Thin Line

I'm sitting here, dressed and ready to go. The phrase "power hour" makes me laugh a little. Can we define power please? I don't know much but I'm pretty sure downing shots until you puke is the opposite of having power. It's more like giving it away. Why I'm even going to this event is beyond me. Perhaps I'm just lonely and I have a desire to be around people. Maybe I just want to go out and live a little. More than likely I just want to make sure no one gets hurt or gets into the driver's seat when they shouldn't. Or how about all of the above? Yeah, I choose that answer.

There's something else though. This tiny feeling inside of me that desires a taste. It isn't the alcohol that I want though. The idea sickens me. It's more the freedom from my thoughts and pain. I want to forget, just for a moment. I want to let go of everything and just be a kind of crazy that I have never been before.

You know I could very easily become an alcoholic and an addict. I have that addictive personality and incredible low self worth. Hah. Guess it's a good thing I have more sense.

I think one day I'm going to be the one that disappears and never comes back.

Cries for Help

I cried hard for a good amount of time into my boyfriend's arms. He just held me and kissed my head while I blubbered to him and released this overwhelming tension I held inside of me. After I was done I could breathe. I hadn't realized it but I had been holding my breath for a very long time. Weeks maybe. Crying to him was what I needed and he did a wonderful job of not trying to fix any of my problems. He just listened and told me he loved me. He's perfect.

I, on the other hand, am more messed up than I ever realized. If you were to closely examine my heart and soul you would probably be horrified. It's held together my stitches of scars and bruises. My heart barely beats and my soul is huddled in a corner too terrified to come out. I'm a heavy weight fighter who has gone too many rounds and is on their last rope. Still standing but barely hanging on. I'm no longer throwing punches. All I do is hold my arms tightly against my body, my fists covering my face. I'm doing my best to block every hit and just wait for the bell to ring because I know the next hit that lands on my body will be the knockout punch.

What I'm asking from everyone isn't fair. What I absolutely need from a few select people is so completely pathetic. People should not have to constantly prove their love to me. I should not need this kind of reassurance. But I do. I need to know where my worth lies in your eyes, and in yours. I need to know why you take time to talk to me. I need to know who I am to you and if I have ever made a difference. I need to know if you plan on leaving. I need to know if I'm going to get a phone call, a text, a letter saying that you don't want me anymore. I need to know if one day you're just going to disappear.

I don't know how to heal. My wounds lie so deep. My past dictates my thoughts and emotions. I don't know how to let go of this fear. How am I supposed to trust anyone when all I've experienced is broken promises? I hate living this way. I really do. I'm so messed up. I need help. This is me begging for it. Please.

I'm on my knees. Don't be the one to throw that punch.

Rewind.

I just wrote a blog. A very honest and frustrated one. But I think it should be left unread. I think I'm going crazy actually.

All I know is I want the truth about how you feel. I want to have a clear understanding about where I stand and who I am. I want to know my importance. And if the answer is that there isn't any I want to know that too. I don't want to live in this paranoia. and I can't do this alone. I need your help.

I don't want to get burned.

Three in One

So this blog is about 3 different topics. I thought about making separate posts but I figured that this was easier. So if you're a reader, bear with me.

Green-Eyed Monster?
So I don't really consider myself an overly jealous person. I have my moments but they're not a big deal. I have no concern over the faithfulness of my boyfriend. Although I tease him sometimes, I know he would never do anything to betray me. Though I suppose this jealousy isn't about that. No this has to do with my impatience probably more than anything else. Jealousy is just an unhealthy byproduct. I can't help it though. It's one of those things that gets me instantly bitter and aggravated in seconds. Once I realize what I'm feeling I settle down but that jealousy still eats at me. I just want so badly what they have. That stupid diamond ring. See? I'm already getting upset. Hah. Everywhere I look someone is getting engaged. If I log onto facebook and see another picture of a left hand I may just explode. And that doesn't even count all the people I know that are already married, or even have kids already. People I went to school with, extended family members, people I know at church. What makes me even more mad is when they're younger than me. Or have been dating less than Chris and I have. It makes me a little crazy.
Now don't get me wrong, I don't bug Chris about this. He knows what I want and at times he sees my frustration but I'm in no position to pressure him. I know the day will come it's just a matter of when. And I'll wait. Impatiently, but I'll wait. It's just I love him so much. He's all I want now and forever. I don't want to wait because for me there's no reason to. I just want to be his. This time of year is especially difficult for me, too. With my birthday, then Christmas, then New Years, then Valentine's day, then our anniversary. Now although I have no expectation of a ring soon, I can't help but have that hope inside of me. It's a thought that pounces on me and I try to smother it as soon as it enters my head. But that's impossible. I dream about it. I find myself just sitting around doing nothing and suddenly grinning with this wonderful and yet somewhat painful tightness in my chest and butterflies in my stomach and then I get mad at myself for letting that thought come in. But what can you do? I guess nothing. As soon as Feb 26th passes it'll get a bit better. Keep praying for patience Steph.

Kayla
Being someone's best friend is a complete honor for me. Mostly because it's the highest honor I can give someone. My friend Kayla and I have been friends for seven years and our relationship is pretty strong. I have never considered her my best friend because until Erin, no one was capable of breaking down that wall I had up. But I've always been Kayla's and in the smallest ways she constantly makes a point in telling me. I love her very much and I miss her daily. She's the craziest girl I know and I have so many amazing moments with her. She makes me feel at ease and I have a little too much fun with her. We have these giggle fits that are just so ridiculously insane and that Spring Break in Cali is something I will never forget. I'm seriously laughing out loud right now. She's in the Air Force and was recently deployed but is now back home in Italy where she's stationed. We don't get to talk too much but late last night I got a text message from an unknown number. It was Kayla and she needed to talk to me. We text back and forth for over an hour and my heart was just breaking for her. She's going through a real difficult time with her husband. For a lack of a better word, he's a complete ass. Or at least he's acting like one. I just feel so useless to her. Especially being so far away. She deserves so much. I stood by her side as her maid of honor when she married this man and I had so much hope for them. But the way he treats her infuriates me. All I can do is offer up my prayers and be here to talk to when she needs me. It just seems like it's not enough though. I'm her best friend. I should at least be killing the man or something.

El Paso
I went back home to El Paso on Wednesday morning and got back a few hours ago. The trip was way too short but it was so desperately needed. I hated leaving though. My family there is all so amazing. They make me feel loved. They treat me so well and the joy on their faces when they see me is irreplaceable. I live in a house filled with different family members but besides my sister, none of them act like they care. But six hours away is a woman who raised me when my own mother wouldn't, a grandmother who is so beautiful and still filled with so much life and energy, and the best cousins and tias in the world. I hate being away from them. Seeing them was wonderful though. Going back home gave me a strength that I was lacking. Feeling their love and support made me have the hope that one day things will get better. It gave me what I needed to keep on going. I love my family so much.

The Power of Words

I fear this statement is myself being a bit of a broken record but words mean a lot to me. Perhaps even more so the written word. Or even in these days the text based. Now I tend to cringe at most compliments. I don't mean to but it's a general reflex. I used to combat them verbally all the time but I've learned to take in most of them. I am far from perfect but usually I take them graciously with a smile and just beat myself up in my head. The closer I am to you, the more struggle I put up. This is a defense mechanism to perfection. I do not consciously do it. It's partly out of necessity. At least that's what my brain tells me.

I write on this blog purely for myself. I'm not trying to create beauty or show some hidden cavern of my mind to the world. I write on here because it's an escape. I have a little journal in my purse for much of the same reason. Ever since I could write I've been praised for it. I've won contests and teacher's admiration. But even then I didn't keep writing because I thought I was good. On the contrary, I never understood the praise. I wrote because it was so much easier than speaking. I wrote because I felt something when I did. I wrote because it made me happy.

In 6th grade when my depression really started to get to me I wrote more. I wrote through journals faster than probably people could ever read them. I began writing my book toward the end of that same year. I wrote poems. I wrote short stories. I wrote every emotion I felt. And then I burned it all.

In 7th grade I had an amazing English teacher. We had to journal every day and at the end of the week we'd turn them in and he'd read them and write comments and return them to us on Monday morning. At first I was cautious about what I wrote. I didn't allow just anyone to read what I had to say. But slowly I opened up and Mr. Tolbert noticed. Each page was me telling my story and that wonderful man treated me like it was the only story that mattered. His comments were detailed and sweet. They were encouraging and wise. He made me feel like I wasn't alone in the world.

On my desk taped to my CD rack is a bright pink sticky note. The piece of tape on it is over 8 years old, but it still sticks just fine. On it are Mr. Tolbert's words.
"The passion with which you write is so deep, so powerful. I feel right along with you. You are an amazing writer and an even greater person." There are few words that have ever meant so much to me.

I'm saying all of this right now because my Abnormal Psychology professor just left a comment on something I wrote that meant a lot, too. It wasn't anything like Mr. Tolbert gave me but it's something that built me up too. Now I know I want to be a youth minister though I'm not sure for how long. If the world of pyschology has anything down the road for me I'm not sure, but my professor's words were encouraging. She said that "You write so professionally yet with the essence of heartfelt meaning that so many other's lack. You tap into concepts and ideas that mostly everyone forsakes. It is clear that you are engaging with the material beyond what is being published in the text. I am not sure what your aspirations are but a patient would be very fortunate to have you as their clinical psychologist."

I am left a little speechless.

Challenge #1

It isn't like this is a new thing but I can't sleep because I have too much on my mind. I feel sort of like someone threw me into the deepest part of the ocean in one of the worst storms with full awareness that I don't know how to swim. Now what?

So my family is moving. Perhaps not to another state but they are moving. Moving to a smaller house. Now if you realize that there are eight people in this sort of 4 bedroom house (I say sort of because there's really only 3 but we made a den area into a 4th bedroom) and it's already plenty crowded you may be able to see the problem. Smaller is not what we need. But that of course is not my decision. However when my mom approached me and said, "We're going to move. Where are you going to go?" it made the situation just a tad bit worse. Personally.

I'm 21 years old and never ever did I believe at this age I would still be living at home. But I am and right now there's nothing I can do about that. Right now I'm out of a job and so there's no way I can afford to move out. But that's what I'm being asked to do. That's what I need to do. I have at the most 3 months. Longer if my dad decides not to leave. But either way my clock is ticking. I need money and I need it right now.

St. Anne's

I desperately needed to get to confession today. Unfortunately there was no confession at my parish due to a mandatory work furlough. So my sister and I had to go elsewhere. We ended up going to the newly constructed St. Mary Magdalene. The outside of the building was beautiful and the inside was just as elegant. As I sat inside praying however I couldn't help but think about St. Anne's. The picture I took on my phone yesterday evening as I waited in the narthex for more parishioners to come in for mass came to my mind. I thought about how beautiful my home parish is. It isn't just cosmetic either. It's beautiful because it's home. The moment I first understood and knew where I belonged happened inside this building. I am a lector, an extraordinary minister, a core member and an usher in this community. There is no church on earth that could give me the same feeling as the one I get when I step foot merely on the property. It's as though my whole heart is inside that golden tabernacle on the altar. In fact, I think it is.

When it comes to marriage I'm as girly as it gets. The idea of a wedding is always somewhere in the back of my head. At times at the forefront. It isn't a thought or desire I can shut off. I've always wanted to be loved by someone. I've always wanted to be in love and live that perhaps unrealistic version of happily ever after. A wedding dress is the one dress that I've ever wanted to wear. I dream about what everything will look like, who will be there, and how I'll feel. But my dream has never been so clear and complete as it is right now. But it's more than me knowing who I want to marry. It's knowing that I only want to be married at St. Anne's. There is no other place in the whole world I rather be joined in the Sacrament of Holy Matrimony.

As I continued to sit and think the realization that one day I'll have to leave this parish hurt me. I may not ever work there. My children will probably not be baptized there. One day I'll have to pack my bags and leave Gilbert, AZ and the St. Anne Roman Catholic Community right along with it. But I doubt I'll ever love this place any less. It will always be home.