i need some distraction, oh beautiful release

i hate how i'm feeling lately.
i don't know that it's depression. i'm not sad. i'm not sad, no, not really. sadness isn't the quite the right word.  i mean yeah, i feel overwhelming sadness some days but it's not the overarching feeling. it's not the primary feeling. it's not the main thing i feel.
apathy? sure, i've given up caring about cleaning (really need to do that, my area of the apartment is godawful) and i've given up caring about life, the future, what happens to me. i have hopes and dreams but who am i fooling? they'll never happen. my health will never improve to the point where i'm able to hold down a job. i can barely handle school, what kind of idiot am i to think that i'll be able to have a future?
then, what? hopeless? i guess you could say that, but i don't even know if it's the right word. sad? depressed? none of these words seem quite right. lonely? scared? overwhelmed? i don't even know what words describe me anymore. if there are words. if there are any words.
i'm scared to see a doctor, scared to be honest. scared to let people see how things really are. what if they judge me? what if they don't like me? what if they can't help me? so instead, i let myself spiral.
i let the anxiety take over. i let the fear take over. i let the what-ifs take over.  when talking, face-to-face talking, i either lock down or i've been dealing with this stuff for so long that i've learned how to mask it, learned how to downplay it, so things aren't really as bad as i realize. i tend to downplay things and let them go into they are super sonic bad... case in point, recent ear infection.
i feel scared and helpless and alone and like a failure.
and this emptiness. and despair. and the feeling that i will never pull myself out.
i know i'm not fooling everyone, that would be naive. but why do i try? why don't i give people a chance? it's like i've been hurt and hurt and hurt so i'm scared to show the truth.
will they love me less? doubtful. so why do i let myself believe such things? why don't i just trust? why am i so scared?
why do i feel like falling into self injury? and i'm not suicidal, but i'll be damned if i don't think about death. if i don't think about a break from the mental and physical pain. i know it's not an option, but damn if it doesn't come to mind.
i hate feeling like this. i hate feeling that things will never get better. because... what if that feeling is right?

But people have problems that are worse than mine, I don't want you to think I'm complaining all the time

I feel I'm on the verge of another depressive spell, and it sucks. Likely triggered by all the back to school posts. No back to school for me. Nope. No job, one class, just stuck in the same monotony. I'm entering physical therapy, trying to get a grasp on my physical pain, and my mental health? THAT'S a frick-fracking joke and a half.

I have a script for Effexor across the room, from a useless appointment with a psychiatrist. From one who pushed me for details about my PTSD, why I haven't had sexual relations, wouldn't listen to my past medical history (she tried to put me on Prozac when I told her no less than five minutes previously that Prozac had made me worse), etc. For this week at least, I've made the choice to stay  off antidepressants, though it doesn't mean it's set it stone and I won't at some point hunt for a new psychiatrist. But there's a part of me, this twisted, demented part of me, that's tempted to fill the Effexor script and take it in an act of self-sabotage. Even though I know that since it's in the class as Cymbalta it's a really stupid idea, and even though I know it'll jack with my heart rate, it's the irrational, self-injuring part of my brain. Even though I know I'll likely have side effects from it, even though I know things will spiral further out of control, it's so tempting just to completely throw the towel in and screw things up. I hate how twisted my brain is at times.

My eating has gone to crap. Most days? I'm lucky to get one meal in and enough fluids. Some days? No eating happens. My weight is dropping again and I'm finding it hard to care. I'm coming close to cutting again and this is preventing me from it. I don't want to cut and I don't want to not eat, but right now I just need some way to hurt myself to control my depression. I am in such a bad state, aren't I? I'm not suicidal. That's not a problem at all. But if hurting myself keeps me alive for now... I just don't even know at the moment.

I feel like I'm crumbling. I feel like I'm tumbling. I feel like I am falling to shreds. I hate who I am. I hate who I am becoming. I hate how I feel. And I am so helpless. I feel beyond hopeless. I'm at the point where I don't know if things will ever get better. How can they? So many antidepressants have failed. Maybe I'm destined to be a failure. Maybe things will never get better. Maybe I'll just fall to pieces and there won't be a way to duck tape me back together.

I hate how I let myself fall this low. I hate how I feel like I'm crumbling to pieces. I need a break. I need a vacation. I need out for awhile. I need to go somewhere that's not here. Somewhere away. If I don't fall apart before then. If I don't fall to pieces. I hate how depression is. I hate how my depression makes me irrational and want to make irrational decisions. I hate how it makes my brain all foggy, like I'm seeing through mashed potato covered lenses instead of clear ones. I hate how it makes me feel.

I don't like what I'm becoming. I don't like who I am. I hate how when I talk to therapists and doctors that I just lock down. I retreat within myself. It's safe in there. It's scary and dark, but it's comfortable and familiar, even though it's a terrifying place. Because even though it's dark and scary - it is what I know and so there I stay. I don't lock down on purpose, and then the doctor gets pissed off that I don't talk to them when it isn't that I don't want to, it's that I can't. The words and feelings are completely locked and trapped inside me and I can't pull them out. I want to talk, but it's so hard. It isn't easy. And I feel so trapped. I feel so trapped within myself.

I don't know what to do. I don't know what I'm becoming. All I know is I'm falling... falling... falling...

you give and take away...

I haven't written in awhile, so midnight while watching Soul Eater is the perfectly logical choice, right? Of course. As I'm curled up here in bed, wishing my summer had taken an incredibly different term, the start of school just days away (f I can afford it, but that's another rant for another day), not knowing how my life is going to play out, it's sort of terrifying watching where my life is going.

On July 9, I had repeat back surgery, this time to do a partial hardware removal. Things were expected to be fairly uncomplicated. Two day hospital stay, sent home to recover, not a big deal, right? Well, I should have known better. My two day stay turned into a nine day stay, as I developed hospital-acquired pneumonia, diagnosed the night my fever hit 104.7 degrees (highest fever of my life, man). Nearly a month later, I still have a Foley in. Walking is incredibly difficult, as my high school knee injury decided to completely flare up and crap out, so I have a very attractive full leg brace. I knew at one point I may need a full leg brace, but it was a hard  pill to swallow alongside the back surgery.

The surgery also gave me wicked insomnia. I'm able to sleep, some nights, but not others. My primary (who is named Happy Thanksgiving... yeah... really...) prescribed Lunesta but my insurance is denying it and we're having to fight for it. Le sigh. Just like my Lyrica fight and that took a few weeks to get approved. It's hard, man, it's hard.

The simplest trips exhaust me, the most basic chores make me feel like death on a stick. I'm struggling with recovery, and it sucks! It's been a rough, rough road. I just don't know how I should feel about it, even. Should I feel relief that I'm recovering? Regret that things have turned out so poorly? Thankful that, for the most part, my doctors finally got their heads out of their asses are and trying to help me?

I find myself terribly angry at God. While at one point, my faith is keeping me going, another part is filled with rage and anger. Why did He let things turn out like this? Why can't He just freaking HEAL me already? He's God, right? Surely He can make me better and take away my pain. But at the same time, He's not. And I can't understand why. I can't understand what lessons He wants me to learn from this.

My life has become a whirlwind of appointments, and when it's not, doing some simple picking up and laying in bed playing Persona 4, Final Fantasy, or Zelda. Or watching Netflix. It sucks that this is what my life has turned into. It sucks that this is how I'm spending my summer. Not having fun outside, not having fun with my friends... but laying around in pain. I mean yes, good things are happening this summer, but at the same time, so much not good is happening. I'm watching my health fall to shambles, and not a single thing can be done.

I just wish there was an option to make it easier. I just wish there was an option to make this pain go away. I just wish there was an option to make things better.

Jesus loves me, loves me still, though I'm very weak and ill

I feel like my world has been shattered and turned upside down. I knew going into my appointment today that there was the chance I'd need another back surgery, but  now it's facing me dead on and I'm scared and I don't know what to do.

I went in for my two year followup today (two years is tomorrow. I graduate a year from that. Cool).

I looked super classy, man, super classy.

And... they don't know why I'm in so much pain. They don't know why the facet blocks failed, why physical therapy is failing, while I am just suffering at the moment. There is no answer. The doctor is considering removing some of my hardware, but it doesn't come risk-free. At the same time, leaving them in doesn't come risk-free. So do I put myself through another surgery? Or do I just live with the pain? Do I do a surgery that could cause possible future NF complications, or do I continue with the way things are, suffering?

The doctor can't give me clear-cut answers. There are no clear-cut answers. I have to make a decision, and live with the ramifications of it either way. I wish I did have a clear neon sign telling me which choice to make, but there aren't any of those. 

We'll always be good company, you and me, yes together we'll be.

March 28th, 2013, I went to the animal shelter and fell in love with a gorgeous orange cat. However, by the time they called our landlord for approval the next day, he was adopted. I was sad, but I knew I'd found another cat. I actually wound up adopting his friend living with him in the shelter, Chica. I hadn't paid much attention to her as I'd fallen for Harry, but that's okay. I think she forgives me.

I think love at first sight is a bit of an understatement. I fell for her, but still looked and played with the other cats. Nope, Chica it was. On the adoption form for Harry, I wrote "I want someone who needs me as much as I need them." And while that someone wasn't Harry, it was Chica, who I renamed Athena. You see, Athena could have been staying at the shelter awhile. She's five years old and polydactyl. People don't always want the older or the imperfect cats. She'd also already been returned to the shelter once.

But Athena is everything I could want in a cat. She knew she was mine pretty quickly, even though I  had my worries at first. They are settled now. Athena wakes me up from my nightmares. I must give out some sign in my sleep I'm distressed, because I suddenly have a kitty waking me up and trying to cuddle me. Athena doesn't let me go to school when I'm too sick to go (which has already happened twice in two weeks, stupid immune system) by plopping down on top of me and demanding I stay in the warm bed with her, fine, you insist.

The poor thing was worried to death about me  when I went to the hospital. Before I'd left, I was too sick to get in bed and was lying on the floor with her blankets. She curled up next to me. While I was gone, she spent most of her time by the door, waiting for me to return. When I came home, I swooped her up and those paws and claws dug straight into my shoulder and she was all over me. Instant face kisses. She then hardly left my side for awhile, but that's okay.

Reunited and it feels so good...

Athena loves getting in places she doesn't belong, but that's because she's a cat. Athena also loves toys that are not her toys. Her favourites include the plastic Easter eggs from my Easter egg basket. Athena also is found of my stuffed Pikachu and her hairbrush. Little bugger.

I find it very telling I adopted Athena on Good Friday, two days before Easter. Easter is about Resurrection and new life. I had just come out of a serious depression due to my Cymbalta reaction and had been suicidal.  Athena helped bring new life into me. My little Fluffy McFluffyButt once again gave me a reason to live.For a little furry baby, who depends on me for food, water, shelter, cuddles, and a clean litter box. For a little furry baby who needs love and affection, just like all of us.

Athena is the Greek goddess of is the goddess of wisdom, courage, inspiration, civilization, law and justice, just warfare, mathematics, strength, strategy, the arts, crafts, and skill. Athena is my courage, Athena is my wisdom. Athena is my inspiration. Hey, maybe because she's the goddess of mathematics, she'll help me pass my class, right?

Athena is my beautiful baby. She's my first cat, and has turned me into a crazy cat lady. But I can live with that. Athena Persephone is my little, furry friend who knows just how much she is loved by both me and my roommate. We've forever lost certain spaces in our desks, bookshelves, and various items of ours... but we've also found someone who is forever in our hearts.

Soft kitty, warm kitty, little ball of fur

Happy kitty, sleepy kitty, purr, purr, purr.

I thank God for giving me my little Greek goddess just when I needed her the most. I thank God for my little fluffy baby, who loves me and needs me. I thank God for my cat, and how He supplied me with my new furry best friend just when I needed her the most. Thank you, God. And thank you Animal Ark in Hastings, Minnesota for allowing me to bring home Miss Athena. :)

And my wounds will be made whole

When people find out I'm a ministry major, they are often confused. I'm been hurt very badly by the church, so why would I want to work in any sort of ministry setting? I'm very cynical and downright callous toward the church at times, why the heck do I want to spend my LIFE working in it? 

I guess on the surface, it doesn't make sense. Why would it? I have been hurt badly by the church. I went to a church for help for many things, several times. I went to the the church for help when I was suicidal  I was pushed aside, treated as a burden. I went for help from my abusive father, and I was pushed aside. I went for help to press charges against my father, and was given illegal advice not to.

I have every reason to hate the church. I have every reason that I should be against Christianity. I have been let down by the church again and again. I'm reminded that I was never good enough. I was never one of the "cool kids". I was always a burden, always needing something. Always the girl with health problems, always the one who needed a ride, always the one from a broken home. Never the one who had her act together. Never the one who could offer anything. I had a decent enough voice, but other kids could sing better. I could act, but others could act better.

Senior year, when my entire life fell apart, the place that stood by my side to be my solid rock? My public high school. Not my church. They sided with my father, whereas my school took strides to keep me safe. My high school teachers took care of me, when my church could not.

But, I'm reminded of the Casting Crowns song from several years ago:

But if we are the bodyWhy aren't His arms reaching?Why aren't His hands healing?Why aren't His words teaching?And if we are the bodyWhy aren't His feet going?Why is His love not showing them there is a way?There is a way 

Jesus paid much too high a priceFor us to pick and choose who should comeAnd we are the body of Christ

 Jesus does NOT want us picking and choosing who comes and who stays. Jesus does NOT want the ones who need help the most, turned away by the church. And I know I'm just one person...

 (obligatory Muppet link! Oh, come on. It's me. You had to be expecting it!),

but maybe I can be the one person who can make a difference in that child's life.

I have a passion for special needs ministry. I have a passion for the ones often overlooked. It is BECAUSE I have been hurt by the church and by so-called ministries like the church and IHOP that I want to go in the ministry. I know most people hurt by the church want to run from it with their head between their legs. It doesn't mean I've been hurt more, it doesn't mean they've been hurt more. It doesn't mean I've been hurt less, it doesn't mean they've been hurt less. There is no equating wounds when it comes to this sort of things - it does no good. We've all been hurt. I'm reminded of a song that I sang on my ninth grade mission trip to Miami: "I am a wounded soldier, but I will not leave the fight, because the great physician is healing me. So I'm standing in the battle, in the armour of His light because His mighty power is real in me. I am loved, I am accepted, by the Saviour of my soul. I am loved, I am accepted, and my wounds will be made whole."

One church did not accept me. Certain ministries have not accepted me. SO FRICK FRACKING WHAT?  God loves the outcasts, too...

(Oh, come on. I already posted Muppets. Hunchback should not surprise you on a serious blog entry by now from me!)

You know what? The outcasts need a place, too. I want to help the outcasts, because I was once an outcast, too. I still am, I suppose. But just because I was outcast by ministries, just because I wasn't good enough for them, doesn't mean I don't want anything to do with them.

In fact, it's what channeled my passion. It's what made me want to do them. To step up to the plate for the children who had youth pastors who were just there for the cool kids, and ran away when times became difficult for the children. To step up for the children who fell for the wayside, while the youth pastor's wife pleaded with them. To step up for the children who fell through the cracks, because the youth pastor just didn't want to devote the time with them. To be there for the ones with special needs, whatever those special needs may be.

It's going to be a wild ride, one that I feel will bring me a lot of healing, but it's my wild ride and my journey. And I'm prepared to take it.