I woke up with the socked-in-the-stomach feeling that accompanies rejection. This past month, I’ve been spending a few days a week with a musician I’ve known for years, with the understanding that we were both potentially interested in being more than friends but wanting to take things slow. I just decided last week that I really like him. He told me last night that he doesn’t feel the same and wants to return to being just friends.
There are a few main thoughts that come with this:
1) You know me. Pretty well. And I’m not enough? This is a classic ploy of the enemy’s – one of the things he’s constantly whispering to me, anyway (if they really know you, they won’t love you; if you stop working hard, you’ll be worthless; if you aren’t meeting someone’s needs, they’ll leave you) – they all add up to the same lie: you’re not enough. Or sometimes I hear the reverse: you’re too much.
2) You don’t want me. Dan came to the rescue* by pointing out that no matter what, knowing that another person is choosing to not be with you sucks. And it does. There’s a sting to it.
As I re-read those, I guess they’re doubts. It makes me think of something my boss (who pastors our church) said over the Easter weekend. He’s learned to doubt his doubts. And the truth is, I’ve come a long way. I’m totally allowed to hurt and feel sad for a day (sigh, my day’s almost done), but all the while, I know that these doubts are irrational. I know I’m not “too much” and I’m far from “not enough”. And I know that the musician choosing not to be with me is exactly that – a choice. He has to do what's best for him.
So that's the report. Rejection is never fun, but I'm in the midst of a great growing season, and this is just another part of it.
* He also came to the rescue by highlighting that I had looked amazing at a party the night before and he’d forgotten to mention it. 14 points for coming in with a killer compliment at a clutch moment.
Showing posts with label weak heart. Show all posts
Showing posts with label weak heart. Show all posts
Sunday, April 11, 2010
Monday, November 9, 2009
cold breaths, positive thoughts
so i'm starting to get used to this feeling like my insides are going to explode out of my chest. and i think it just means that i'm really, really happy.
it's starting to get cold at nights in encinitas. like, pretty cold. two blankets, full-on pajamas & socks - cold.
sometimes letting yourself be happy is almost as awkward as letting yourself be cold. there's a bit of a fight i keep putting up - trying to pull blankets over & zip up protective coats. i'm just trying to take in deep breaths of the cold, crisp, fall-almost-winter "i deserve to be happy" air, one at a time, telling myself, "this is not about you, Stine. this is about God. He's good to you. you can rest in this." i'm believing it a little more with each one.
it's starting to get cold at nights in encinitas. like, pretty cold. two blankets, full-on pajamas & socks - cold.
sometimes letting yourself be happy is almost as awkward as letting yourself be cold. there's a bit of a fight i keep putting up - trying to pull blankets over & zip up protective coats. i'm just trying to take in deep breaths of the cold, crisp, fall-almost-winter "i deserve to be happy" air, one at a time, telling myself, "this is not about you, Stine. this is about God. He's good to you. you can rest in this." i'm believing it a little more with each one.
Monday, October 26, 2009
there's sand all over my bedroom. there's sand everywhere.
which is funny, because until a few weeks ago, i never went to the beach. i've lived in north county for the past four years, always within a mile of the ocean, but i've never spent much time on the shore. until now.
we end up at the beach. that's what we do. it's a safe zone. neutral territory. public property (which lends to safety of one kind - protecting me, in a sense, from myself). government property (which sets me at ease for other reasons).
but safety, comfort, common ground - that's why we end up at the beach. five times every week.
"this is what this season is like," i say, rubbing my jaw, because it aches. i've been smiling non-stop since i started spending time with him a few weeks ago. and when i'm not with him, i'm talking about him. it's taking its toll on me, physically. "i don't think we'll always be this ridiculous." and ridiculous, it is. he steers and changes gears with his left hand while his right hand calmly engulfs both of mine. after i tried to drive us somewhere once, we abandoned that idea, because i nearly killed us. i couldn't keep my eyes on the road.
so this is where we are. this is where i am. learning how to do life... without jenni (minus one), with caleb (plus one). in the midst of it, the Lord's teaching me that He's my protector, provider & the one who ultimately surrounds me and ensures that i'm not alone - an amazing lesson to be learning, because with my weak heart, i definately have a propensity to be swayed by this one's protective nature and just lose myself in this. God's grace and timing are honestly so amazing in teaching me extra lessons about His character just in time for me to keep focused on Him. in all of this, our ultimate goal is to honor Him above all & to love the Giver more than the gift.
which is funny, because until a few weeks ago, i never went to the beach. i've lived in north county for the past four years, always within a mile of the ocean, but i've never spent much time on the shore. until now.
we end up at the beach. that's what we do. it's a safe zone. neutral territory. public property (which lends to safety of one kind - protecting me, in a sense, from myself). government property (which sets me at ease for other reasons).
but safety, comfort, common ground - that's why we end up at the beach. five times every week.
"this is what this season is like," i say, rubbing my jaw, because it aches. i've been smiling non-stop since i started spending time with him a few weeks ago. and when i'm not with him, i'm talking about him. it's taking its toll on me, physically. "i don't think we'll always be this ridiculous." and ridiculous, it is. he steers and changes gears with his left hand while his right hand calmly engulfs both of mine. after i tried to drive us somewhere once, we abandoned that idea, because i nearly killed us. i couldn't keep my eyes on the road.
so this is where we are. this is where i am. learning how to do life... without jenni (minus one), with caleb (plus one). in the midst of it, the Lord's teaching me that He's my protector, provider & the one who ultimately surrounds me and ensures that i'm not alone - an amazing lesson to be learning, because with my weak heart, i definately have a propensity to be swayed by this one's protective nature and just lose myself in this. God's grace and timing are honestly so amazing in teaching me extra lessons about His character just in time for me to keep focused on Him. in all of this, our ultimate goal is to honor Him above all & to love the Giver more than the gift.
Sunday, June 14, 2009
no one knew his address.
i'm working on a spreadsheet, right? of my roadtrip... an updated version of what's posted below. it'll have where i'm stopping and starting every day, with addresses, mileage, time frames - as accurate as i can get, at least. especially after seeing the hangover yesterday (which was hilarious, but i am NOT recommending it unless you are highly appreciative of very, very inappropriate raunch humor) (i got carded TWICE before seeing it), when the guys were looking for their friend and trying to retrace his steps, i realized, if, horror of horrors, something should happen, i'd want some way for my parents to track where i was last - or where i was supposed to have been next.
except, of course, that my iphone has GPS, right? and hello, i tweet every hour like clockwork. i can't go too far off the map, can i, now?
but it dawned on me that i didn't take the same precautions last february. i headed up to the northwest with my iphone, dave's address, and a mental map of how to get to anacortes from seattle. i didn't have bus or train tickets, and in fact, i got lost after leaving the airport. and i made it, just fine, to the artchurch (you remember that seattle dave lives in an abandoned lutheran church that's been renovated into a live/paint/play structure they've renamed the ArtChurch,) although he was still at work when i got there.
seattle dave is not a serial killer. but, like, you don't know him. raise your hand if you've met him. my dad has, as it turns out, met him, but that was for 6 minutes, because we were in town for my grandfather's funeral, and my dad happens to be a horrible judge of character - he's a sucker for anyone with good taste in music (which dave has) (that's actually how we met) (that's a story for another time).
you guys, nobody knew where i was. i was in seattle for three days, untraceable. yes, i was updating my facebook. yes, i was calling and emailing. but no one actually knew where i WAS. no one knows dave's last name. he's always "seattle dave." i know it, but i never use it. i'm sure cindy assumed my dad knew where i was staying and my uncle dan assumed i'd told jenni where i was staying and i just reckon that everyone assumed someone else knew but the truth is, that at the end of the day, nobody knew exactly where i was sleeping for two days.
anyway. i'm realizing that, just like everything always needs to be renewed, the way i do human relationships needs a little reworking. and this is one of those things. i'm wanting to be missed, i realize, while i'm gone, and so i'm going to tell a few people exactly where i'm going to be. that's the risk - the scary fourth-grade valentine moment, where i hand a favorite person my folded up road trip itinerary with just a little bit of my heart attached to it, because i'm saying, care that i'm gone? and i think - i'm not positive, but i think: that less-robot/more-human vulnerability - it's a step in the right direction.
BTW, the ArtChurch is located at the corner of 22nd & 61st in Ballard in Seattle.
except, of course, that my iphone has GPS, right? and hello, i tweet every hour like clockwork. i can't go too far off the map, can i, now?
but it dawned on me that i didn't take the same precautions last february. i headed up to the northwest with my iphone, dave's address, and a mental map of how to get to anacortes from seattle. i didn't have bus or train tickets, and in fact, i got lost after leaving the airport. and i made it, just fine, to the artchurch (you remember that seattle dave lives in an abandoned lutheran church that's been renovated into a live/paint/play structure they've renamed the ArtChurch,) although he was still at work when i got there.
seattle dave is not a serial killer. but, like, you don't know him. raise your hand if you've met him. my dad has, as it turns out, met him, but that was for 6 minutes, because we were in town for my grandfather's funeral, and my dad happens to be a horrible judge of character - he's a sucker for anyone with good taste in music (which dave has) (that's actually how we met) (that's a story for another time).
you guys, nobody knew where i was. i was in seattle for three days, untraceable. yes, i was updating my facebook. yes, i was calling and emailing. but no one actually knew where i WAS. no one knows dave's last name. he's always "seattle dave." i know it, but i never use it. i'm sure cindy assumed my dad knew where i was staying and my uncle dan assumed i'd told jenni where i was staying and i just reckon that everyone assumed someone else knew but the truth is, that at the end of the day, nobody knew exactly where i was sleeping for two days.
anyway. i'm realizing that, just like everything always needs to be renewed, the way i do human relationships needs a little reworking. and this is one of those things. i'm wanting to be missed, i realize, while i'm gone, and so i'm going to tell a few people exactly where i'm going to be. that's the risk - the scary fourth-grade valentine moment, where i hand a favorite person my folded up road trip itinerary with just a little bit of my heart attached to it, because i'm saying, care that i'm gone? and i think - i'm not positive, but i think: that less-robot/more-human vulnerability - it's a step in the right direction.
BTW, the ArtChurch is located at the corner of 22nd & 61st in Ballard in Seattle.
Monday, February 16, 2009
jeremiah 17:9
i sat down today to create something. since my trip, maybe since always, i've had a lot building up in my heart, and it comes out best on a canvas. i started the collage months ago, biting off of one i'd seen at nick's art show, back in november.
as i sat to work, i got a text message, and threw my head back and laughed. it's been a long time since i've done this, and back in the day, when you gave a boy your phone number, he would call you. alechhchcchhh. anyway, i finished the collage level without any real clue about what the next level would look like. by that time, he'd stopped texting & i was experiencing a wide range of emotions, including confusion, frustration & excitement, all bathed in a thin layer of self-loathing.
i know i have the potential to sabotage myself, and to double-back and undo any good that i've done just to... oh, i don't know, just to prevent myself, subconciously, from making a bigger mess, later. anyway, jeremiah's words popped into my head. the heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. who can understand it?
as i sat to work, i got a text message, and threw my head back and laughed. it's been a long time since i've done this, and back in the day, when you gave a boy your phone number, he would call you. alechhchcchhh. anyway, i finished the collage level without any real clue about what the next level would look like. by that time, he'd stopped texting & i was experiencing a wide range of emotions, including confusion, frustration & excitement, all bathed in a thin layer of self-loathing.
i know i have the potential to sabotage myself, and to double-back and undo any good that i've done just to... oh, i don't know, just to prevent myself, subconciously, from making a bigger mess, later. anyway, jeremiah's words popped into my head. the heart is deceitful above all things and beyond cure. who can understand it?
Saturday, January 10, 2009
aiming for the forehead
so many things, three things, three things, maybe four, filling my mind, so full. so full.
i just finished reading the poisonwood bible. and my head is filled with africa, with its tragedies, with its secrets and mysteries, with its injustices. with the hypocricy of (fictional) baptist missionaries and thier forced religon, with their insistence on changing africa to match up with Jesus. i think Jesus would be more comfortable in the congo than in any baptist church. the african mamas didn't understand why Tata Jesus, as they called him, Father Jesus, would take away babies from dysentery, even the baptist babies. why, Tata Jesus, why? they'd cry. it's a heavy story, latent with distrust for organized religon, and laced with little hope. so why'd i stay up until 4 in the morning reading?
i'm pretty sure i've never been as poor as i am right now. i am literally cashing in on my future to make it through my present. the financial demands from outside of me cannot be met with anything i posesss monetarily. i have never looked around my home for things to sell before.
i am marketing a book called wholly Jesus. it's superb. it's phenomenal and life changing. and last night, its author, my pastor, my mentor, told a story from the chronicles of narnia. he said, once, the white witch pulled a lamppost out of the ground. the lamppost the kids had first seen upon exiting the wardrobe and entering narnia. she pulled it up, and broke it in half, and held it out as a weapon, hell-bent on destroying aslan. he charged at her, and she struck him with the broken, iron lamppost, square between the eyes. this was not one of aslan's gentle moments, and the metal rod bounced plumb off of him and fell to the ground. mark continued the story, and i'm now realizing, he didn't mention what happened next to aslan, or to the white witch. but the lamppost shard that fell to the ground, it hit the ground and then began to rise up and be reshaped, until it stood perfectly vertical, as a lamppost, again, in the ground, shining brightly. what the white witch intended to harm aslan with was given a new identity when it came in contact with him. it got its purpose back. it became, again, what it was supposed to have been in the first place.
and i got into a car accident today. i was so distracted, so full of thoughts. adah, a character in this book i just finished, think backwards sometimes. thoughts of full so distracted so was i. it almost makes more sense that way. i was looking behind me, literally, it was a yeild and i was trying to yeild (damn it) and i just assumed that the truck in front of me had kept moving as i expected and then jenni grabbed my leg and said, "NO!" and i hit him. and i broke into tears instantly and the poor man i hit was now comforting me and i cannot tell you what i hated more. my tears, my weakness, my stupidity, my foggy mind. i whispered to myself, "stine, you are loved, even in this failure." another mentor, jonalyn, keeps feeding me these lines to feed myself, in hopes that i start to believe them. failure this in even loved are you.
so i wad up now. i wad up myself - so full of thoughts, so crammed with emotion that i want to curl up and cry forever. cry a new river for a congolese village - my salty tears would at least be free of the bacteria that kills babies, no? cry until all my insufficient funds fees have been reconciled and the bank decides it's had enough fun pillaging the little i have. i try not to think of myself with a welding iron in my hand, attempting to fix the sweet man's bumper myself, because i'm sorry, sir, i can't pay for it. can i throw a bumper at aslan's forehead?
what will become of the one who never made it out of her twenties? we remember her, boisterous-one-with-purple hair. where is redemption for her? are you sending a stimulus package, Tata Obama? will it come soon enough? and what about Tata Jesus, who is the continual brunt of my assaults? the forever white witch, throwing at him my insecurities, my drama, only not as brave as she. i'm not as brave because i run after throwing them. i've never stayed to watch my weapons, which are as insufficient as my funds, be reshaped into what they were purposed to be.
i just finished reading the poisonwood bible. and my head is filled with africa, with its tragedies, with its secrets and mysteries, with its injustices. with the hypocricy of (fictional) baptist missionaries and thier forced religon, with their insistence on changing africa to match up with Jesus. i think Jesus would be more comfortable in the congo than in any baptist church. the african mamas didn't understand why Tata Jesus, as they called him, Father Jesus, would take away babies from dysentery, even the baptist babies. why, Tata Jesus, why? they'd cry. it's a heavy story, latent with distrust for organized religon, and laced with little hope. so why'd i stay up until 4 in the morning reading?
i'm pretty sure i've never been as poor as i am right now. i am literally cashing in on my future to make it through my present. the financial demands from outside of me cannot be met with anything i posesss monetarily. i have never looked around my home for things to sell before.
i am marketing a book called wholly Jesus. it's superb. it's phenomenal and life changing. and last night, its author, my pastor, my mentor, told a story from the chronicles of narnia. he said, once, the white witch pulled a lamppost out of the ground. the lamppost the kids had first seen upon exiting the wardrobe and entering narnia. she pulled it up, and broke it in half, and held it out as a weapon, hell-bent on destroying aslan. he charged at her, and she struck him with the broken, iron lamppost, square between the eyes. this was not one of aslan's gentle moments, and the metal rod bounced plumb off of him and fell to the ground. mark continued the story, and i'm now realizing, he didn't mention what happened next to aslan, or to the white witch. but the lamppost shard that fell to the ground, it hit the ground and then began to rise up and be reshaped, until it stood perfectly vertical, as a lamppost, again, in the ground, shining brightly. what the white witch intended to harm aslan with was given a new identity when it came in contact with him. it got its purpose back. it became, again, what it was supposed to have been in the first place.
and i got into a car accident today. i was so distracted, so full of thoughts. adah, a character in this book i just finished, think backwards sometimes. thoughts of full so distracted so was i. it almost makes more sense that way. i was looking behind me, literally, it was a yeild and i was trying to yeild (damn it) and i just assumed that the truck in front of me had kept moving as i expected and then jenni grabbed my leg and said, "NO!" and i hit him. and i broke into tears instantly and the poor man i hit was now comforting me and i cannot tell you what i hated more. my tears, my weakness, my stupidity, my foggy mind. i whispered to myself, "stine, you are loved, even in this failure." another mentor, jonalyn, keeps feeding me these lines to feed myself, in hopes that i start to believe them. failure this in even loved are you.
so i wad up now. i wad up myself - so full of thoughts, so crammed with emotion that i want to curl up and cry forever. cry a new river for a congolese village - my salty tears would at least be free of the bacteria that kills babies, no? cry until all my insufficient funds fees have been reconciled and the bank decides it's had enough fun pillaging the little i have. i try not to think of myself with a welding iron in my hand, attempting to fix the sweet man's bumper myself, because i'm sorry, sir, i can't pay for it. can i throw a bumper at aslan's forehead?
what will become of the one who never made it out of her twenties? we remember her, boisterous-one-with-purple hair. where is redemption for her? are you sending a stimulus package, Tata Obama? will it come soon enough? and what about Tata Jesus, who is the continual brunt of my assaults? the forever white witch, throwing at him my insecurities, my drama, only not as brave as she. i'm not as brave because i run after throwing them. i've never stayed to watch my weapons, which are as insufficient as my funds, be reshaped into what they were purposed to be.
Wednesday, November 12, 2008
my attitude/baby got back
so, 5 days ago, a surgeon removed some of my roommate's back.
and, like, i knew that was going to happen. we knew. i was actually looking forward to it. she's been in pain for the past year, at least, and probably a lot longer. and this was the cure.
can i just say, no one should ever, ever have back surgery. ever.
i have these cycles with myself. everyone probably has them. love cycles, and hate cycles. i currently love myself a lot - love my creativity and my relational tendencies. what i hate right now, though, is my attitude, and that's been rough for me because i never realized before what a bad attitude i have, and it's been more noticeable lately now that i'm not working with children and i can't blame it on them, and, more specifically, that i work with adults and i can't usually blame it on them. (although i do try. and being called out on it by beejay, and having a good attitude modeled by abby, that's what's helping me).
so i hate my attitude, anyway, right?
and then my best friend/roommate/non-romantic life partner has back surgery and turns into this whole new person, AND PEOPLE I CAN NOT DEAL. i can't hang. i'm about TO LoSE IT i'm SeRIouS.
in the meantime, i've got it. my dream job. it's happening. i've got a real job at the church and i'm moonlighting as a publicist/event coordinator for possibly the coolest person in the whole world, standing behind philosophies and theologies and values that i believe in with my entire heart.
and i'm horrible this week at everything i do because i have a bad attitude and i can't hang and my heart is weak and i'm sad and selfish and i almost cried yesterday at starbucks.
this is the thing. i have a really low frustration level. (Lord hear my prayer: please fix this. and if you can cut me a break, and fix it without having to, like, teach me how to be more tolerant or patient or flexible, that would be stellar. just, MAKE me more all-of-those-things and then tomorrow i'll be a much better servant.) a really low frustration level. my expectations are really specific, and in my opinion, they're really fair, but it's hard for me to understand or tolerate people deviating from my expectations. and, let me just say, in my line of work, it's kind of understood that i have a good way of doing things - a good system, and i make good plans. so, if everyone would just stick with them and do things my way, everything would be fine, right? well, wrong, and that's the problem.
so, throw into the mix that my life gets flipped upside down when the roommate, who's usually the strong one, is rating her pain at a level 9, and i'm sleeping in a hospital room with nurses interrupting every 2 hours to take vitals. that's when my attitude gets real sweet.
i'm being really selfish. it is destroying me to watch her go through this. it's causing me serious emotional pain. also, because it's my blog and i can cry if i want to, i have spent so much money on food and so much time driving back and forth to and from the hospital and i haven't been sleeping since this all began. i know, i'm selfish. i want our life to go back to normal. i liked our life. and, as i'm trying to explain, i had enough trouble with my attitude before.
i wish i were a boy. they can compartmentalize and keep work at work and home at home. or, okay, the hospital at the hospital, i guess. i can't. i couldn't. i'd be at work, trying to think about the church service or my announcements or the women's retreat or Wholly Jesus and i'm totally tied up inside (yep, love those physical symptoms) or just exhausted or completely scatterbrained.
meanwhile, especially when working on the Wholly Jesus stuff, i've got this message - the book's theme - pulsing through me with this dull conviction. don't you believe this? don't you believe that Jesus isn't your Lord on sundays, but right now? didn't He die to redeem you from your own cynicism, as well as from the wrath of hell? so continues the self loathing.
can i tell you what's helped? getting outside of the situation. my dad talked me off a ledge once this weekend, and i called tammy yesterday as i was about to lose it. and i think what i did with her was ask for help. i think. i don't really remember the conversation, but by the end she'd promised to keep me and my family fed, and i felt better. (for now, jenni and her mom and her boyfriend count as my family.) it's the compassion of people outside of the situation affirm that i'm in the midst of a really stressful situation that's made this all seem more bearable.
plus, it's almost over, i hope.
and when it is, i have to address my attitude issue again.
and, like, i knew that was going to happen. we knew. i was actually looking forward to it. she's been in pain for the past year, at least, and probably a lot longer. and this was the cure.
can i just say, no one should ever, ever have back surgery. ever.
i have these cycles with myself. everyone probably has them. love cycles, and hate cycles. i currently love myself a lot - love my creativity and my relational tendencies. what i hate right now, though, is my attitude, and that's been rough for me because i never realized before what a bad attitude i have, and it's been more noticeable lately now that i'm not working with children and i can't blame it on them, and, more specifically, that i work with adults and i can't usually blame it on them. (although i do try. and being called out on it by beejay, and having a good attitude modeled by abby, that's what's helping me).
so i hate my attitude, anyway, right?
and then my best friend/roommate/non-romantic life partner has back surgery and turns into this whole new person, AND PEOPLE I CAN NOT DEAL. i can't hang. i'm about TO LoSE IT i'm SeRIouS.
in the meantime, i've got it. my dream job. it's happening. i've got a real job at the church and i'm moonlighting as a publicist/event coordinator for possibly the coolest person in the whole world, standing behind philosophies and theologies and values that i believe in with my entire heart.
and i'm horrible this week at everything i do because i have a bad attitude and i can't hang and my heart is weak and i'm sad and selfish and i almost cried yesterday at starbucks.
this is the thing. i have a really low frustration level. (Lord hear my prayer: please fix this. and if you can cut me a break, and fix it without having to, like, teach me how to be more tolerant or patient or flexible, that would be stellar. just, MAKE me more all-of-those-things and then tomorrow i'll be a much better servant.) a really low frustration level. my expectations are really specific, and in my opinion, they're really fair, but it's hard for me to understand or tolerate people deviating from my expectations. and, let me just say, in my line of work, it's kind of understood that i have a good way of doing things - a good system, and i make good plans. so, if everyone would just stick with them and do things my way, everything would be fine, right? well, wrong, and that's the problem.
so, throw into the mix that my life gets flipped upside down when the roommate, who's usually the strong one, is rating her pain at a level 9, and i'm sleeping in a hospital room with nurses interrupting every 2 hours to take vitals. that's when my attitude gets real sweet.
i'm being really selfish. it is destroying me to watch her go through this. it's causing me serious emotional pain. also, because it's my blog and i can cry if i want to, i have spent so much money on food and so much time driving back and forth to and from the hospital and i haven't been sleeping since this all began. i know, i'm selfish. i want our life to go back to normal. i liked our life. and, as i'm trying to explain, i had enough trouble with my attitude before.
i wish i were a boy. they can compartmentalize and keep work at work and home at home. or, okay, the hospital at the hospital, i guess. i can't. i couldn't. i'd be at work, trying to think about the church service or my announcements or the women's retreat or Wholly Jesus and i'm totally tied up inside (yep, love those physical symptoms) or just exhausted or completely scatterbrained.
meanwhile, especially when working on the Wholly Jesus stuff, i've got this message - the book's theme - pulsing through me with this dull conviction. don't you believe this? don't you believe that Jesus isn't your Lord on sundays, but right now? didn't He die to redeem you from your own cynicism, as well as from the wrath of hell? so continues the self loathing.
can i tell you what's helped? getting outside of the situation. my dad talked me off a ledge once this weekend, and i called tammy yesterday as i was about to lose it. and i think what i did with her was ask for help. i think. i don't really remember the conversation, but by the end she'd promised to keep me and my family fed, and i felt better. (for now, jenni and her mom and her boyfriend count as my family.) it's the compassion of people outside of the situation affirm that i'm in the midst of a really stressful situation that's made this all seem more bearable.
plus, it's almost over, i hope.
and when it is, i have to address my attitude issue again.
Monday, October 27, 2008
that went farther than i thought it would
longing.
it's like desiring, but deeper. kind of like hunger. and it sinks from my throat to the bottom of my stomach and is almost instantly paired with dread.
longing is the depressing version of wanting something badly, because with longing, i have a sense that i'm not going to get what i'm longing for.
who i'm longing for.
no, no, no. that's not accurate. longing for, um, i'll call him tolstoy, because this is the internet, after all, is an exaggeration. to say that i long for him is being dramatic. and i deserve some credit for addressing and admitting my own tendency towards drama. i don't long for him, but i yearn for something from him. just, like, attention, affirmation. some credit.
it's like desiring, but deeper. kind of like hunger. and it sinks from my throat to the bottom of my stomach and is almost instantly paired with dread.
longing is the depressing version of wanting something badly, because with longing, i have a sense that i'm not going to get what i'm longing for.
who i'm longing for.
no, no, no. that's not accurate. longing for, um, i'll call him tolstoy, because this is the internet, after all, is an exaggeration. to say that i long for him is being dramatic. and i deserve some credit for addressing and admitting my own tendency towards drama. i don't long for him, but i yearn for something from him. just, like, attention, affirmation. some credit.
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