I have people who say hi to me and people who are in most of my classes. But I don't truly have any friends. I wonder if I even know how to make friends anymore. And I wonder what I've done so wrong to be friendless after over a year at a school.

I've always been told I'm bright, I'm smart, I'm funny, I'm compassionate, I have all these things going for me.  But yet I'm sarcastic and cynical, I'm bitter and callous. Is this why I don't yet have a friend? Is it because I'm a church work student who holds very controversial views? Just because I didn't vote for Romney and I'm in favour of gay rights, doesn't mean that I'm not a true Christian. Just because I'm more liberal than most doesn't mean that there's anything wrong with me.

On the whole, I'm happier at Concordia. I have better professors, better support services, better classes, no mandatory chapel. But I still long for friends- true friends. But my crippling shyness, my social awkwardness, my depression is holding me back from making them. I can't expect people to come to me but I don't know how to reach out and make friends - the kind that put up with my very ADD brain, the kind that love video games, the kind that actually WANT to get to know me. Maybe I come across as standoffish due to my social issues, who knows.

But I feel lonely. I feel like I live in my own world. And I feel like a failure as a CSP student, a failure as a person. I feel that the vast majority of my friends are online and not in the twin cities, and it's terribly lonely. I don't have community, I don't have people who are my friends at my school. AND IT SUCKS. And the worst part is, I don't know how to fix it.

I wonder if maybe I'm missing the making friend gene. And if this is a foreshadowing of my life. If I'll always be this terribly lonely. If I'll always feel this lost. if I'll always be this way...


Bye Bye Appendix!

So I figured I'd write about having my appendix out.

I had a general malese feeling all last week. I was generally weak and tired, but not too bad from Sunday on. Low grade fever, chills, just had what I figured was a general run-on-the-mill infection. By Wednesday I felt fairly crappy, and didn't even fold most of my laundry by the time I did and just chucked it in the laundry basket. I muddled through thanksgiving and felt worse and worse as the day went on. I woke up on Friday feeling terrible. I spent most of Friday arguing with my friend about if I should call the doctor or not, and she finally convinced me to at least email the nurse advice line. I emailed, and they told me to call. I called, and they told me to go to urgent care. We couldn't go straight to UC as we still had to finish up some things in Hastings, so we did what we needed to do, then headed to the Highland Park clinic.

The clinic sent me straight to the ER, telling me not to eat or drink anything, that it was likely my appendix. I didn't believe them as I'd been told this before and figured it has to be kidney stones or the flu or something. It couldn't REALLY be my appendix this time, could it? I wasn't running a high fever or anything, but after I got triaged and into a room at St Joseph, they ran a CT scan.

Not long after, Anna and I hear the words "something something really appendix." We don't know if they are saying it's really my appendix, or if it's not really my appendix. I've been seen in hospitals before with suspected appendix issues, but clearly it's never been. Welp, this time it was. And that's when the downward spiral started. Pain meds, antibiotics  I quickly got sicker as the night went on because I got my diagnosis as 1:30 am, into a room a 2:30, and surgery was at 6 am. However, appendicitis is very fast acting so I was a sick young lady by the time the surgeon saw me (who commented on how sick I looked). I remember being strapped down on the OR and being given an oxygen mask, but not much after that! The next thing I remember is absolutely flipping out in recovery because I didn't have any friends there (Anna had gone home to sleep until after my surgery) and they hadn't allowed me to bring my bear or blanket with me. I had no comfort objects in my general vicinity  They did give me some pain meds, and I calmed down I guess. I was completely maxed out on pain meds (I remember being told I'd stop breathing if they gave me more, and I was really suffering post op!). and eventually, I'd stabilized to the point where I was returned to my room. When I of course got on my smartphone and made pain and drug induced smart-phone posts all oer the internet. I even emailed professors, concerned about making up course work. Ever the good student, I am.

My friend Susan contacted the church pastor, and he and my roommate actually arrived at the same time. We talked for awhile, and then he left and Anna and I just hung out for awhile. After Anna left, CJ came for a bit. We'e made up as friends and that is a good thing I think. :) We played Pokemon and talked and stuff. I didn't sleep much because I was up all night in a combo of in pain and coughing. It sucked. Steph kept me company when I was up in the middle of the night coughing my lungs out and watching Inuyasha, even though I was a crabby Pikachu. She is a good, good friend.

Sunday was similar with visitors (Susan and Aaron, Anna and her Mom, then later just Anna), doctors, smartphone posts, and watching anime on my laptop. And me freaking out to my professors about ALL THE WORK I HAVE TO DO, and them trying to tell me to just worry about recovering and once I'm healthy we will cross those bridges. Spent a lot of time talking to friends (Steph!) on Messenger too to keep me company. :)

Anna and her parents rearranged the room. Set up Anna's old bed for me. YAY! My stuff got rearranged so I'm in the process of trying to find all my stuff... that's kind of interesting... I'm still running fevers and I'm dizzy.

I did learn a valuable lesson. I'm lucky I was in the ER/hospital as I quickly got sicker. I know that appendix issues can be stress induced and I know I have been stressed lately. I know it's also not very smart to put off going to the doctor when you are sick and I saw how quickly after I got diagnosed the downward spiral happened - even the surgeon commented on how sick I looked. I still don't look all that great. I can't keep putting off going to the doctor because while things worked out this time... I could have wound up with a ruptured appendix and gotten very very sick. I'm still sick (feverish - but it's only 100.8 and the call the doctor point is 101) and dizzy, but this time if it doesn't go away, I will call the doctor even if they think I'm being weird and paranoid for bugging them.

My health is a far too valuable thing to lose. I need to keep myself healthy. I'm horrible stubborn and wanted to do my homework while in the hospital - neither Anna or Steph will let me (nor will they let me do it while recovering at home, how rude!). Perhaps getting so sick is my body's way of telling me that sometimes, it's okay to cut myself some slack and I don't need to set such impossibly high standards for myself. That it's okay to LET myself be sick. I mean, who emails disability services and their professors mere hours before their surgery to arrange make up work? And then follows up just a few hours after, freaking out about how they are going to do everything? Disability services kind of ripped my head off and told me that getting my appendix out was a perfectly acceptable reason to take a break and I really need to take care of myself before I worry about all this. :)

I think I've learned a lot from getting one small body part taken out.


A thousand times I've failed, still Your mercy remains

I sometimes feel like a failure as a ministry major. Here I am, studying to into the ministry but I can't even keep my own act together. Here I am, 25 years old, but still struggling to do my homework. Here I am, trying to make a difference in the world at large, but I can't even make a difference in my personal world.

I feel like because I don't fit the cookie-cutter Christian mold, that I'm not meant to be in the ministry. My view on gay marriage don't line up with many Christians and my views on abortion are controversial. I'd rather not get into those here and now, though.

I have an eating disorder. I struggle with self-injury. I don't speak to my Dad and still can't grasp the concept of God as Father, God as Abba. I feel like I've failed as a Christian, like I've failed as a person because I don't match up. What on Earth can God do with a disabled ministry major who is several shades of screwed up?

I feel like all I do is fail. I feel like I try to recover, and I fall back into darkness. I feel like I have words trapped inside me that I don't know how to pull out. I feel like I'm swimming in a sea of despair. And what will happen once I finally earn my diploma? What will happen when I finally graduate? Will I be able to hold a job... or will I be destined to be a never-quite-good-enough Failure?

God, please let your grace be enough. Let your love be enough. Let me be enough.

And after all you've done for me
And it's by grace and love I am saved
And it's by grace and love You've forgiven me
And it's by grace and love I am free


Let the weak be strong, let the right be wrong. Throw the stone away, let the guilty pay, it's independence day

The teacher wonders, but she does not ask
It's hard to see the pain behind the mask
Bearing the burden of a secret storm,
Sometimes she wishes she was never born

I suppose two things come to mind on October 31st for the average person. The first is, obviously, Halloween.

The second, primary in Christian especially Lutheran, circles, is Reformation Day.

Before Halloween candy, before Martin Luther being all "TAKE THAT CATHOLICISM!", another day comes to mind. Independence Day. Now, before you think I've lost my marbles, I know it's not 4 July yet. There won't be any fireworks tonight, although there will be in my heart. And there won't be cookouts and baseball, because I really don't care much for either.

Seven years. I moved out seven years ago. And while it was undeniably the best decision I ever met, it was undoubtedly the most painful. No 18 year old should have to make the decisions I made that day, and no 18 year old should have to live through that.

I was, after all, only 18 years old. And I turned my father into the police. I had people I thought I trusted turn against me. It's so hard to believe it's been seven years since all that happened. But there are still nights I miss my Daddy.

Yes, he's a colossal class A asshat. But we'd watch movies together, or sometimes I could convince him to hook up the SNES or my Genesis and we'd play video games. We'd play "Name That Tune" to the Oldies Radio Station, and I'd kick his ass in Bible Trivia. He'd take me to see the movies. I can't really name that many good qualities about him and he is, at his core, a drunken pedophile, but dammit, he's my father. I miss him. I miss what I lost, I miss what I never had, I miss what I never will have. I guess that's normal and I guess it's the way it should be. But at the same time... I still deeply grieve.

But I've changed so many in seven years, and I will change in so many more. Next Halloween, I'll be wearing a costume for the first time (and it'll be awesome). The next year, I'll continue to heal and grow and change. And who knows? Maybe one October, it'll just pass as fleeting memories.
Like my father's come to pass, seven years has gone so fast.

Me at eighteen. Yup. Really, not much has changed.

And with a broken wing, she still sings
She keeps an eye on the skies
With a broken wing, she carries her dreams
Man, you ought to see her fly


go rest high on that mountain

I know your life on Earth was troubled
And only you could know the pain
You weren't afraid to face the devil
You were no stranger to life's pain

Go rest high on that mountain
Son, your work on Earth is done
Go to Heaven a-shoutin'
Love for the Father and the Son

Oh, how we cried the day you left us
We gathered 'round your grave to grieve
Wish I could see the angel faces
When they could hear your sweet voice sing

Go rest high on that mountain
Son, your work on Earth is done
Go to Heaven a-shouting
Love for the Father and the Son.

It's just one of those days. I'm sick, the fibro is flaring, and I'm in an emo-panda state. I miss my friends and family members who have passed, I wish I could talk to them about the big decisions I am facing in my life. While I know there are other people I can talk to, it's no substitute. And I miss people. And I miss... so much. Even though their "work is done", it's hard to see that while still left behind...


And we pray that our unity may one day be restored

Christians are becoming divided. We bicker about everything. You are for the marriage amendment, you are against it. You don't think anyone should take birth control, you are fine for it for medical reasons only, you are all for it. You believe in evolution  you don't. You are voting for Romney, you are voting for Obama, you aren't voting at all.

The Marriage Amendment is the big one. It's ripping apart churches, it's ripping about colleges, it's ripping about the body of Christ. Come on, people, is this what being a Christian is TRULY about!? You claim you love God, but then you trash-talk and name-call those who don't believe what you do. It happens on both sides - neither side is innocent of this. We are all guilty of casting undue judgement calls and being far less than perfect.

It breaks my heart to see my state, to see people I love and care deeply about to bicker and fight for what I believe to be a basic human right - the right to love and the right to marry. I realize that you (general you) may not feel the same way I do, and I can accept that. You may feel that marriage is one man, one woman. I am not here to debate that at this time, nor am I here to try and change your mind.

What I am here with is a broken heart. What I am here with is a plea to remember that while our views may differ, at our core we all love the same God, we all love our friends, we all love our families. I assume as the election season gets closer, the fights will get more heated. The name calling will get more coloured and hurtful, and the body further divided. What good does it do, though? What good does it do we do causing such strife and turmoil within a body of believers? What is the purpose of doing that? To help them see our point? Getting into a heated debate won't change their minds.

We need to remember that at it's core, Christian simply boils down to a doctrine of love. While at times we are poor vessels of it and we fail magnificently at demonstrating such love, it is no excuse to instead choose a path of hatred. We need to remember the words of the hymn "And we pray that our unity may one day be restored, and they'll know we are Christians by our love." We can restore the unity and we can show love.

Whatever you choose to vote on 6 November 2012 is your choice. It is not my job, my duty, or even my desire to persuade you one way or the other. So no matter what you mark on the ballot: Romney or Obama, for or against the marriage amendment, for or against the voter ID law, or the numerous other issues on the ballot, DO choose to vote in love. DO choose your votes, your choices, out of love, not from hatred. Make your choices based in love, and allow your actions to show forth.


Through despair and hope, through faith and love

Seven years ago, everything was changing. Little did I know that just over a month later, everything would further spiral out of control. Me, the control freak that I am, would be left utterly helpless and shattered. How was I to know that age 18, soon everything I knew would change? How was I to know at 18, everything was going to be different soon? How was I to know that I would soon sink into utter despair, and not know when I would find hope again?

September 28, 2005 was the day I totally melted down from stress in the middle of my College Prep World History class. I remember just bursting into tears during a study period, and my teacher trying to console me. But me, being the stubborn person I am, threw up my walls and refused to let him in. Idiotic move there, Ang. Soon things would change so much. But I wonder how different it would have been had I opened up to the teacher then. But I was scared to death. I was only 18 and while legally an adult, if I told the other people at school what was going on, legal systems would be involved. Kind of funny how just over a month later, my faith in the legal system was shattered as well. Kind of funny how my faith in the church and the legal system both took a suckerpunch, and I still haven't regained faith in the legal system.

I guess it's kind of funny now that I'm going into the ministry. It's kind of my ultimate "screw you, bitches!" to the people who hurt me in the church. It's the proverbial middle finger to those who told me I'd never amount to anything, I'd never graduate college. Because you know what? I'm going to make a difference. My story of despair was not for naught, and I can turn it into hope. If I can make a difference in just one life, I will have had an effective ministry. If I can help just one teenager, just one child, if I can protect the child that others failed to protect, my work is complete.

I want to help the ones who slip through the cracks. The ones who fall to the wayside. It doesn't matter if no one else loves them, I want to love them. To turn despair into hope, and to administer faith and love. To be someone they can trust, and not someone who will shatter everything when one of the darkest secrets come to life.

And that is my dream. One of them. The other is to work in a summer camp for disabled children, but that's another post. Another day. Another night.

It's bedtime. Alarm goes off too early, but it's another little sleep night. Been too many of those lately, but not much I can do about it at the moment.


hello darkness my old friend

Hello darkness my old friend, I've come to talk with you again
Beause a vision slowly creeping, left it's seeds while I was sleeping
And the visions that was planted in my brain stil remains
With the sounds... of silence. 
- Simon and Garfunkel

I recently came across some details and information that hit me hard. And once again, it traps me in darkness and silence. I don't want to be silent about it, but for now I have to be. And once again, I'm talking with the silence. Once again, my voice goes unheard. And I don't know what to do with that. I don't know how to feel about that.

Details about the past that made me angry, hurt, and confused have left me feeling even more so. While the queestions are answered, the anger rages. WHY is this person still allowed in a position of authority in the church? WHY hasn't anyone spoken out? The answer is simple - if they do. they will be hurt. And I clinch my fists in anger and rage because, just like I was when all this shit hit the fan when I was 18, I am helpless. I cannot do a goddamn thing about it, and it breaks my heart. More people can be hurt, but I have to stand there wordlessly and watch it happen.

I've been asked with all the shit I've dealt with within the church, why I am still a Christian. Why I'm not an outright atheist. Why I even want to go into the ministry.

I know that there are people hurt by the church.
I know that there are people who are standing there in the sounds of silence, unable to speak for fear of what might happen.
And I know that there's another side.

I also have a side passion, but that doesn't fit with this blog entry so I will blog about it later.

One day... I will leave the sounds of silence.

I said, sometimes I hear my voice and it's been here...
silent all these years. 


Someone's waiting to love you

To all the unloved;

One day, you will be loved. One day, you will break free of the vicious cycle of abuse. One day, you will find hope, peace, comfort, and joy again. You may scorn now. You may feel like no one could ever love you. If the people who created you can't love you, how could anyone? If your boyfriend beats you, why would you deserve any better? You may scoff and feel like you'll never truly be loved.

I've been there. I know what it's like to cry myself to sleep, feeling lost and unloved. I know what it's like to be alone in the world, to have no one but yourself to look out for you. I know what it's like. I'm no stranger to abuse.

But I also know there's another side. I know that there's another way. And you don't have to be here forever. There are people who want to love you, if you just let them. There are people who want to help you. And if your abuse is "just" emotional? Emotional abuse hurts too. There is never any "just" for abuse. Here is a PSA I did on emotional abuse last fall for a class.

If you are a teenager and a victim of child abuse, please get help. It doesn't matter if it's happening now or if it happened in the past, if you're still feeling unloved and in danger, seek help. Check out childhelp.org . If you are being abused by the ones that claim to love you, young or old, check out thehotline.org

You don't have to live this way forever. You did nothing wrong. You did nothing to deserve it. And one day, you will find someone that is waiting to love you.


Someday she'll understand the meaning of it all

It's kind of funny - at times people expect me to have so many answers because I'm a Ministry major. I feel that I'm expected to know all this stuff about Jesus, that I'm supposed to have the answers. But the thing is, I have my own doubts and struggles, and I feel that some of them would cause me to be labeled as a heretic. I hate how people automatically assume if you believe something controversial, you are automatically being heretical.

I don't think it's wrong to have beliefs that go against the grain. But I am terrified to make those beliefs known - because they are the cause of so much debate within the Christian community. I think it sucks that I keep silent on what I struggle with in Christianity, for fear of being called out and treated like dirt.

One of the things I personally struggle with is an issue of dogma versus doctrine, and that's where it's hard to speak it. I absolutely believe that Jesus is the Christ, the Son of the Living God. I believe in the Father, Son, and Holy Spirit and fully believe they all exist. I believe that Jesus died on the cross, was crucified, buried, and rose again.

But there are things I struggle with. And the fact that I don't feel I will be treated with respect if I made them known sucks. Knowing that people won't think I'm a true Christian if I voice some of my struggles, sucks. :(


Arise and seize the day, or, 100 reasons part 4.

So I started this series back before the last semester ended, and didn't really come back to it. Oops. Considering this is how I feel about the current semester:
I thought it might be a good idea to come back to it. :D
If you're curious about the other entries, here is Part 1, 2, and 3

31. Fairly Oddparents. They are fun, zany, and an awesome show to watch when I just need to take my mind off stuff. Or I want something to watch when I don't feel good, having a pain flare, etc.

The past hurts, but it doesn't mean that I always have to hurt. It doesn't mean I have to run from it. It doesn't mean I have to dwell in it, or that it's a reason to die.

33. "Sometimes things have to change, and maybe sometimes it's for the better." - Lilo and Stitch.
I don't like change. I fear it. It makes me run for the hills screaming. But change isn't bad, and in fact, it can be the complete turn around that I need. As much as I hate it, it's a reason to be.


I want a kitteh cat and dead people can't have kittens. Well, PEOPLE can't have kittens, CATS have kittens. But I can sing Soft Kitty to the kitty! ^_^

36. Rock band/guitar hero. Is fun. ^_^

37. Can't be a youth minister/camp director if I'm a dead. Zombie youth director ain't my callin', mates.


39. Berries. Berries are yummy. And tasty. And stuff.

40. I want to learn to play violin again. :)


As my memories rests, but never forgets what I lost

Like my father's come to pass, seven years has gone so fast
Wake me up when September ends
Here comes the rain again, falling from the stars
Drenched in my pain again, becoming who we all

September marks seven years since everything flipped upside down, since everything turned topsy-turvy, since my life went totally off-kilter. It's kind of funny because even though my father isn't actually dead as in he kicked the bucket, emotionally he's dead to me as I don't speak to him, haven't seen him in seven years.

Funnily enough, this time seven years ago this song was all over the radio. I heard it on the bus going to school every single morning (along with the DHT cover of "Listen To Your Heart"). Kind of funny that seven years later, it sums up my feelings about the month of September.

September isn't as loaded as October 31st is for me, but September is still a month of loss, a time of grief. September 2005 is when my health started spiraling out of control. September 2005 was when I started to realize who my true friends were. So much happened seven years ago. So much happened.

As my memory rests, but never forgets what I lost
Wake me up when September ends

I fully believe that one day my memory will be at ease, but I don't know when that day will be. I believe there will be one day that's not taunted by flashbacks and nightmares and painful memories. I fully believe that will be a day where it will all just be another faded scar, another jaded memory. Kind of like the lyrics from the opening theme of my favourite anime (taken from the Japanese translation to English and not the English version): "Even when yesterday's wounds remain, take yesterday's tears and turn them into tomorrow's strength."

I don't have to let the past control me. I don't have to let myself be consumed by the memories. But just because I finally process the pain after all these years, just because I finally come to terms with the past, doesn't mean that I forget it. It doesn't mean that I have to forget it at all, but it also doesn't have to be at the forefront of my memory.

A lot has changed in seven years. I've gone from an 18 year old high school senior to a 25 year old college student. I never dreamed on my first day of high school that these seven years would turn out the way that they did: The whole ordeal with my father, losing my health, losing some of my mobility, moving to Minnesota, taking time of school, still being in College, this, that, and the other. It's kind of baffling, really, what all has happened over the course of seven years. And how in some ways I'm so different, but in some ways some things never change.

All this doesn't mean that sometimes I just want to skip the month of September, and October as well for good measure. Maybe one September, I won't just want it to end before it begins .Maybe one September, I won't want it to just go away.

will i lose my dignity? will someone care?
will i wake tomorrow from this nightmare?
there's only us, there's only this,
forget regret, or life is yours to miss.
no other road, no other way, no day but today.

It's not September yet. It will be in just over an hour. It may be a difficult time - but maybe this year at long last, I can start healing and fully living it the now, instead of being trapped in the past.


They're not like you and me, it means they must be evil

Pocahontas may be an odd choice for a title of a blog entry about equality, but I think that it has a valid point. "They're not like you and me, it means they must be evil." "They're not like us, it means they can't be trusted." "Savages, savages, barely even human." I think that's how some people VIEW anyone who isn't straight and doesn't fit in the cookie-cutter one man/one woman mold. They're different, therefore they are evil. They're savage, because they have "THE GAY!" OH NO! 

In all honesty, I don't care if you think being gay, trans, bi, and everything in between, inside and outside the box is a sin. I really don't care. That's not truly the crux of the issue. Thing is? They are human beings, just like you and me. Just like your church pastor. They bleed, they laugh, they cry. They have beating hearts. 

Fine, you think being gay is a sin. I don't think that abortion is always the right choice, but I don't think that it should be outlawed. It is not my place to decide what someone else does with their body. My personal views don't jive with abortion. Your views might be "I want an abortion, and so I am getting one today. End of discussion." And while I may disagree with you, my religious views shouldn't trump your freedom, your rights. I think the same can be said for homosexuality. 

A few years ago, I thought that being gay was a sin. I didn't think that anyone should be gay. I was squicked about by people being trans. I can't say I'm proud of things I said or things I wrote. But I watched people I care about deeply struggle. I saw how hard it was for them and the way they were treated by something that isn't their fault. I saw their struggles, and it broke my heart. It changed me. I saw the struggles in their lives, and you know what? It's not fair.

It's not fair that because of who they love, they can't get married. It's not fair that because of who they love, they can be discriminated against in the workplace. Oh, I know some Americans will say that "Well, I'm a Christian and I get bullied/I get ridiculed/etc". Know what? It's not the same. As Christians in the US, we are damn lucky to be living here. Sure, we may get "persecuted", but we keep using that word. It doesn't mean what we think it means. Just because our children can't pray in public schools, doesn't mean anything bad. Just because they don't teach creationism, doesn't mean anything bad. Doesn't mean we're some kind of martyr or that everyone is out to get us.

Back when Jesus was on the Earth, he hung out with the undesirables. The tax collectors. The ones that society threw the stink eye to, both proverbially and literally. If he were here today? I imagine He'd be hanging out with the homosexuals. Because my God, my Jesus, is a God of love. He doesn't condone hate. 

I don't want to make anyone change their views about homosexuality. You may think it's morally wrong, and you have a right to think that. Your neighbor may think it's morally right, and they have the right to think that. The person across the street may fall in the gray area between, where maybe it's okay but certain aspects aren't. But the heart of the matter is that we live in a country where certain rights are for ALL people: Christian and Atheist, gay and straight, male and female, and every other living person has this promised to them: "We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their creator with certain inalienable Rights, that among these are Life, Liberty and the pursuit of Happiness." Thomas Jefferson didn't write "Oh, but not woman" or "Oh, but not homosexual people." ALL MEN. 

I am a Christian, and I support human rights. I support equality for all. I think that they should have the same rights as any of us, because we live in the "land of the free, and the home of the brave." It's not just the people who fit our mold of Christianity, it's everyone. Everyone. We can't pick and choose who gets the right to marry, the right to this and the right to that, because that's not what this country was founded upon.

"Oh, deep in my heart. I do believe... we shall all be free someday."


No dark sarcasm in the classroom

The new semester starts a week from Thursday. I'm not quite sure how I feel about that. Part of me feels like I should be more excited than I am - I'm in the home stretch of finishing my degree and so I should be happy, satisfied, content, right? I should be pumped for all these classes. But I'm not. It's almost like it's my first day of kindergarten and I'm terrified of the big kids on the bus (okay, so I was homeschooled in kindergarten, but the imagery stands). I have a good courseload and good professors, but the thought of a new semester terrifies me. Packing lunch, commuting, learning the bus route, juggling doctor's appointments and school, juggling health, learning when not to be stubborn and stay home from class (I'm the girl who went to class with a high fever that should have had my bum in the doctor's office). It's such a balance, and while I'm looking at classes starting with so many other changes... it's scary. What if I change to the other clinic? What will happen then? I'm assured they work with college students a lot and will work with my schedule but still... so many changes.

The thing about being a ministry major is I'm forced to be vulnerable. It's one thing to be vulnerable in a blog, but in class? In person? With people? My gosh, it's terrifying! I like hiding - it's safe. I suppose that's one reason I lock down - even in therapy when certain subjects come up. While I want recovery, while it's something I crave, it's something I yearn for, it's something I've ever known. And the fear of the unknown terrifies me. And so while what I'm in now may not be IDEAL, it's all I've known and it's what's safe and comfortable. Nevermind that it's what in reality is destroying me.  Nevermind that it's not what's for the base - sometimes I choose safety over sanity, which is not in reality wise.

And I wonder - why do I sometimes choose the path of destruction, the path that isn't for the best, just because it's what I know? Do I fear change so badly that I cling to what I know, even though it's entirely a bad idea? Do I long for what is not good in a twisted way, even though I really want what is good, to recover, to get better?

With a new semester comes so many new things. New textbooks, new classes, new schedule, new routine, new professors, new friends. But yet at the same time... there's so much new at once that I just want something old to cling to. Old friends, old lifestyles, old... well, everything. I don't want everything to change. I just want things to be how I know them.


Oh when I get where I'm going, there'll be only happy tears

My grandfather died when I was nineteen years old. My pawpaw was the closest thing to a father that I ever had. I loved him, loved him deeply. About a year and a half after he died, I wrote this short piece for a creative writing class. I figured sharing it here would be the perfect tribute to my Pawpaw.

My grandfather was very ill my senior year of high school. He never, however, lost his sense of humor. When he found out I was visiting Canada to check out the University of Windsor where I had been accepted, he started calling me “Maple Leaf.” He also asked me to bring him back a maple leaf. 

The time I spent in Canada was a whirlwind. Between visiting the college, checking out Windsor, and winding up in the hospital, I didn't take the time to bring him back a maple leaf. I remembered when we got back home, and I felt horrible for forgetting.

He died before I left for university in August. When looking through my purse before the funeral, I found a Canadian penny. A Canadian penny has a maple leaf on the back. My mother's name is also Penny, so it was the perfect way to say “Goodbye.” I thought to myself, “Pawpaw, you can take your maple leaf with you.” We buried it with him.

I don't see many maple leafs anymore. When I see one, however, I think of my grandfather. Although I'm not in Canada anymore, I am still my grandfather's maple leaf. I do plan to return to Canada someday, and when I come back, I will bring home some maple leafs from Canada to put on his grave.

Don't worry, Pawpaw, you'll still get your maple leaf from Canada one of these days. :)


It's been a long time coming, but a change is going to come

Things are going to be different this fall. That's neither here nor there, good or bad. I'm one of those people who thrives on things being the same. I like my routine and I don't like it being changed. I like things being the way they are, the way they've been, and leaving well enough alone. I was given the choice today by my doctor to change one of my medications, and my answer was to "leave well enough alone." It's kind of funny how that's my answer to everything. Leave well enough alone. But that doesn't change the fact a change is in the air, a change is on the way.

Sure, a new semester is going to start. I still have to mail my Perkins loan and MetroTransit paperwork this weekend. I'll be commuting instead of just walking across campus. Two days a week I don't have class until noon, but those times will be filled with other appointments I'm sure. But there's other changes on the horizon, not just new classes, new schedule, new professor. new book, new laptop, new cell phone, you get the gist.

I've been seeing the same psychiatrist at The Emily Program since I started services there in March 2011. I've been seeing the same therapist there since about the same time too, even stayed with him when he left the clinic. I stayed with TEP for my psychiatrist and my nutritionist. However, Nice Psych Dude recently left the clinic. I was given about two weeks notice. Nora, She Who Likes Things Not To Change, was not a Happy Pikachu:

Or a MLP, as the case may be
I LIKE Doctor Dude. He was nice, understanding, etc. Understood the way my strange little mind works, didn't push me too hard but pushed me enough when I needed it. Well, he left. And I have been Psych-Doctorless.

Today I saw pain management. I got more medication, told I clinch my jaw and grind my teeth and should see a dentist to look into being fitted for a bite guard (EEP!!!). But then she started asking about the psych stuff and it all came out. See, she told me I look good: the healthiest and the happiest I've looked in a long time. But she's not stupid and she could kinda see through my act. I guess my facade isn't always a good as I'd like to think it is. She suggested that I look into switching to the other major eating disorder clinic in the Cities. 

I would keep my therapist. Of course. It would be highly damaging to me to lose him right now. Even though I haven't seen him in three weeks, and that's a Very Bad Thing. Not really my fault the way I've seen him, but still not the best life choice I've ever made.

I don't see my dietican often at TEP. I don't have a psych there anymore. Pain Doctor seems to think they can help me more at Melrose. But at the same time... all the intake stuff again is scary. Starting over is scary. Change again is scary. 

I just want things to stay the way they are. The way I know them to be. I don't want change... even if it's for the best.


Won't be be odd to be happy like we always thought we're supposed to feel but never seem to

I kind of haven't updated since the semester ended. Before I write an actual entry, in summery: I failed algebra, the injections didn't work in my back and I meet with my back surgeon on July 12 to discuss plan B, I am still seeing my therapist on Wednesday afternoons. Not much else going on, really. Trying to hang out with friends as I can so I don't totally isolate. I survived father's day, which is always an accomplishment even though I do generally tear up and break down a few times. I've been watching a lot of Hardcore Pawn, Big Bang Theory, Toddlers and Tiaras, and Pawn Stars. My birthday is Sunday and I'll turn 25. That's pretty badass right there, I do declare. I've reinstalled Windows 7, set up my Ubuntu dualboot, and played a lot of Final Fantasy and Pokemon.

I'm still at that point where I've gotten so good at keeping every out. It's kind of funny because sometimes I am so good at keeping everyone on the outside thinking everything is going swell that I sometimes fool myself. Truth is I'm lying if I think they think that things are going right, I'm not that great of an actress. I do have real fun times and legitimate good times. But at the same time... operation “keep everyone out and slowly sabotage myself” is going full force.

“Won't it be dull when we rid ourselves all of all these demons haunting us to keep us to keep us company?” - Barenaked Ladies, from their song War on Drugs. In some ways it's terrifying because I've been using the same coping skills for as long as I can remember. No one said they were good coping skills, but sometimes we need not the best coping skills at the time until we are able to equip ourselves with better coping skills. The trick is to learn the better skills, and equip ourselves with them.

I'm often scared, though. I'm often downright terrified. I'm scared I won't beat these demons. I'm scared I won't beat these skeletons in my closet. Yes, I can see how far I've come but at the same time I see how far I've yet to go. While the song “Here I Am To Worship” no longer makes me flee the building, “Who Am I” by Casting Crowns still makes me flip out into inconsolable sobs. While my father's birthday is barely a blip on my radar, things like Father's Day can still cause me to mourn what I never had and get bitter at what I did have. While I haven't cut in quite some time, it doesn't mean I don't hurt myself in other ways. As you can see, even by going through this here blog, I've come so far and yet I still have so far to go. And that's just emotionally.

I still have the NF1. I still have two rods in my back that corrected the scoliosis but not the chronic pain in my back. I still have a loose screw in my back and am facing the possibility of having the fusion augmented. While I finally have my migraine medications regulated to the point where my migraines are under control, now there are other medications to regulate. And once that is done, there will be another. And then there will be more medication questions to answer. Do I let them put me on highly addictive, appetite-suppressant ADD meds, in hopes that I can do better in school but possibly lead me down a dangerous road? It seems for every step I take forward, I take two more steps back and that I'm never going to fully recover. It just seems like a whole cycle of things. Once one aspect of health is under control, it's onto another. It's kind of annoying, really.

Nothing else to say, really. Nothing else of note. I'm just struggling I guess, and felt like being raw? Heh. It's so easy to be open and raw and let things out on a blog when I'm behind a screen but plop me in front of a friend and it's harder to open up. I burrow deeper inside myself and the walls get thrown right back up. 


i don't remember the first time i felt unbeautiful, the day i chose not to eat

It's funny the impact just eating has on me. It's a natural human process. It's something we have to do to survive. And yet, it's something that I struggle with and that tears me apart.

I had a good dinner tonight. Best I've had in quite awhile. And because of that, I'm still awake even though it's 2 am. My brain won't be quiet. Lord knows it's a good thing I ate as my weight is the lowest it's been in years. Lord knows I need the calories and nutrients.  But it's difficult.

I know I've lost weight lately. I know I should care more about getting food into my system. But it's difficult to muster up the willingness to care. It's difficult to get food into me. I don't know what I'm going to have to do to get myself to eat. It's terrifying, really, the way this disorder, this sickness controls me.

I don't want to be this way, but I don't know how to be any other. And frankly, to cross to the other side is terrifying. To recover. To be healed. To be whole. It's kind of a paradox because I don't want to get better yet I want to. I want to yet I don't now how. What if I don't like being healthy? What if I gain too much weight? What if I flip to the other extreme and start eating too much?

And now it's approaching 3. And I still can't sleep. And it's taken me THIS long to write this short of an entry. But why? I don't want to finally meet the diagnostic criteria for anorexia, because on one hand while I feel ED-NOS is "not legit", I know it is. I know that you don't have to be severely underweight to die or have serious health effects from an eating disorder.

But at the same thing... it's kind of like a verse in the Bible. "The things I don't want to do I do, the things I want to do I don't." It just feels that I get trapped. Completely Trapped.

And  I don't now what to do. It's hard because I'm having a bad PTSD night. It's well after 3 am, everyone is asleep. Everyone, that is, but me. Because I'm scared to sleep. Because I'm afraid of what will happen if I sleep. Because being scared to sleep as a child is still ingrained in me. because I'm still at my core, terrified.


How do you measure, measure a year

One year ago today I was up at a godawful early hour, getting ready to get my spine fused. Oh look, I took a picture that morning!

Zoe and I were ready to kick some spinal fusion ass.
And in that year, so much has changed. I had issues due to a medication mixup. I still have chronic pain but it's not due to the back, per se, more the NF1. I have a loose screw. 

But what else has changed in that year?

I transferred schools, I got dx'd with fibromalgia. I had family issues, friend issues. Eating disorder has sent me on a roller coaster. But I've grown. Well, literally. Spinal fusion made me taller!

I haz a tall.
I'd write more on my one year date, but I'll do "one year and a few days" later this week. I still have a couple assignments to turn it and then I'm FREEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE. Free falling, as free as the... nevermind.



Because reason says I should have died three years ago

I am told that it is nothing short of a miracle I am alive, be it by the circumstances of life or be it by my own hand. I am told that many other people in my shoes would be homeless, would be drug addicts, would be drunkards. That I shouldn't be alive due to medicine mixups, ailments, and various things I have.

At the same time, I've been told that if I just had more faith I would be healed. If I just believed I could overcome, things would be better. The truth is, I've accepted things to be the way they are. It doesn't mean I don't channel my energy in recovery. What it does mean is like in the serenity prayer, I accept the things I cannot change and must have the courage to change the things I can.

Oh look, I can climb the twisty thing!
Just because I've accepted my disabilities, I feel, doesn't mean that I've let them pull me down. I've really beaten incredible odds. I've overcome so much. I still have much to overcome. I know that due to genetics my general health will continue to demolish itself. I know that if I try to push myself, believing if I just do a little better I can overcome, I will wind up making things a bazillion times worse. To focus on what I cannot do would be foolish. I can play on playgrounds, I can wade in the water. I can take walks. I can so much! Why pull myself down by  bashing myself?

I can play in the water!
I can't control what my father did in the past and I can't deny the impact it has with me today. I can control how I choose to act on the result. I can't control the fact that I'm disabled for likely life, but I can choose to accept it and make the best of my life, no matter how long or short it is. The important thing is that I keep on keeping on, and instead, continue to defy odds. Continue to shoot down the ones who say I can't make it. You know what? I may not make it in the traditional sense. But it doesn't mean I have to give up hope, that I have to quit at life. Instead, it fuels me to go forward, propels me to keep swimming (even though, well, I can't swim) and gives me a reason to survive.

And if you care to find me, look towards the western sky
As someone told me lately, everyone deserves a chance to fly
And if I'm flying solo, at least I'm flying free
To those who ground me take a message back from me!
Tell them how I'm defying gravity, I'm flying high, defying gravity...
Wicked - "Defying Gravity."


I only know it hurts, to see my only friend slowly fade away

Sometimes the internet sucks.

I love the Internet. It's awesome. It's amazing. It lets me talk to people when I'm in pain and when I've lost my voice. I've made friendships that I wouldn't have otherwise. But at the same time...

I think there are few things more heartbreaking then being so far away and not being able to help a friend. I think there's few things more difficult then wanting, so badly just to be there but being miles, oceans, lakes, whatever away.

I have a fixer-upper personality. I want to fix my friends problems. I want to take their mind off things. But it tears me apart not to be able to help. I want to help my friends that are hurting! I want to make things right!

The internet keeps us connected, but at the same time it completely breaks my heart. I'm glad I can 'listen' via MSN and AIM and Facebook...

... but how do I help when I'm so far away and so helpless? *thud*

Lord I lift my friend to You.
I've done all that I know to do.
I lift my friend, to You.
Complicated circumstances
have clouded his view.
Lord I lift my friend up to You.

I fear that I won't have the words
that he needs to hear.
I pray for Your wisdom , oh God.
And a heart that's sincere.
And Lord I lift my friend up
to You.

Lord I lift my friend to You.
My best friend in the
world, I know he means much
more to You.
I want so much to help him, but
this is something he has to do.
Lord I lift my friend up to You.

There's a way that seems so right to him.
But You know where that leads.
He's becoming a puppet of the world.
Too blind to see the strings.
And Lord I lift my friend up to You.

Lord I lift my friend to You.
I've done all that I know to do.
I lift my friend, to You.

Casting Crowns - Prayer For A Friend


And I know, you won't feel this way forever

Not even a month ago, I was started on a new antidepressant. Before I was trapped in depression. Trapped.

But now things are looking up. I'm having horrible side effects, but maybe my nice shrink with a southern accent can find a similar one or maybe he can find something to counteract them.

There is just one week left of classes. One week!! It's at this lovely state in the semester where things are just not going all that well..

But it doesn't mean things are going poorly. I'm at my breaking point stress wise, but things are looking up. It doesn't mean things are perfect, but it means they are looking up. Things won't always be this way. 

Some days are still terrible. Some days I feel like relasping into self injury. I know, I know, it sounds silly and maybe it is. I recently passed the ten year mark from the first time I cut. I still remember that day, still remember it so clearly. And for so long, I thought I was so clever. That I was masking my pain. That I was dealing with my pain. That I had my own little secret way of dealing with the world, hidden under my shirt sleeves. But I was young, I was naive. I didn't know, couldn't know, wouldn't know that by masking the pain, when it came to surface, it only got worse. And so, when once one cut would suffice, now it would take two. Then three. Then four. Until my arms looked horrible. Until I had to move to my legs. And as much as I would welcome the nirvana, the bittersweet Ecstasy of cutting again... it's not worth it. At times I think the break from the pain would be worth it, then I'd deserve it coming back so much.

But the thing is? I don't deserve pain. For years, and I admit, some days I still do, it feels like  it was all my fault. Maybe if I had been a better behaved child. Maybe if I had been cuter. Maybe if I would have run away. Maybe if I would have done drugs. Maybe if I would have drank. Maybe if I would have told someone what my father was doing instead of hiding it, even denying it for years. Maybe if I would have fought back. I had so many chances in high school to say what my dad was doing. There was the time I fell apart in youth group, and one of the sponsors asked if everything was okay at home. There were the countless doctor appointments that asked if I was safe at home. There were the teachers that reached out to me.

The thing was, I was young and I was scared. Would people have believed me? Would things have gotten worse had I told? I don't know. But the thing is, it's not my fault. It wasn't my fault. It was never my fault.

And even if, for some reason, it was my fault, it doesn't make any of it okay. It doesn't make my childhood okay, even if I did mess up at times. It doesn't make what my dad did right, not remotely. And even if my actions DID cause him to act that way, it wasn't right. Not in any way shape or form.

That said, I started this blog taking one track, and it took another. Things are looking up. I'm finding hope again. Moreso, I'm enjoying things again. I'm not playing games just as an escape, but I'm enjoying them. It's the little things. I'm starting to sleep again, even! Sleep is good. Usually.

And now I'm going to play Final Fantasy 8 and talk on MSN for a bit before going to bed early, so tomorrow I can talk on MSN, clean, and do homework. So I can do what I love on Sunday and play music in church then come home and study and clean. I'm going to close this entry with lyrics to one of my favourite songs. ^_^

Spoken - Promise.
(Verse 1)
Yet another day seems like its wasted
You don't feel youre any closer to the prize
A dead end job where there's no future
Praying that tomorrow things wont be this way

Things will get better this I promise you
And I know that you won't feel this way forever
Things will get better this I promise you
And I know loneliness wont last forever

(Verse 2)
Yet another day, another tired morning
You're catching up to your intentions
Your'e thinking life has to be easier than this
Maybe tomorrow things wont be this way

Things will get better this I promise you
and I know it won't feel this way forever
Things will get better this I promise you
and I know we can find a way to make it better
things will get better this I promise you 

Things will get better this I promise you
And I know it won't feel this way forever
Things will get better this I promise you
And I know loneliness won't last forever
Things will get better this I promise you
And I know things will get better this I promise you
And I know things will get better this I promise you
And I know loneliness won't last forever


Starving for Control

There's many things in life I cannot control. When I was 17, a lot of things that were out of my control happened. My private Christian school closed down, mere weeks before the start of the new school year. My health wasn't all that great. I had poor coping skills then, so I lapsed back into cutting and my eating disorder. It started at an even younger age, but it started getting bad then. I wasn't happy, although I tried my hardest to act like I was. It was terrible.

You'd never guess I was hiding fresh cuts and living with depression..

You'd never know, never guess, never dream that I was suffering from depression. It wasn't my personality - I was the bright, bubbly girl who laughed a lot, seemed loved and well-adjusted, and seemed to have many friends. But at the same time, I was crippled with depression. I was starving for control, as a way to control my out of control life, out of control emotions, as a way to try and steer the roller coaster we call life. It seemed like a good idea, at the time, to control my weight. To control my eating. To control everything I could within my power, even if it wasn't beneficial, even if it wasn't happy. For by sabotaging myself like that, at least wen everything fell apart it was my fault and somehow, it's easier to swallow the pill of everything sucking if I can blame myself versus being perfectly innocent.

I find myself still in the state these days. To the point where my eating is to the point where I don't even want to get weighed. It feels like this:

So literally, I start starving for control. Even though it would make more sense to control my eating sensibly,
 it's not that simple. Body image is a huge problem for me, not eating serves as a form of self injury when I'm in a state where I can't relapse into cutting, and it's just one feeble way I could control. I could control my video games. I could control my Sims. I could control my pokemon.

I have a headache. Why are you dragging me into this?

I feel like I'm trapped. That this has become an addiction, and what I was controlling now controls me. What I struggle to hard to keep control of just sends me further into despair, anger, rage, pain, angst. I just feel so helpless at how badly out of control things have gotten, and I just want to reign in control again...


Though it won't be today, some day I'll hope again

It's kind of funny of how what once I controlled now controls me  What I once used as a way to control what was spinning so rapidly out of control now controls me. It doesn't matter anymore how little I weigh, all that matters is that the pounds drop off. It doesn't matter that just eating lunch or supper or a snack should be easy, it's a fucking battle. I can't tell you how many times I open the fridge, the freezer, the cabinet, and start crying from the thought of having to eat.

Eating is a natural thing, it's something we all have to do. And yet... I can't. It's not as simple as just eating something, it's not as simple as just getting better. I don't know how to do. I don't know how to eat normal. I don't know how to find the balance. I can't find the reasons to hope, to hold on, to hang in there, to eat.

It's at the point where it's not really about weight in some ways - it's a game I can play with myself, it's a form of self injury, it's a method of control. It doesn't help that I have to avoid certain foods for health reasons, it makes eating that much harder. What if I screw up and get glutened? What if I make myself sick? Why do I eat anyway? Why do I keep fighting?

I hate this eating disorder. I feel like it's eating me alive, inside and out. And that I cannot hope, dream, wish, or keep fighting as long as I have it... and I hate it.