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.

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

(Chorus)
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

(Chorus)
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 

(Outro)
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

Broken-Hearted Teenager

I'm pulling out some of my younger poetry from, well, when I was younger. It's terribly written, but it's who I was then.

Wednesday, Oct. 03, 2001 - 3:17 p.m.

They tell me to make a Christmas Wish

To wish for whatever I please

And the wish for I want

Gets me down on my knees

I do not wish for money

I do not wish for toys

I do not wish for clothes

Or other little joys

My wish is for my Daddy

For him to take time to think

Before he decides to sip

His achocalic drink

Wednesday, Oct. 17, 2001 - 9:56 p.m.
If you had a choice
Between beer and family
Let me ask you a question-
What would your choice be?

Let me tell you my father's choice
One that brought so much pain
A choice that brought me
Tears that fall like rain

He picked his beer
Over the family
At times I feel
It's more valued then me

How could he pick
His beer over me
Hurt and destory
His whole family?

I'll never understand
I'll never know why
I'll be able to stop
The tears which I cry

If you have that choice-
Please choose your family
Because I come from
Experience, you see.


Monday, Jan. 07, 2002 - 8:45 p.m.


Even though you hear my laugh
You don't know what I hide
For as the joyous sound comes out
Tears are flowing inside

A smile may be on my face
But that smile's a lie
For hidden, deep within
I frankly want to die

I may seem happy
But I am depressed
I may seem joyful
But I am upset

And when the tears
Brim in my eyes
Telling you it's allergies
Is one of my lies

So when you ask me
"How do you do?"
I might not tell
The truth to you

So remember when you see me....
Looks aren't always what lays outside
For with every smile I smile
Another tear I cry



Tuesday, Jan. 22, 2002 - 8:43 p.m.
I sit back and wonder
If I would to die
If anyone would care
If anyone would cry

I sit back and ponder
The meaning of life
Why I was given
All this pain and strife

Friendships fading away
Old friends are gone
Time to pack up
Time to move on

Schoolwork is falling
I'm starting to fail
I'm starting to cry
Starting to wail

Family is shattering
My heart is in two
I'm hiding the pain
In my big eyes of blue

Mabye if I just
Curl up and die
No one will care
No one will cry

Good-bye.



I was so broken all those year ago. And I'm so sad I was so lost, so alone.
If only I could go back and tell 14-year-old Nora that it gets better.
That she'll find friends! That she'll find love! That she'll find hope!
That she'll break ties with those asshats, that she'll break FREE of that pain. That she'll still fight with PTSD, ED-NOS, major depression, chronic pain... but she'll find a support system.

And that her life is beautiful.

"I cannot find my voice."

I have this habit of locking down inside myself. Oh, there is so much happening. Images dancing in my head, sights, smells, sounds, twisting together, tangling, intertwined. It's safer to stay silent. It's safer not to speak. I'm afraid to speak out. Speaking out senior year and being shushed solidified that fear. I was only eighteen. I was a senior in high school. And I was heartbroken. I wouldn't wish the choices I made that cold October morning to my worst enemy. But yet, the choices let me to where I am today.


I've grown so much since my senior year. I should hope so, considering I'll have graduated six years ago come June. Six years is a long time, and even as I got my diploma that warm June evening, I had no idea the changes that would come over the next few years. I had no idea I would legally be declared disabled before 21. I had no idea I would sever ties with my mother as well. I had no idea that I would be called into the ministry. I had no idea I wouldn't finish college in Canada and that in 2012 I'd still be working on my undergraduate degree. I had no idea I'd live in frick-fracking MINNESOTA where it's frick-fracking cold. I had no idea I'd still be battling PTSD, cutting, eating disorder... I suppose I thought it'd magically stop, but NEWSFLASH: IT WON'T.

I had no idea that both my grandparents would die before I completed my undergraduate degree. I had no idea that I would make beautiful friendships, meet my future best friends, and go through heart-wrenching grief. I had no idea of any of that.

I had no idea at age 24 people would STILL think I'm 14. Heh. Funnily enough, side story. I was on my way to a doctor's appointment and I mentioned how I still had a specialist at the Children's Hospital. "Oh, you could easily pass for 14." Me: "Mmhmm." "You'll like  more as you get closer to your 30's!" *silence* "I'm 24." "WHAT?!" "Yeah, I'll be 25 in June." "...." "You're not 18?" 18 is the oldest I've been mistaken for in awhile, so I suppose that should make my happy. Anyway. Done with the side story.

Tori Amos said in her song "sometimes I hear my voice and it's been here, silent all these years." Problem is, I don't hear my voice. Sure, I blog and I write and I talk. But I bottle so much up. I keep so much inside me. And I don't know how to pull it out. There are things about my past that repulse me, that I haven't told anyone. And it scares me that it's there. And I don't want to talk about it because I'm afraid people, even those who want to help me so badly, won't like me anymore. Will think horrible things. Won't understand. And so, I carry the burden.

When will I realize how stupid that is?
When will I realize how dumb that is?
When will I find the way to pull out my voice and be strong?

And she fools all of her friends into thinking she's so strong but she still sleeps with the light on

My bed is soaked with sadness
My sadness has no end has no end
A downward of  spiral of dispair
That I keep falling in 
I need you how, how I need you 
(...)
Your silence is like death to me,
so won't you hear my desperate plea?
-I Need You, The Swift

It's hard some days to get myself out of bed. My alarm goes off, a few swear words slip past my lips, a stuffed animal may fly across the room. I'm not a morning person by nature, never have been. But when you're trapped in depression, when your greatest enemy is that reflection in the mirror, sometimes hauling yourself out of bed is one of the most difficult things of the day.

I suppose I make it sound like I'm drowning in depression. Some days I am. Some days I wonder why I get out of bed when I've barely slept the night before and daytime is the only time I'm able to actually sleep. When I'm running on two to three hours a sleep a night, and a couple hour nap during the day. Why I bother even trying to hope, trying to dream, when it seems like my hopes and dreams and wishes will just be crushed. It's hard.

Living with depression is like fighting a monster every morning. My days and nights are reversed. I just want solace - just some relief from all the pain I'm trapped in. It feels like just doing simple things - hanging out with friends, eating, hauling my butt out of bed, doing the laundry, drain all the effort and energy out of me and I'm left alone with my thoughts.

All I want to do is be free from this demon I battle. I want to be truly happy again, and not a person that I want to hide from. But I don't know how. I don't know how to open up about the past and allow people - friends, therapists, pastors, et al, help me. I don't know how to let people understand and even begin to give me a chance to have hope again.

For as much as I want to hope, dream, laugh, love, and carry on with my life, it scares the everliving shit out of me. All I've known for over a decade is depression. All I've known is bleakness. All I've known is living in fear and terror. And as exhilarating and thrilling the other side might be - it's completely unknown. It's something I've never felt before. What if it's too much? What if I don't like it? What if I taste the other side, and I don't like it at all? What if it hurts? What if I get a sampling of it, and I wind up falling back into depression? Would the relapse be that much worse because I've tasted the other side? Or would it be better once I pull out of the funk again, because I know what the other side is like? 

I get sick of trying various antidepressants. I get sick of feeling like this - I don't WANT to be like this! But how do I attempt something I've never tried, how do I try something I just don't know? How do I even attempt to spread my wings and fly, when every time I've tried to fly I've fallen?

Depression sucks. I'll leave you with Adventures in Depression because that sums it up better than I ever could.

I don't know how you do it

"I don't know how you do it."

I've been told it for years, really. "I don't know how you do it." The truth of the matter is? I don't know how I do it, either.

I wish I did. Thing is, when you have to do it, you do it. There's nothing impressive about what I've done. I've been paying my own bill since I was 21, managing my old medical stuff, all that stuff. It's what I have to do.

People tell me they couldn't do what I do. Truth is? I can't do what I do. You just have to throw yourself in and DO it.

One December, bright and clear

For the longest time, the month of December has sucked. It's always been a hard month. Various things have happened in December over the past 6 years, and it's just an incredibly difficult month. I last saw my father that December morning, 6 years ago (I moved out on October 31, but I last saw him in December). 5 years ago, I was in the psych ward over December. Various things happened over the years, and December just seems to be the month when the shit always hits the fan.

Christmas holds a lot of painful memories. And it's hard to have a "good" Christmas in spite of all that, in spite of all the pain and anger that also happens over the holiday season.



"Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
let your heart be light,
next year all our troubles will be far away...

Have yourself a merry little Christmas,
make the Yulitude gay
Next year all our troubles will be miles away

Once again, as in golden days,
happy golden days of old
Faithful friends that are dear to us,
Will be dear to us once more

Some day soon, we all will be together
If the fates allow,
Until then, we'll have to muddle through somehow
So have yourself a merry little Christmas now.

I know that Christmas will always be difficult. I know that I won't be spending it with my biological family, and, well, that sucks. There's no sugar-coated, candy-frosted way to say it, it sucks. But until the day when I'm able to accept things, until the day where I spread my wings and fly, I can allow myself to have a "Merry Little Christmas" until then.

So tired that I couldn't even sleep

December 3, 2004.
3:43 AM Eastern Standard Time

"sometimes, i just want to give up. i just want to scream. and cry. just to avoid the look in people's eyes. just to avoid the look in people's eyes. it's why i hate talking to people, you see the pity in their eyes, not only pity, but concern, but love...

Did I say I hate love? I really don't know. I hate pity. I have having people worried about me, and concerned. And love...it almost scares me. I'm not talking about a boyfriend "oh my gosh you're so cute" love, or a grandmotherly "I want to squish you" love, I mean a more of..compassion? a more of I care about you, Angelique love. and in a way, it does scare me. having people love me. having people care about me. That honestly is a scary thing, because if I screw up, I have people who will be worried about me, because they do care. If I show them how much I'm hurting, I have people who will be worried about me, because they do care.

and it's just...I don't know. I don't even know anything anymore. Well, I know stuff, saying I don't know anything is like saying a fish doesn't know how to swim. and I just want to break down. and let someone hold me, and let me tell them what all has been eating at me. and it just seems...like I can't. like there's a wall.

And I know I've always been one to build up walls. I've built up walls for so long, I don't know if there's anyway to tear them down."
****
I wrote this 7 years ago. I was 17, homeschooled, and still living with my father. This was before all the shit hit the fan.

I wonder the same thing this days about love. And walls. Do I put up walls to protect myself, or do I put them up to protect the ones I love? Do I really love? Love still scares me so much. To allow myself to be loved, and allow myself to love. To be that vulnerable, that open, that free with someone. I don't know that I can allow myself to do that... and it scares me because I almost like my walls. They're not the best for me, but they're safe.

How do I tear down and allow myself to be vulnerable?

I learned it bywatching you.

Tim Hawkins summed up this song with "My son got mad 'cause I worked all the time, he grew up to me a jerk just like me. And the cat's in the cradle and the silver spoon, and some other poetic stuff."

John Mayer sang "Fathers, be good to your daughters. Daughters will love like you do." A powerful PSA from 1980's is "I Learned It By Watching You"



The thing is, children learn from their parents, if they want to admit it or not. Ultimately, in the end, we have the choice to act on what we learned and what we were taught, but it doesn't mean that it lessens the imprint on us.

There was never a time my father was without a bear can in one hand. His breath always smelled like beer, usually Milwaukee's Best. He'd sit in front of the computer, with his bag of potato chips and his beer can, watching the telly.

I learned so much from watching him. I learned how to be a good girl. I learned how to act on and to lead people on into thinking everything is fine. I learned how to play the game that makes people think that life is fine and I learned how to throw up walls. I won't even go into what I learned from my mother.

And then it scares me -
what will I teach my children?

Now she's left cleaning up the mess he made

I still haven't forgotten that autumn day, ten years ago. November 28, 2001. It's kind of hard to believe. I was depressed. And by depressed I mean really freaking depressed. I was fourteen years old. And I had a plan to end my life.

I likely would have gone through with it, had a friend not intervened and notified the police. Had the police not shown up at my small Christian school. I'm told I'm lucky I wasn't taken into custody or admitted to the hospital.

But even more important was that was the day I realized my dad didn't care. I was fourteen years old, depressed, and realized where my dad's priorities were. My school principal had called my church youth pastor, and my youth pastor informed my father. Less than a couple days later, my father no longer cared that I had had a plan to end my life. He was back to his old self.

This is part of why I struggle to view God as a father. Logic tells me that not all fathers are like that. I KNOW good fathers. I KNOW good, Christian fathers and I know good, atheist fathers. I know there are good Jewish fathers, there are good agnostic fathers, it goes on and on and on. But the fact of the matter is I can't wrap my mind around the concept that the father God is like is nothing like the father I had. Someone who was never there when I needed him. Someone who always had beer in the fridge, but not always a gallon of milk and a loaf of bread.

It gets harder and harder this time of year. Well-meaning people ask if I'm going home for the holidays, and I never know how to answer. I shrug it off, but it still hurts. The ache still lies inside. I have a place to go for the holidays, but gosh, it's not the same.

and I don't know where I'm going with this. :P



Oh, you see that skin?
It's the same she's been standing in
Since the day she saw him walking away
Now she's left, cleaning up the mess he made

Fathers, be good to your daughters
Daughters will love like you do
Girls become lovers who turn into mothers
So mothers, be good to your daughters too

After all this time? Always.

It's been five years since my grandfather died. Five years this past August. And I still miss him. I miss him I miss him I miss him. He was the closest thing to a father I had. I recently found this piece I wrote sometime in 2007. Maybe it was an essay. Maybe it was a monologue. I have no clue what it was, but I feel that it's something I want on my blog so here it is.

A Ladybug's Lament - written summer 2007.
It's been nearly a year since you lost the war. Times flies faster than what you expect, and the pain is still as strong. Although the war was lost, the battle was won. You were strong - a trooper, a warrior, a soldier.

You always kept your morale high. Even when you were at your sickest, you'd still have the strength to tease me. You'd always have something to say to make me laugh. You might of never said the words “I love you” to me, but you did it without speaking.

You are my inspiration. You were always humble; you always had something good to say about people. When I think about giving up in this world, I think about you and how you didn't give up. I remind myself of how you were a fighter - and that is what I want to be.

I can't believe it's been so long. Do you have any idea how many lives you touched with your gentle sense of humor and your loving ways? You had a way of touching every life you came in contact with. You touched the doctors who treated you and you touched the family who loved you. You touched those who just stopped in to say hello.

I have always been told that home is where the heart is. However, my heart is broken because you're not here to make it “home” anymore. You always fixed things for me when I was little. Can you fix my heart this time?

You're in a better place, and I rejoice for that. You no longer have the chains of cancer pulling you down. Are you turning cartwheels down the golden streets? I always longed to be able to do a cartwheel. Will you do a few for me? One day, I'll join you. Together, we'll terrorize the angels and swing on the pearly gates. We'll be united again, and you can torment me once more.

Every time I see a ladybug, I think of you. I know when I see a ladybug somewhere, that you're there watching me. I know it is your way of saying you are still here with me. Even though you're gone, your spirit still lives on inside of those ladybugs. I don't believe in reincarnation. However, I have to wonder as I see those ladybugs if it is not actually you. Perhaps you are simply sending them from Heaven, as a sign that you are okay. They are a sign that you are still thinking of me, your “little maple leaf.”

“It don't matter where you bury me, I am home and I am free. It don't matter where I lay, all my tears be washed away.” (Jars of Clay, “All My Tears”). I often feel bad that we couldn't provide a better burial for you. We gave you what we had. I feel bad that there's not a proper tombstone at your grave. These trivial things don't matter in the big spectrum. Are you crying now? I'm crying as I'm writing this. When I greet you again, will you wash away my tears the way Jesus is washing away your tears now?

You are free, Pawpaw. You are no longer fighting the battle against cancer. You are truly an inspiration. You are truly the one I will always weep for. You are the one man who will always hold a place in my heart. You are my hero - I love you.

Nothing (To My Father)

I wrote this poem my senior year of high school spring semester. The assignment for class was to write a "tribute" or "dedication" poem to someone. The other students in this class wrote these mushy lovely poems to someone they admired or who they looked up to. Me? I took the exact opposite approach. I blew the socks off the creative writing teacher as this was his first year teaching and I guess he wasn't expecting that. That's me, breaking the norms! ;D

It has been revamped since then (I last modified it sometime in 2008 when I took creative writing at community college) because I didn't like the format that the teacher made me stick to. So I tightened the language, made it in a style and format I liked, and this is the final project. I still have the original somewhere but I like this quite a bit better. ;)

Nothing (To My Father)

I reflect upon the past,
wondering if I knew the truth
or if I was fooled, and what I knew was
nothing.

What happened to make things change?
When did you quit loving me?
Did you ever truly love me, or am I
Nothing

Stop tormenting me!
Yet why should you love me?
Whatever did I do; am I just
nothing?

You used your tricks to harm me,
and wounded me by your words.
Some scars never heal,
Nothing

Your priorities were distorted
Alcohol was your idol,
I realized I was simply
nothing

I believe Family is the most important thing
You claimed it.
Yet your actions proved otherwise,
Nothing

The lies begins to come out,
I'm victim to your hypocrisy,
and fading into
nothing

As I learned the truth,
and free myself from your grasp
I realize that I was never
nothing

Starting live anew,
running free from the past
learning to live without you, no longer
Nothing

And in the end,
I realize at last
it is not I, but it is you who is
nothing.

have you ever heard of a greater love?

This is the day 6 years ago that I decided to write about a youth retreat I'd gone on the previous weekend. It was junior year of high school. To set the setting: I was still living with my father and I was homeschooled. I was attending the Church of Christ. I was full force into self injury, and starting to lapse into an eating disorder. I am not editing grammar or words, but to think the day that my faith was strengthened was six years ago, only to be shattered less than a year later. Only to be torn to shreds. That year I started to climb out of depression, to see the light, to see HOPE. But then senior year happened, and it all fell to shit.

*****


This retreat..blew me away. and I shall share it with you. Because you are all cool people..and I can.

Friday wasn't much. It was Friday. Not much happens on Friday. Just cause it's Friday..'ya know?

I watched soccer tournments on Saturday..fun stuff..and attended an elective Saturday afternoon..which was great...

Saturday was the day. I broke. I’ve been breaking for awhile, and I just totally broke, and I didn’t tell anyone what all was going on. I mean, I can’t even talk about it. I’ve never shared this part of my life with anyone. I’m Angelique. I’m strong. And I made it through the morning fine. Had a blast watching soccer, and eating, and just being a kid, just hanging out and goofing around and hanging out. Which isn’t something that I do often. Finally, it happened. The floodgates broke. And I mean, I was to the point where I was crying so hard, that I couldn’t talk..or sing the words to the worship songs. And I just felt so totally empty inside. And I was. I was empty and broken. and I just sat there and cried. and cried. for at least fifteen twenty minutes…it started out as nothing then got harder…and I was so tempted to walk forward, but let all my fears ingulf me. Kinda like the morning message, when he was talking about fears. I let my fears consume me.

And why? Everything. Like they showed a video of Christ on the Cross…and I lost it. I’ve cut myself when he died for me? Come on! How could I be so lame? How could I turn to myself, when he died for me so I could have life? How could it be? And I’ve felt so empty inside lately, even when singing the worship songs this weekend, and I can’t make myself belive the Bible, like I know what it says, and I know it’s true…and I can’t make myself believe it.

And you know what amazed me more? I was sitting there with two other friends. My youth pastor and the rest of my church was way behind me. A sponser from another church came over to me and asked me if I was alright. And he prayed for me and told me he would be contining to pray for me. It just amazes me. That I'll most likely never see this guy again (unless I'm at other local Ohio events and see him)..and it's just..wow..and he also came over to me on Sunday and told me he was..and it's just amazing..it blows me away..that someone who doesn't even know me can care about me and want to pray for me. That someone who knows nothing about me, my bitter past, my unknown future..and want to help me. And it hurts..and it heals.. 'ya know?

On Sunday..I broke. Again. I'm tired of breaking..but I realized that I do. It's true. I just like God. I don't really love him, I don't really have the burning passion I should. I have so much in my life eating up at me. But I'm too scared to recommit. Which is why I didn't this weekend. Cause I always blackslide. I always fall back into my old habits. So why should I even try to change when I know I'm going to fall back into what I once was agian, 'ya know?

And I feel so empty inside. And broken. And I like God. I don't love Him. and I hate it. Both times..my youth minister asked me if I was alright and if I needed to talk. I told him I didn'tknow if I was alright and that I didn't need to talk..orthat I din'dtk know if he could help..becuase I'm just hurting so much..hurting beyond words I guess?

My elective Saturday night was just plain out spiffy. Chris is so crazy and great. God forgives me, and I really need to forgive myself. I've sinned against God, and I need to realize that. I need to realize that God's given me forgiveness, and I need to let it go. I just can't sit there staring at my sins, and just be like..whoa..that's cool...and not do anything. I need to get in gear, and do something wtih it.

I didn't eat much on Sunday...and so of course, I got told I needed to eat..but I still didn't, and I really don't care. I didn't take communion either. And I feel bad about it, because I attend a church that believes you should take communion every sunday. But my heart isn't right with God. And eveything is broken. So..I can't take it since everything is so wrong..

And I look at the bracelet I got. I didn't even get it when everyone else did..I was crying too hard to go up front..so I dashed up after it was over and grabbed one, but that's ok. Sure, it's too big, and just dangles on my wrist..but hey. I wear it for a double reason. Livestrong. They livestrong through cancer. I support that cause. I am a surviour. I dunno how many of you know that. But I'm a surviour. I had a tumour removed when I was four. Of course, everyone has friends and family members who suffer from cancer, I don't think there's a single soul on planet earth who hasn't been touched in some way, shape, or form by cancer. And in the same way, I can livestrong without cutting. I can livestrong in Christ.

And I'm seriously shutting up now.

****
I see this post, and long for that childlike faith to return. I'd already seen hell at that point and had no clue of the further flames of hell that would lick me again. How I wish I could stay innocent and naive. How I wish I could stay hopeful for such beautiful things.

Halloween, Reformation, and Independence

I find it interesting that my Independence Day falls on Reformation Day. I don't expect all my readers to know the details about it, but here are the basics:

Once upon a time in a land far away, there was a dude named Luther. His teachings radically reformed Christianity, and even formed a denomination (called, you guessed it, Lutheranism! Wow, y'all are a smart lot!). Luther, more or less, decided enough was enough and nailed the 95 Theses to the door of the Schlosskirche, a castle church in Wittenberg in 1517. This sparked the Reformation. That's a very barebones version, and likely not the most historically accurate. I'm not a profound theologian.

It's certainly interesting. This day is also Halloween - grim grinning ghosts, candy, trick or treat, and more. Halloween was banned when I was a kid because, you see, Jesus wouldn't go door to door begging for candy. Clearly.

But when I think of 31.10, my brain goes back to a different place. 31.10.2005. I was 18 years old, and a senior in high school. A few days later I got the rest of my possessions out of my father's apartment, but that was it. It's hard to believe I've been away from him for six years. It's hard to believe where I was when I was 18. I was still cutting at the time. I was deep in depression (understandably! I had faced things that no one ever should, and made decisions that some adults never have to make). My father later sent me emails chastising me for my decisions.

It gets more complicated because this anniversary also marks the shattering of my faith. Up until this point, I was pretty confident in my faith. But when I went to the church for help and assistance with a difficult, painful choice, and was turned away, my heart broke. When they helped him (note: he needed help, he NEEDS help so badly. But he didn't get what he needed and it breaks my heart. I still want nothing more for him to get the help he needs) instead of helping me and literally turned me away, then I got angry and bitter.

This is a song I remember hearing on Christian radio a far amount those days:

She fools all of her friends into thinking she's so strong,
but she still sleeps with the light on
and she acts like it's alright on
As she smiles again
And her mother lies there sick with cancer
And her friends don't understand her
She's a question without answers
Who feels like falling apart
And she knows, she's so much more than worthless
She needs to find a purpose
She wonders what she did to deserve this
And she's calling out to you
This is a call, this is a call out...
This Is A Call - Thousand Foot Krutch

I think this song sums up that time frame well. Replace mother with "grandfather" (who died the summer after I graduated high school) and there you have it.

I don't know anymore. I sometimes wonder if I'll ever recover from what my father did to me. Maybe I will. Maybe I won't. Maybe I will and it will always shape a part of my personality.

But sometimes, oh sometimes, I wish when my insomnia is rampant I could pick up my phone and cry to my Daddy. I wish that I could find a friend to get in a car with and drive home, knock on the door, and shock him by showing up randomly. Oh, how I wish beyond wishing that I had a Daddy. But I NEVER had a Daddy - I had a father. And at times, since I don't speak to either parent, I feel orphaned. It makes for some really awkward moments in class some times. For example: "How did your parents parent you when you were five?" Cue instant panic attack from me trying to avoid thinking about it. We had to do a family survey in adol. psych and thank GOD the prof bailed me out when she took one look at my face and could tell it was distressing me.

Gosh. As much as people say it's boring to be normal, trust me, this is one place where I'd love to be normal. Trust me.

I sit here locked inside my head

All your insults and your curses
Make me feel like I'm not a person
And I feel like I am nothing
But you made me, so do something
'Cause I'm fucked up because you are
Need attention, attention you couldn't give
I sit here locked inside my head
Remembering everything you said
This silence gets us nowhere, gets us nowhere way too fast
Staind - For You

How long before you screw it up?
And how many times do I have to tell you to hurry up?
With everything I've done for you,
the least you can you do is keep quiet
Be a good girl,
you gotta try a little harder
That simply wasn't good enough
to make us proud
Alanis Morissette - Perfect

Mommy, don't you love me?
Then why do you hurt me?
Daddy, don't you love me?
Then why did you hit me?
Well I tried to make you proud,
but for crying out loud
Just give me the chance to hide away
Exhaustion takes over,
won't this someday be over?
Jars of Clay - He

I can't stop obsessing over the fact the anniversary is coming. I can't stop thinking about it. I want to stop thinking about it, but my stupid brain won't turn off. I want to be free from this crap.

I just want to be free.

Love in any language, not so spoken here.

I find myself struggling with love. It's such a simple concept, really, but at the same time it's so complex and layered. It's seemingly simple, but also complicated and painful. There are so many Bible verses that speak of love:

"Perfect love casts out all fear. We love because He first loved us." 1 John 4:18-19
"Love is patient, love is kind. It does not envy, it does not post, it is not proud. blah blah blah" 1 Cor.

And so many more. The Beatles sang that "All you need is love." We need love at the core of our being, it's something we all long and crave for.

But the thing is? Love scares the everliving shit out of me. Imagine being a child, and your father never telling you he loved you. Imagine being a child, and the hands that were supposed to love you wound up hurting you. Imagine it. (This is also why I cannot view God as a father and cannot grasp that theological concept, but that is another blog entry all together).

People who know me know I struggle to tell my friends I love them. Sure, I show it in many ways: I send them small gifts, I send them cards, I write out Bible verses on note cards to encourage them, and so on, and so forth. But to actually say the words "I love you" is SO DIFFICULT.

And I think that is where some of my God struggles come into play: I can't grasp the fact that He loves me so. I can't grasp the fact that I am loved by Him. And it's not that I don't want to be Loved by Him, it's that I don't fully understand fatherly love. At all. Again, the father rant is for another blogpost (likely on 31.10, considering that's my independence day)

Love is so much - and something I crave so deeply. Something my soul yearns for, something my spirit desires.

But I don't understand it,
and it scares me to death.

Sometimes you just gotta buckle down

People have often told me they don't understand how I do it.
How I went gluten free on a tight budget.
How I stay in school with all my health problems.
How I function on my own.
How I make ends meet each month.

The thing is I haven't done anything special. I'm not anyone special, I'm just your average 24 year old who loves Sims and Pokemon, anime and manga, the colour orange, monkeys and elephants, you get the picture. And the thing is before I had to do it, I thought I couldn't do it.

The truth is when you find yourself in difficult circumstances, you somehow find the strength to carry on. When you see others in dire places and think "Wow, I could never do that" the truth is when push comes to shove and it's your only option, you just buckle down and do it. It's not easy. It's painful. It sucks. It's difficult.

But I'm not a superhuman because I am where I am now. Because I stay in school with mostly decent grades (adol psych will come up!), because I live on a small budget, because I do so much myself.

Truth is I don't know how I do it, and some days I doubt that I can keep doing it.

An elephant never forgets

I like elephants. That's a bit of an understatement, I love elephants. I also love monkeys, but that's for another post. Well, I'm wearing a monkey t-shirt but the picture angle kind of hides it.

Elephants. An elephant never forgets, they say. A Nora never forgets, either. It in some ways a cool quality I have, I remember when my friends mention wanting something badly, and I try to make it happen for presents. I remember old nicknames and inside jokes. But at the same time, I remember old hurts, old aches, old pains. I don't forget easy, and it's hard because so many things I'd just rather forget. I'd rather forget how much pain I've been through and I'd rather forget where I've been. But forgetting the bad and remembering the good would hardly do me any good. It would only cause further pain.

But oh how I dream.
How I wish that I could just let go of all these things that have hurt me. And only remember the good.

"You can go on living as long as your heart believes,
although the scars of yesterday remain,
let's stay together always."

The scars will remain, both physical and emotional. The scars won't fade, but it doesn't mean I can't go on living and hoping and wishing and dreaming.

I just want you to know who I am

I remember the first time I cried out for help from my depression. I remember the first time I held out my hand. It was 2001 and I was 14 years old. I had braces complete with rubber bands that snapped across the room when I spoke and no sense of style. Exhibit A: school picture from that year. Again, I was so young and naive to many things. I read my poetry from back then, and some of it breaks my heart even now for a much younger me. 14 is far too young to plan out a suicide. 14 is far too young to hold a razor blade in your hand, and makes imprints on tender white skin. I still have those scars. I still see them daily. I still weep for my younger self. But the first time I reached out for help, besides posting on internet message boards that I was broken, hurting, and scared, before emailing my youth pastor and telling him what an inner hell I lived in... was to write a poem, and give it to my Sunday school teacher. This is that poem:

The pain that grips my youthful heart
Rips me up, tears me apart
The tears that brim in my young eyes
Might come to you as a surprise
I cannot handle the pain
Not the tears that fall like rain
The dull, study ache that's settled deep down
The heavy burden that I carry around
But I hide the pain-I hide the tears
I hide the saddness, I hide my fears
Nobody understands, and I feel like nobody cares
And all I can do is say some simple prayers
I just don't know, I gotta get it out
I cannot take this burdern about
No one to turn to, all I can do is cry
No one who'd care if I should die
I'm about ready to use it, I don't know what to do
I guess all I can do is turn to you

I left the spelling errors intact. It didn't seem right to correct them. A month after giving this to my sunday school teacher, I had the police at my school to talk me out of suicide. My parents were blindsided. They had no idea I was so hurting, so broken. I hid it well. I learned that lesson at 14 years old: how to completely hide my pain. How to retreat within myself, how to throw up walls so high that no one could enter, not even myself. I learned how to perfect my facade, how to live within myself. To smile and laugh, and act like I was fine. But the truth is I wasn't. The truth is I was broken. I recently found this snippet of a poem from back then, and my heart broke. I wept.

Just wanna die, just wanna die
Tired of just wonderin' why
Wanna die, wanna be in my grave
Too scared and afraid to wave
Wanna be strong wanna be brave

I was 14. I hadn't lived yet. I had no idea what I would face later in my life, that I would make such painful decisions at age 18 and again at age 21. I didn't know that I would continue to spiral deeper into depression, bounce from counselor to counselor, and have labels such as PTSD and EDNOS slapped on me. That just one cut would turn into a lifelong addiction, and every day is a daily battle to not lapse back into it. I had no idea.

It's scary. I just want to go back and hold my younger self, to tell her at age 24 she'd finally be pulling herself out of all this crap. That she'd finally start approaching the other side, that there's hoping waiting for her. I was fourteen. I shouldn't have felt like this... and yet I did.

she still sleeps with the light on

"She fools all of her friends into thinking she's so strong,
but she still sleeps with the light on,
and she acts like it's alright on,
as she smiles again...

and he cries but you rarely see him do it
and he loves but he's scared to use it
and he hides behind the music
'cause he likes it that way."

I sometimes wonder about myself. I've gotten so good at putting up walls (I'm reminded of the song "some walls" here.. "But if there's any hope for love at all, some walls must fall).

I've perfected the act of putting up walls. I've perfected the act of acting like I'm fine - smile on face, while inside my heart is breaking. True, the one closest to me generally see through it, but it scares me how GOOD I am at it. I've fooled therapists, doctors, friends, all into thinking I'm fine, even myself at times.

Why do I do this?
It doesn't help anyone.
Not me, not them, not you, not me.

But yet, it's what's comfortable. It's what's safe. It's what I've done for years. It's where I fit - safe inside walls that keep the real me hidden. For I'm afraid if I'm open about my past, people will judge me. Logical Psychology Major Nora says "You stupidface, you'd never tell a client that stuff is their fault. How are you any different?"

But Hurting, Scared Nora says "Of course it's different for you. You were there. You know what happened. You know if you acted different, this wouldn't have happened."

Logical Psychology Nora says "You had no control. People want to know what your childhood was like, not just the glorified version, not just the good parts you tell."
Hurting, Scared Nora cowers at the thought.

And yet, if I had a client who was like me, I'd urge them to be open with their friends, their therapist, the ones they are close to. But since it's myself I'm dealing with... everything is totally different. It doesn't matter, because Hurting, Scared Nora always wins over Psychology Nora.

Really need to work on changing that... but how do you tear down walls that took all those years to build up?