Stronger

In Matthew 15: 21-28 we see a very interesting story.
It came to me out of the blue today.

This woman travels from a different country to talk to a strange man; begging him to heal her child.  There is no word as to whether she was accompanied by her 'head,' or if she had her husband's permission, or even if she was married in the first place.
She begs this supposed healer for a miracle and he refuses, calling her race unworthy.  Yet, she insists that even as unworthy as she is, she is a person and has rights and needs as much as any 'worthy' race.  And, she firmly believes that this man has the power to grant her desire.

What does this man do?
Does he tell her 'no'?  Does he tell her to speak to him only through her husband or father?  Does he ask where her 'head' is and refuse to listen to her because of her refusal to 'submit' or be obedient?

No.  He respects her faith.  He compliments her on it. And he heals her child.


Today I went by my family's house.
I was not sure who would or would not be home.  But I reasoned that even a Jehova's Witness would be allowed to stand on the porch and be talked to and treated respectfully.  And I had as much right as anyone else.  With the help of my best friend, I got all the way over there only to want to run.  They pushed me up the walkway and rang the doorbell for me.
The 19yrold answered the door and looked at me very accusingly and angrily.  I made it clear that I would not try to enter the house, and that I would not stay long.  I only wanted to greet and give hugs.  He gave it a seconds thought and stepped back from the door.  The 8yo and the 4 yo just about bowled me over as they bounded down the steps and hugged me over and over again.  They showed me their trucks and talked about things that were going on.  They showed me the puppies and their tricks on the trampoline and I carried 4yo around because he didnt have shoes on.  My baby, the now-10yo hung back a little but kept looking at me.  She showed me how she was taking care of the (my) (her) cats and how fat they were (they were SO fat) and hung around the whole time not wanting to be left out of anything, smiling shyly.   The 12yo I saw twice.  She never said a word or came and hugged me.  She hardened when oldersis left home and has determined in herself to never be like us.  I was a bit sad, but I know that I cant change her circumstances and I can only hope that she grows up and might listen or give us a chance.
15yo was woken up, and he hung around being sweet and talked just a little.  19yo also hung around and gave hugs.
My mom was surprised, but glad I stopped by instead of just leaving.  We had been trying to meet, but she did not see my text from the day before.  However, she seemed happy that I made the trip and hugged me a lot.  We talked a little bit and then I had to run because I was afraid I wouldnt make the plane on time. (I did just)

I let my dad know that I had been to the house (but not inside) by text.  He texted me back something about my place and him being my head as ordained by some pie-in-the-sky and I texted him the Bible reference.
My mom said she wished that there was a way to work things out between the two of us (me and him) and I responded: "I am not the one alienating or refusing to love anyone because of superficial values."

She didnt write back, but when I let her know that I made the plane in one piece she responded back:
"Yay. Relax now, and bask in gratefulness for who u are and what god has given and allowed in ur life.  I love you. ;-)"
I almost cried.  She had never, ever said anything like that to me before and it really gave me hope.

I am stronger than yesterday.

I was so glad I actually decided to go there.  It has been a while and I am not angry any more.  Hurt, sure; sad, totally; but not angry.  I respected boundaries and was willing to be turned away, as long as they knew I only wanted to give hugs and let them know that I still exist and love them.  I got so much more than I hoped and it would have been worth it to miss my flight.  I showed my mom that I was mentally and emotionally stable and NOT angry and she seemed to accept that and be hopeful for me.
Even more, she encouraged me.

And I keep growing and learning and getting better, yes?

Apace

Life goes on.

I got a lot more response than I anticipated from my last post, and it was a pretty unanimous veiw that I was being overly dramatic and over-reacting.  I have gotten that one before.  It reminds me not to take myself so seriously.

It seems like ever year I realize that winter is coming and I steel myself inside and try my darndest to not let it get to me, but it invariably does.  I havent cooked all month.  I havent worked my job without crying and, in fact, I seem emotionally on edge almost every day lately.  Granted, there were some work developments that have significantly affected my loyalty to the company; but at the same time to go from loving my job to waiting for the clock to count down is significant.

I realize that I only matter so long as they like me.  I could continue to work myself to death for them and all the appreciation I would get would be from my fellow lower-level service partners who see how hard I am working.  And, in fact, there have been about a dozen that have come forward in the past week and given me words of encouragement or hugs, or in some way appreciated me because of the actions of the manager towards me.
Being loved changes you.

And that is one thing I refuse to give up on.
Because I know that no matter how *I* feel (worthy or unworthy) there are people who love me no matter what.  And that changes everything.
And my favorite memories are being hugged tight in their arms as well as their hearts when I am away. And I get to be with them soon!!!!

And, on that note, it is a good day for me today.
No looking back; life continues apace.

self-mis-diagnosis

I know it is risky and probably foolhardy to diagnose one's self with issues, but here I go anyway.

Last night around 2am, after 3 hours of crying on the phone to a friend and with a massive headache, I wondered aloud: "Could I be Bi-polar?"

I am 'normally' a bubbly, happy, upbeat, sunshiney person.  Yet, even as I do that, there is a voice inside me that tells me all the 'goodness' is a facade and I am lying and putting up a front for people.
Yet, the episodes (more and more frequent as cold and wind and morning frosts take over the northern hemisphere) of uncontrollable crying, irritability, sudden frustration, and downright fierce anger are just as strong and a pert of me hates myself for being that way.
I am not happy with myself when I am 'happy' and I am not being true to myself when I am on the other side either.  Being an all-or-nothing person the middle looks like a boring terrible thing to me.

Bipolar II seems to really fit what I feel is going on.  Semi-rapid cycling of about 2 or 3 weeks each way, sometimes though, I go downhill immediately.  The other day I was cleaning out my junk shelf and I found this old paper:

I opened it and skimmed the first two lines and burst into tears.  I got my camera to take a picture of it, and I ran into Mrs. G. and I asked her if it was normal (inbetween sobs).
She said that trauma creates paths in our brains and this obviously triggered the memory path I laid down at the time I wrote it and some of the trauma was coming back.

Frustrations at work, this paper, and some of the things I am doing to cope are leaving me in a really bad place. Often we cope using whatever will help and sometimes that is only short term beneficial.
Today I was smiling and telling customers "I'm well" or "So far, so good" and hating myself for being such a liar.  I dont know what to do, honestly.
Insomnia, thoughts of suicide, overly active spurts of happiness and busyness, deep depression.... all of these apply to me and sometimes they apply all at the same time.

Am I bi-polar?
Is it a bad idea to self-diagnose?
Is it 'normal' to hate myself no matter what mood of forum I am in?
Is anyone else like this?
Should I seek some medical diagnosis?
Ideas for self-medication/treatment?
Suggestions?
Stories?

....anything?
Is anybody out there?

How Fundamentalists Got Me Reading the Bible

Maybe a better title would be: Taking the Bible Away From Fundamentalists.

I don't think they read that book, honestly.  You point out some extreme logical fallacies between what a certain verse/passage says and what they are doing/saying and they completely ignore you and attack even harder.
In the past couple of weeks I have gotten into some pretty hot discussions with some 'old' friends. (They are my age and we knew eachother from TeenPact, or Catholic Drama Camp, or some other homeschool function)

In one, I posted a video of the police brutality on the Berkley Campus (before the UCDavis debacle) where I commented that if you were not sickened/made angry, you should at least not feel as though Police were anything but a bully-service for the powers that be.  I got a couple people commenting; everything from "Well, if you dont want to be punished don't break the law" to "I dont know all the details so I am not going to blame the police or take sides."

HUMANS WERE BEING BEATEN and cruelly treated.  And they excused it with rhetoric or some other nonsense.  I tried to argue from a human rights standpoint and pointed out that all of them were "Constitutionalists" in the sense that they would agree that the Constitution was the ruling law of the land and it says that all men were created equal and with rights and disagreement ideologically was NOT in any way shape or form an allowable excuse for brutality or harsh treatment.  I tried to argue that these were AMERICANS and students and had the right on their own campus to make groups and have strong opinions and I was called liberal and feminist and other 'slurs' to the conservative fundamentalist mind.

If standing for humane treatment of people, especially Americans, makes me a liberal, I will take the label gladly.  I thought I would have to have an abortion and vote Democrat or write for the Huffington Post before I got labeled 'liberal' but I guess not.

Then, my cousin began stalking me and some of my older posts and attacking me post after post.
I can handle opposition and dissent from old friends, and let them unfriend me, but family is personal.
This cousin is the perfect first born who was naturally gifted with musical abilities that his father and father's family and mother prize more than other talents and he has been the model son all his life.
He has never had a disagreeing thought in his life and never needed a job or had to support himself.  He just recently went off to college in a different state and somehow he has the time to stalk me and berate me for my taste in music, my stand on human rights, and my disagreements with other narrow-minded homeschoolers.

Anyway, back to the title and point of the blog.  I guess I got so fed up with these nasty, judgmental brats that I began reading the Bible and searching Biblegateway for passages that directly talk about love and acceptance and caring for one-another.  Or for standing up for the abused or wounded.  Or not putting one person or group over another.
I am expecting a comment about being thankful for that, but I am not.
I am upset that they are the ones who are seen as the Bible thumpers with God's direct number and yet they are the selfish, mean assholes who run others through the mud for disagreeing on one or two issues.
Have they EVER read Romans 12-15?

Get along with each other; don't be stuck-up.
Make friends with nobodies; don't be the great somebody.
Don't hit back; discover beauty in everyone. If you've got it in you, get along with everybody.
Don't insist on getting even; that's not for you to do. "I'll do the judging," says God. "I'll take care of it."
 Welcome with open arms fellow believers who don't see things the way you do.
And don't jump all over them every time they do or say something you don't agree with—even when it seems that they are strong on opinions but weak in the faith department.
Remember, they have their own history to deal with. Treat them gently.
 If there are corrections to be made or manners to be learned, God can handle that without your help.
Or, say, one person thinks that some days should be set aside as holy and another thinks that each day is pretty much like any other. There are good reasons either way.
So, each person is free to follow the convictions of conscience.
 So where does that leave you when you criticize a brother?
And where does that leave you when you condescend to a sister?
I'd say it leaves you looking pretty silly—or worse.
Eventually, we're all going to end up kneeling side by side in the place of judgment, facing God.
Your critical and condescending ways aren't going to improve your position there one bit.
These, remember, are persons for whom Christ died.
Would you risk sending them to hell over an item in their diet?
Don't you dare let a piece of God-blessed food become an occasion of soul-poisoning!
God's kingdom isn't a matter of what you put in your stomach, for goodness' sake.
It's what God does with your life as he sets it right, puts it together, and completes it with joy.
Your task is to single-mindedly serve Christ.
Do that and you'll kill two birds with one stone: pleasing the God above you and proving your worth to the people around you.
So let's agree to use all our energy in getting along with each other.
Help others with encouraging words; don't drag them down by finding fault.
So reach out and welcome one another to God's glory. Jesus did it; now you do it!

So I am reading the Bible.  Dont jump all over me.


There may be hope for my soul yet.
*sarcastic

The Pure Truth

I was sitting in a room in a garage the other night.
One of the cooler people from work invited me out to her house and I was trying to be friendly.  I didnt know anyone but her, and I didnt like any of the drinks out, and I didnt smoke.  In short: I didnt fit in at all.

But I really want to be her friend.

So I sat around for a couple hours and listened and every now and then we would gossip about work.
We talked about the guys and the girls and the who-dated-whos and stuff.  At one point we were laughing about this one character who told me I was pregnant.  She laughed and then looked at me seriously and said: "Aren't you a virgin?"
At that moment the rest of the almost-10 people in the room got quiet and looked at me.  I had never been in a situation like this and I felt akward.  I answered "Well, yeah."
Everyone went back to what they were talking about and she took a puff from her cigarette and said "You should change that someday."
I mused and said "I will someday....  I just havent found anyone worth it yet."
 (a cliche, I thought.  Something I was taught to spout, but at the same time, it is a vulnerability that I dont feel safe around anyone like that yet)
She looked at me very seriously and said: "I envy you for that"


I was taken aback.  I honestly didnt expect that from her. In fact, I was so surprised that I didnt say anything for the rest of the night.  I have been thinking about it since.
Maybe everything I was taught about purity wasnt such a lie.
At the same time, I wasnt being a prude.  Because I think if my attitude had been one of "no heck way, you whore" I might have gotten a different reaction from her.
The fact is that I wasnt allowed to make up my own mind about purity.  How much or how little.  Being a virgin wasnt an option for me for 20 years.
Not that I wish I wasnt.  But I wish it was MY choice.
This year, it has been my choice.  I dont want to be intimate with anyone unless I trust them.  And the fact is that I dont trust a lot of people anywhere near enough.


I think parents of young people should expose them to both sides and allow them the choice.  Educate and present the facts.  I feel like I am actually 14 or 15.  One year into 'growing up' teenager-hood.
Except I can make my own choices about smoking and drinking without the constraints of age.

I guess what I am getting at is: I am confused.
All this is so confusticating. Am I finally going through my 'teens'?

To Pray

One of the most harrowing things on my mind lately is my decision to stop praying.
And in fact, I really suck at following through on things because just last Thursday I found myself alone in a quiet car and I began talking out loud.  I have been really 'disrespectful' (as my good-girl-brain tells me) by calling the thing I vocalize thoughts and feelings to anything that comes to mind like: "The Pie in the Sky", or "The Rainmaker" or some such ludicrous title.

Oh, and Saturday I wished a happy future for my best friend who is currently in a terrible spot.
And on Sunday I sent love and hopes away to someone I had to leave.



My main issue with prayer is that I havent seen it work.  At least not outright.
I tried more than once to begin and keep a 'prayer journal' with specific requests and dates that they happened/came true and I never managed to continue more than a week.  And nothing ever happened in that week.  And when I would go back and read over some of them (finding them stuck in the back of a note book commandeered for more pressing purposes) I would laugh at the things I was praying about and note that none of them came true except the obvious ones (like my younger sibling's salvations).

In fact, my biggest issue is that people have been praying for my father for over 10 years now.
I know my mother has been for longer than that.  But issues cause others to really get on God's case about him for almost 10 years now and when you have an stubborn donkey in your midst that refuses counsel, the only answer other Christians have for you is "pray about it" or "don't stop praying."

I gave up a long time ago.
I heard that the definition of insanity was doing something over and over again and expecting a different result.

If that is true, then praying is insanity.  Because pleas for God's hand have either been ignored, got lost in the answering machine, were forgotten, or just didn't get high enough on His list.
My dad is still an ass and I gave up hope.

So I dont pray.  I think it is useless.
But my upbringing causes me to do it against my logical judgement and against my conscience and against my own desires.  And others make me feel guilty when they 'ask for prayer' for things and I feel like a heretic for not wanting their good and sending out a compulsory sentence or two.
Guilt-induced prayer are probably even worse than non-believing prayers.

So I am left with a dilemma.  I fight myself almost daily in my mind when I do it as an (almost) involuntary response to silence and when I feel the need for protection, guidance, peace, or control and I feel inadequate in any of those areas.  I do it because I was trained to, and taught it was right.
I dont want to do it because I see it as foolhardy and useless.

I know other people pray and get answered and I dont know what to say or how to deal with it.
Why does God listen to them and not to me, or to anyone who prayed like I did?
Why don't my 'little requests' matter to Him?
Why dont my big requests, either?
If other people get attention and answers, what did I do wrong?
Do I deserve this?
How can I fix what I did/myself in order to be allowed to get my prayers answered?

If it doesnt work that way then how does it work?
And why doesnt it make sense?

You start out talking about Birth Control and end up talking about skirts...?

You said:
"We had to feel that it was OK to control whether or not a life would be allowed to grow inside one's body..."
Yeeaaahhh. It's called sex. What was God thinking when he made it in my control to have sex or not have sex?

You said:
"(True freedom comes from obedience to God. We can never have true freedom apart from Christ no matter how hard we try)"
I agree

However, by equating this with the idea that control is wrong is a red herring, and completely out of the point.

I understand the idea of wearing skirts. And I like skirts. I used to wear them a lot, and when my father began requiring us to wear them whenever we left home, I complied, unfazed, and it was easy.
However, when it became "wear a skirt to the amusement park/rollercoaster because... just BECAUSE..." I saw the stupidity of outward pretending. I tried to reason with him that the MODESt option would be a pair of loose-fitting capris, but he was not interested in modesty, just us girls all wearing skirts.

The skirts movement is about pride. I am not a feminist. I am a female, listen to my skirt swish. I am a LADY!

People know I am different because of the smile on my face, the light and peace in my eyes, and my graciousness in dealing with them. I work as a cashier and pants are my uniform. When frumpy girls in jean skirts walk by and look down on me or feel sorry for me I laugh inside and just wish I had a chance to tell them my life story.
Pants are easy, they don't need to be washed after two wearings, and they cover sensible working shoes that keep my feet after hours and hours of standing.

Don't do things just so you look different.
Don't do things just so you stand out.
And don't use Orwellian duckspeak like submission is freedom.

Whelm?

Is 'whelm' a word?
Because I am not sure.

However, 'overwhelmed' is a word.  And one I find too fitting.
One day I am happy, giddy and silly even, and the next I find myself in a morass of self-hate and un-explainable sorrow.  What is up with me?

I met an interesting character at my work who went into an in-depth rant about being a 'Cancerian' (because 'cancer' is a disease and not the proper term for the astrological sign).  He told me that Cancerians, unlike their fellow-water-sign Scorpio's and Pisces, are doomed to be consumed with emotions.  And not only their own, but others as well.  While Scorpio dominates others emotions, and Pisces accepts everyone else's onto themselves, Cancerians could go either way.
Without getting all 'satanic zodiac' on you guys, I find that his assessment of me was largely true, which was surprising considering the short amount of time he actually spent with me.  It got me to brooding (haha) and while I am not sure that your birth month necessarily dictates everything about you it has a surprising way of really sorting people mostly accurately.

Today is one of the days where I hit bottom; and as I gasp for air and flail about for some sort of solid piece of floatsam to hold on to to get my bearings, I am unsure of where it came from or why.
I fight against it, and it wears me out quicker than I thought it would.

The strength and resistance I thought I had built up seem like a couple spiderwebs trying to duplicate the Hoover Dam.  Back to square one and I feel lost.
Overwhelmed.

Halloween

I decided this year that Haloween is my favoritest holiday.
Our family never celebrated 'holy-days' and in fact we were taught to shun them and feel superior to those who did celebrate.

And in less than two years I have gone to the dark side (literally - but more on that later) and not only celebrate them, but enjoy them and participate fully.
Last year, I was very moved by this post by The Cult Next Door.  I sat upstairs in my bedroom and wrote in my diary and watched the day fade as neighbors gathered together at the one house by a firepit and enjoyed each other while children delighted in being children, and in being creative, and in being admired, and encouraged by parents and adults, and filled with sugar-energy and delight at receiving something all children crave.
And I cried.

This year I dressed up.
In fact, I dressed up in 3 different costumes throughout the week leading up to Halloween and a special one for the day.  I had to work at 7 am, so I got up at 6 and worked carefully on my makeup.
It was fun being able to dress up (my favorite hobby as a child), and put on makeup and to have people smile when they see you and appreciate the work you put into makeup, costume, accessories and the overall effect.  And then the people who scrunch up their eyes and try to guess.  And the children that look at you and get scared and the kids who look at you and smile because they are thinking about what they will be wearing that afternoon.

I was just talking with my sister about my costume tonight.

 hehe

  I really enjoyed that  I am afraid I might do it again on a not holoween day sister: hehehei don't think it's your natural personalityit is a mask, a dark one cause that's how you're feelingso wear it til you don't feel that way anymoreme: I can wear it and forget what I am feelingsister: just be careful

I really did enjoy the mask yesterday. Because in a strange twist I forgot I had it on and smiled and was singing to myself. But outside I looked like I feel inside some days. Bloody, and dark, and scarred, with old tear stains down my cheeks.

Maybe, just maybe, someday.....
What if I wore my inside on my outside?
Maybe I could wash out my inside with grace and then take off the outside and just be a nice inside?

I mean, isnt that the whole idea behind being 'goth'?
'Wearing your heart on your sleeve' per se?

Life (4)

So the other week this awesome job fell onto my plate.  It was just the type of job I wanted, and with the salary I wanted and the lady promised to be flexible.  I would do her bidding for a certain number of hours one day a week.
I went there with high hopes that this 4th employer would be nice and that my income would finally allow me the breathing room I wanted.

I walked in and the first sound I heard was the exact same music my parents liked.  Old, 80's CCM.  I knew many of the songs on that mixed tape by heart.  Her expansive wood floors and huge windows also reminded me of the Philippines and right around lunch time I saw a 'tiki' lizard outside her kitchen window.  She said it must have been meant to be, and after the work was done we sat around and talked almost as long as we had worked.  (Mrs. G. warned me outright about the dangers of blurring the lines between employee and friend)

She was very much like my parents as far as belief, etc.  Except that she was a rather well-to do and had a (now married) daughter who was spoiled rotten and a renegade 8th grader she had given up on (except to yell at him and complain to me about).

She was entirely kind and understanding, but I disliked going to her house because it felt like going back to my parents in a way.  In a strange way.  While there I can work and not think about the correlations, but when making a time and date to work and getting up in the morning to GO to her house, I found myself lagging and resenting myself for needing the job.

And then came this week.  Her schedule changed and she wanted me a couple days.  I mentioned needing to work for someone else but she shoved that aside and said that "she NEEDed me" and the other job was secondary.  She decided about the time I got there that she was going to have a yard sale this weekend and so I spent my three hours walking up and down the three and a half flights of steps from her attic to her basement and took out about 7 minutes to take a drink of water (I asked for it I was so thirsty) and some chips (she offered me).  Then, she wanted the yard sale advertized on craigslist.  I was told that I could "do it later today" when I "had time."  I was a bit confused by this, but I said that it should have her email address so that any questions could be answered by her or her husband.
So, I spent another 30ish minutes helping her draft out a suitable entry and posting it and creating an account.  She then paid me for 3 hours, claimed my whole morning tomorrow, and most of the day Saturday for her sale. (I let her know my schedule previously that I had Saturday off.  Dumb me.)

I drove home, stewing.  I was fore-warned about blurring the lines and suddenly I felt like she was my parents all over again taking advantage of me and making me work without pay and expecting instead of caring.
I am pretty mad still. I promised Mrs. G that I would give her one more month.  If I am still working for her come November I want someone to come and wipe my memory.  Or blow up the road to her house..... anything.  I do not want to be up tomorrow bright and early to do more fetch-and-carry only to be told "maybe you'll lose some weight."  And then to get paid for part of it?
I feel like I sold my soul somehow.  That it was all my fault for needing the money.  That I wasnt living within my means and that I was to blame.  I dont want what I ran away from.  I dont want it.  And I dont want to work for her any more.

The problem is: people without boundaries often are impossible to break away from.


Hey, at least I have gas in my tank and I am working overtime at the store.  I start Bookkeeper training Sunday and I have a couple days vacation I have been saving up.
I have people who love me that I am staying with and I know that they will make sure I will stay safe.  And that includes pressuring me to say "No" when it is good for me.
And I will make it.
I will live life as me.
I am who I am and I will serve God as me.

The Faith of a Child

When I was young I loved this song. At night, there would usually be some kind of instrumental music or tape playing (except as we got older my mom would turn it off because she wanted some silence and time for herself after we were all put to bed).  I would drift off to sleep with some music of this sort playing, every night.

I will be with you
In joy and in pain
Your cry for mercy
Echoes my name
Now and forever
I'll be at hand
For I will be with you
I will be with you
For that's who I am.


To this day it touches me deeply.  I remember looking for this song March of 2010 as I struggled to work out whether I should go with the things I was learning and where my heart was leading me, or whether I should stick to what I was taught.  I have a paper I saved full of hard questions I was asking myself, and on the other side were the few words I could remember from this song.

I will be with you
I'll be on your side
Your prayer for deliverance
Will not be denied
I'll fight the battles
That evil might win
Oh, I will be with you
I will be with you
Till the end of the age.

Today, I found it again by chance.  I listened to it as I got ready for work and I knew that today He would be with me.  Like I was young again, I felt like I had a child's faith.  I had been waiting a week to hear back about a position at work (promotion) I had applied for.  

I will be with you
There's no need to fear
How can they harm you?
When I hold you near
Your life is in my life
Come devil or sword
I will be with you
I will be with you
'Cause I am the LORD.

I was sitting down for a quick break when Manager walked by.  She asked if I was on break and when I said I was we went back to the office and she told me that I was promoted.  I cried.
Like I had said to some friends.  All my life I was told that if I "left the umbrella" I would end up a drug-addicted prostitute.  I would never 'make it' much less be successful or be promoted.
This song is one of my all-time favorite songs.  It is probably one of the main things that keep me holding on to a hope for God.  Not because I want to believe in Him, but because the child inside me has faith that He will always be with her and hold her near.

thoughts

You know those times when it is 2am and you roll out of bed (still) wide awake, tired of staring at a dark ceiling and trying to fall asleep?
Times like this make you start thinking about stuff because thinking is all you have left to do.  My reading is done, my laundry is folded and put away, the desk arranged, the clothing for work tomorrow laid out, plans for the day on a mental list, shopping from the afternoon put away or taken care of, receipts logged and bank account managed, bed made with newly washed sheets.....

So I sit here bored, and the thoughts come.  That is the last thing I want.  I make notes on my calendar.  I make sure my alarm is set for the morning.  I go downstairs and get some tea.  I plan out christmas gifts.  I do anything to avoid thinking.

Because it hurts.
And when I hurt I have no other recourse but to deal with it.  Either by blocking, stuffing, healing, processing..... (option e: all of the above).  I have to do something because I cant un-think.
I can sit here and type words on a white space, and then with a backspace key I can remove all of them.  I could even delete this entire post with a couple key strokes.  They say that the only thing in life you can control is yourself....  and if we are honest we are so bad at controlling even that.

I have to fight to keep from tears sometimes when feelings of inferiority and fear overwhelm me.
I have to work to get over depression, more arduous than a mountain climb, I have to fight panic attacks and PTSD. 
I have yet to successfully control my mouth and caustic tongue.
I cannot seem to control the thoughts others have drummed into my head or made me think.

And as I sit here mired in self-pity and hopelessness I feel one thing.  tired.
So tired of working so hard and not 'getting anywhere.'
Tired of dissapointing people I love.
Tired of trying and failing.
Tired of not being who I want to be/what others want me to be/what I-andor-others think I should be.
Tired of longing for a future and a hope that some crazy prophet said was in store.
Despite consistent and personal insistence from people that they love me and are there for me I feel alone.
So hopelessly tired and alone.


But you know what will get me through this?
love

Love will eventually help me sleep.  And love will hold me after they read this and tell me that crying is ok and being depressed is ok and that I can stop fighting once in a while and just collapse.
Love will protect me ans shield me.  It wont save me from pain and it wont take away the hard times in life and the tough decisions I have to make, but it will help me make the right ones and it will encourage me to keep working through the mess. It will stop and wait with me as I take a breath and calm the racing of my heart.  It will not censure me for being weak and helpless, and afterwards it will hold me and tell me that it is proud that I didnt give up.

And I wont give up.  Because what other option do I have?

09/09/2010

This is a very personal piece, written a year ago, and unrelated to any of my previous posts
So bear with me.


I have to leave you now
Goodnight and Goodbye
Until some time in the future....?
Lightheartedness faked
I smile, and let you go
     The miles begin to separate
     And the urge grows stronger
     Everything inside screaming
     Turn back - RETURN!
     I floor the gas pedal
     Burning up the road
     But speed cannot fill the hole
                You left
     I cannot box you away.

My heart itself betrays me
I can think of nothing else
Your soft voice telling me stories
Late into the night
I punish it for it's treachery
I push it far away
Sulkily it retaliates
Telling me I will ever be alone.
     Too far away for the Knight to rescue
     Too surrounded by problems and Dragons
     Too far away for him to hear my call
     Dying alone; old, sad, and alone
     Nor - if only I'll turn around....

I turn the volume up
The radio blares out into the night
It can push away the thoughts, for sure
Deaden the thoughts
Remove the thoughts
Make the turmoil cease
     But every song is about you
     About moments together that
     Will not be
      I change the channels to no avail
      There is nothing I can do
      I give up trying and let
      The tears fall freely
      Almost there, almost there
      I can let sleep draw me into oblivion.

Harry Potter pt. 6

The last movie I saw in a theater.  I was hoping to finish the rest of the movies in time and I am glad I did.
It spends a lot of time explaining and tying up loose ends.  It also flashes back and plays the scene where Harry's mother dies and I could not stop crying.  Like, overwhelming sobbing that made the people in the theater uncomfortable with me.

It has an interesting take on death.  Not unlike the Princess Bride's 'mostly dead.'  Apparently the effects of the shield of love his mother created gave him the choice to 'go back' to life.  It isnt fully explained, but even without him his friends were going to keep fighting evil.  Also, those who are dead (like Harry's parents and guardians) claim to have been always present during the events of the film.  Death is not an end, but a change in the 'level' to which you can do and be. I want to think on that some more before I talk about it because the idea fascinates me.
One thing that I did not like was his repeated insistence that others were dying for him.  HE may have been the chosen one, but he wasnt the end-all be-all.  They were fighting for their way of life and for freedom to not be under a cruel, totalitarian dictator who would have killed up to 75% of them for blood purification reasons.

We learn that some people have been fighting for love all along and it looks different depending on the presuppositions of the one watching/judging.  We see some people make bad decisions and come to regret them.  They are dubbed 'evil' because of family history, race, proximity to evil, and/or opportunity.  Everyone is naturally selfish or jealous.  It is called sin and it is in us as much as it is in them. 
The key is compassion and forgiveness.  And evidence of a real change and time to heal and be apart for a while.  Reconciliation is not impossible.

One aspect that struck me was that one can piece apart their soul and place it in or on something and remain an influence.  I find it a fascinating concept as well as a possible truth.  I think places and things can hold memory.  I think human emotions and person-hood leave more than just a spiritual trail behind them.  Places of beauty are such because people go there to be happy.  Houses that are dark are that way because people fight and hate inside them.  (Think: the House of Seven Gables)
Wands in Harry Potter choose and feel and are beings that have loyalty and power of their own.  Yet, they cannot (without a person commanding them) create any spells or use themselves to do magic.  Thus the things we wear, the car we drive, our belongings contain a bit of ourselves, or a bit of their former owner(s).
That concept fascinates me and I really would like to ask God about it one day.

But in the end, we find that

Harry Potter pt. 5

In the 6th movie we see a lot of authorities using those underneath them.  The evil ones do it right alongside the 'good.'  We excuse the 'good' because it seems the most expedient things at the time (not to mention we are cheering for them inside), but the evil one we condemn for using a 'child' instead of being brave enough to do the job himself.
There is one strong undergirding theme of respect and trust being earned. You cannot invade another person's mind or memory without their consent.  You cannot get a spot in the inner circle without earning a good grade in class by trying/studying.

We see again the people cannot be trusted to reveal to us their true motives.  Pretenses get cast away in the heat of the moment and in the crush of real.  There is an interesting message where one person goes with a 'gut feeling.'  I was taught all my life that the 'heart is deceitful and desperately wicked' and that feelings or 'gut' urges were sin just because of their origin.  If you find out later that it wasn't, oops.  Otherwise, you do well by blocking this sin the moment it enters your mind.
Sometimes..... gut feelings can have bearing on the situation and sometimes you may be right.

There are some humorous moments where 'love' and 'attraction' are taken too far and we see that not all 'gut' feelings are true or lasting.  The moral there was to stick close to the people who have stuck with you.  For years:your best friends.  They may end up being more than friends later on....

The 7th movie is more heavy on the storyline then anything else but we see some good stuff.  Dark magic causes depressed feelings and fighting among Harry and his friends. We see that sometimes before fighting about the issue at hand it is better to remove the things that are muddying the waters in the first place.  Clear heads dont waste time and resources screaming at one another.
We see that no matter what the personal cost friendship and love is worth sacrificing for.  We are encouraged to cry when a side character stands up for himself and defends others even as he is killed.  We see a 'bad' person hesitate at a moment of triumph and we see a 'good' person turn other people in to evil out of hope for gain.

We also see someone being confronted with their worst fears.  I think a person's fears tell us more about who they are then their hopes or dreams, so I loved this scene (in a twisted way, knowing it would turn out alright).  His worst fear consisted of spiders (same here), his mother wishing he was a daughter, his best friend belittling him, and the girl he loved ditching him for the person in the spotlight.
When faced with the apparitions of complete rejection, he is paralyzed.  He lays there wondering, wasting precious seconds, if any of it is true, if all of it is true, if anything he knew was true.
And then the voice of his best friend reminds him of the situation and he slays the creature giving rise to the doubts.

My only question is: how do the evil ones know of our worst fears?  Can the devil read minds?  How do they know exactly where our weakest points are?
It plagues me that no matter where I go and no matter what success I achieve in life or over my personal issues, my worst fears are going to be thrown in my face and are expected to cripple, maim, or even completely incapacitate me.....

And that this isnt something I can change.

Harry Potter pt. 4

In the 5th movie we find the power of love.
People who hate do cruel and evil things.  People who hate turn dark inside.  Sometimes it doesnt even take hate.  Indifference, depression, disgust: all these things have the power to turn you dark inside.

In the 5th movie we find that some people are faithful even until death with secrets and refuse to be used by evil.  We find that authority without respect, understanding, and honesty results in those under it's control having to hide.  They pretend, obeying outwardly and fight against every rule.  They band together and devote all their time and energy to thwarting the fierce control levied over them, even to the point where they are told they deserve punishment for pretending (when they are telling the truth).
They find that obedience would render them infantile and useless and they rebel.
They form fast friendships, hiding secrets and being there for eachother.  They refuse to break up and together they face powers much bigger, older, stronger and are able to change the course of a battle.

And they are just children

Control breeds rebellion. 
Freedom and careful teaching create wise and powerful individuals who can decide for themselves how and when to act.
Harry find that he can see things others cannot because he has 'seen death.'
He is at the same time hurt and helped by his past.  And even through nightmares, pain, struggles, and victory it does not change. He cannot change his past any more than we can.

One final thing: Harry finally finds his happy memories.  Using them he refuses the Dark Lord's possession of his mind.  He speaks softly and gives him the ultimate blow: "You're the weak one. And you'll never know love,or friendship. And I feel sorry for you."
Even in our world, love has a tremendous and overwhelming power.  My father does not have love or friendship.  He has control and power and fear.  And he has children who have run away from his tryannical reign.  He does not have a wife/helpmeet.  He has a house-elf who serves and obeys and cannot question.
He does not have colleagues.  He has a posse of followers who may or may not stay faithful if he disappears.
And while I dont feel sorry for him, I wish I could.

Harry Potter pt. 3

Harry longs for his parents.  He never got to know them and the little memories he has been able to salvage are pitifully inadequate for any person.  Coming from a dysfunctional family, I understand his pain.  I can remember the couple of times that I felt loved by my father and a handful of times that my mother and I enjoyed eachother's company unreservedly.

In the second movie he finds that he has a many of the same powers and talents and the same bent as the Dark Lord and the 'bad' wizards.  He spends a lot of time afraid to turn 'bad.'
The 'sage' of the movies reminds him of a deep truth: it is not our past or what others were or what we seem to be like, but our CHOICES that affect our future.  Harry's choices made him who he was and if he wanted to he could be the darkest of all.  If he chose, he could also stay on the path of being a friend and doing good.
I also love the many mythical things that crop up in the movies, such as (in this one) a mirror which shows us as having accomplished our deepest desires/wants/goals.  It shows you yourself truly happy.


In the 3rd installment we find that Harry is negatively affected more than anyone else at the school by the daemon-creatures that suck out happiness and joy because he has had 'true horrors' in his past.  He blacks out and is unable to accomplish much of anything against them.  In order to repel them you have to have a happy memory to focus on, or some indecent of true joy to block them with.
The power of this memory creates a 'shield' and a strong enough one would repel the attacker.

The parallels with real life are enormous.  I often find that one of the few things that bring me out of my place of pain or loneliness or depression is the strength of my memories and the pieces of joy in my past.

In the 4th movie someone places Harry in a contest in hopes to either kill him or get him to a place where the Dark Power can use his blood to come back to life (a bit creepy, yes).  A companion is killed and Harry has the choice to run or fight and he decides to die bravely.  In a matter of wands and such, the victims of the Dark Lord come out and attack him, creating a shield which again saves Harry.
We find out about a father who was so dedicated to his career that he lost his only son, who then turns around and kills his father and serves the Dark Lord gladly.  We find the teachers and parents keep information from Harry and his friends which would be useful to know.  I dont know why parents cant be honest and up front.  'Ready' or not, eventually children are going to become adults and need to know.  (But I wont get any more off topic here)  We see that kindness is appreciated by some, if not by many.  And we learn that things are not always as they seem.  The best of intentions may have some underlying evil motive. 

Harry Potter pt. 2

Beginning this I want to be honest and say that one of the biggest reasons I wanted to watch the movie series was a "how close can I get to the line but not cross it" motive.
A facebook friend posted a video from a 'former witch' that had the usual "there is a huge hidden conspiracy in schools and modern culture to take your children" fearmongering I had heard a million times before about everything from Jeans to Rock Music to Barbie Dolls.
I am a QF/Patriarchy daughter who 'ran away' from home at 20.  Ive already been called all sorts of descriptive names and 'rebellion is as the sin of witchcraft' doesnt scare me.  Use a blank threat too many times and I wont believe anything you say or quote.  Also, nearly all the world knows about the book series and the movies are bound to be bigger than Titanic.  I read other books because of their 'classic' status, I wasnt going to stay away from HP just because of a worn out line that says I am going to become a witch.

Next Disclaimer:
The nature of writing is flawed in that interpretations can be taken from it based on the mindset and presuppositions of the readers.  Take the Bible for instance.  How many religions and factions and bad things have come out of man's attempts to make sense of it over the past 2,000 years?
In watching the HP movies, my interpretation of them and the things I see may or may not jump out at others.  They may not even be there at all for some.  However, the things that I am seeing I want to share.  So take everything with a grain of salt.

In the first movie we meet a lonely boy who has been treated like a slave by his aunt and uncle.  His cousin feels obviously superior and they all look down on him.  Strange things happen around him and he isnt quite sure why or how.
And then he finds out that he has been lied to his whole life.  His aunt was jealous of her sister and upset at her life choices and hoped to keep Harry from his destiny.  Needless to say, she and her controlling husband are unsuccessful.
Harry begins to learn about what really happened to his parents and the secrets of his past.  He is allowed to make innocent/childish mistakes and some of his teachers care for him like parents.
In the climax: a battle with his nemesis, we find out that his mother's death created a magic around him so old that it changed the world.  She blocked the killing curse meant for him.
A sacrificial death.

I made this picture my computer background and when I look at it I can see love.

To Parent

A lot of my friends are either pregnant and having a first child, or pregnant again, or just had a child.
It is an interesting phase and I am learning a lot from their reflections and comments and journey.
My biggest hope is that they can guinea-pig things and I can have a handle on that whole 'parenting' thing if I ever get that far in life. 

Because you see: I have no idea how a parent should act.

I reflected the other day that my 'baby' was turning 11 in 5 months.  From the first couple hours that she was born I held her.  All the trip to the big hospital in the city, with the ambulance breaking down part way and the crowd gathering to stare at the sick white woman and her baby.  Keeping her head covered and taking care of her when mother was recovering from the D&C and the long years of nights of rocking her to sleep to my favorite songs after mother had nursed her....
And then my baby boy.  He turned 8 a couple months ago.  Again, I cared for him for what seemed like every waking moment.  When he was a year old I wrote something in my diary about how wrong mother was for taking him from me because he was more mine than hers.
I know how to care for children.  In fact, I would dare claim to be an expert. 

But I haven't the foggiest on how to Parent.

The other night at the store a parent angrily ripped a piece of fruit-leather out of their child's hand and told them that they weren't getting any 'more' treats that evening.  The cashier I was bagging for saw my discomfort and said it was late at night (almost 9pm) and the parent was probably tired and over-stressed.
I looked at her and said the strangest thing I ever heard myself say:
"They are the adult.  A child at 9pm may be excused for wanting another treat or piece of candy.  They are a child and dont know better and cannot necessarily control themselves and dont know that sugar at that hour is bad for them, etc.
HOWEVER, the parent has no excuse.  They are an adult.  9pm or not, one should not snatch, be rude, or nasty just because they are fed up and tired."
The truth is that I never thought about it that way until the words came out of my mouth.  I was raised thinking that my behavior affected my parents and made all the difference.  It was a real struggle for me to realize (at 19 something) that my mother's snappiness and irritability were not something I was causing or could necessarily cure.  It was NOT MY FAULT.
And it was NOT the fault of the child in the store.

Permission to Live makes a great case for not spanking.
and my dear friend Anne writes about her thoughts on how she wants to raise her daughter.

I have said before that I dont think anyone should be a parent.  What I meant by that was that if parenting includes all the mistakes and hurts and fear and misunderstanding that I have seen from my parents, from the parents of friends, and from stories: why not just do away with the family system altogether?
Is it really worth the hurt and damage and results?
Do I really want a child if I am going to ruin them?
Why would an all-knowing God allow children to be broken and wounded like that?
Is there any way to avoid this?
Do I want to take the chance?

ahhh, once I again I leave with more questions than answers.

Love pt 6

I am finding a pattern.  Love makes me weep.
I heard a lot when I was little that my father or mother 'loved' me.  I was told often, I think.
But it didnt mean much, if it meant anything.  The formality you say when hanging up the phone.  The required (yes, required) response when leaving for bed.  In fact, it became something I was disgusted with.

I remember back in 2010 when I did not respond "love you too, daddy" and was reprimanded for it.  I hated myself, but I was an 'obedient' daughter and I said it.  He then told me I needed to smile when I said it and made me repeat it until he felt that I was smiling nicely and had a sufficiently truthful and 'loving' tone in my voice.  (making the heart change is a big thing with Pearl discipline.  Make them repeat or re-do until it with cheerfulness and in a complete and thorough manner.  From washing dishes to saying 'I love you')

Is it any wonder the word meant nothing?  And that when other people would use it I would scoff, or question, or challenge the sentiment? 
"Why?"
"Oh, really?"
"Yeah, yeah"
"I know"
"Whatever"

The word meant nothing.  The sentiment was a foreign one.  The meaning was lost.
But not irretrievably.

I find when I really feel loved or when I truly love someone else or something: I leak.  Tears, or emotions, or poems, or effusive hugs, or physical closeness/proximity.  But most of the time I cry.

I remember back in 2006 when I was talking with my grandmother on the phone about something unimportant and nondescript when I suddenly began crying.  She asked what was the matter and all I could get out was that I really, really loved her.  She was obviously confused and surprised by the tears, but was glad to hear that I felt that way.
The middle of this year a father-figure wrote me and my sister a kind and beautiful letter.  I cry every time I read it. . 

I have also become more sensitive to how other people (mostly vicariously through movies and books) love and its effect on people.  Like a fascinating new subject I am esoterically peering at through my microscope.
Nevertheless, I am learning a lot.
I can see why people want a God of love.  I can see why people who have truly felt His love never look back.  Why when Mrs. G. talks about her beliefs her eyes light up.  Why she clings to her faith through the things that daily knock her off her feet.
And I want that.

a little girl

Eyes are the round windows to the heart. The open holes into our heart.

Her face was oddly pale and she was slim and petite for how maturely she carried herself. Her mother looked distracted because her little brother was making a fuss in the seat of the cart. Her older sister was obviously in charge, pushing the cart and keeping her in line.
The store wasn't busy at that moment and I didn't have anything else to do, so I walked over to the line they were in and began bagging the quarts of milk.
When I got out a second bag for the smaller boxes of macaroni and cereal bars she pushed past her sister's guarding frame and reached up on her tippy-toes to grab a product and put it in the brown paper bag.

I looked over, surprised. I hadn't ever had a kid so eager to get in on the work. As my eyes fell to her level I was taken back. My heart gasped as her soul leaped through her eyes and brushed roughly against mine.
Her eyes were starved; barren and desperately pleading for approval and understanding. She so wanted to help me. But more than that: she wanted me to love her.

Little children are the most real people in society today. They have not learned the walls that adults put up to hide their frailty and vulnerability. They don't know that it is not polite to throw your soul onto another begging shamelessly for attention and to receive joy and approval and kindness. They don't realize that people are supposed to pretend. Especially not at the age of five or six.

I realized there was something different about her. In the split second when she threw her soul against mine I felt fire pierce my heart. I hurt all over. Thoughts of my little siblings and my love for them came flooding over me. The way I felt growing up, the love I wanted I saw she did too.

In a strange move, I put the bag I was packing on the floor. I handed her the few remaining items.  She eagerly placed them in choice spots and smiled up at me, so grateful and so happy.
I hoisted the heavy bag from the counter and placed it in her mother's cart and told her she could lift the bag on the floor.  Her big sister (either out of a similar need for acknowledgement or control) grabbed it from her and put it in the cart herself.  She looked at me for approval and I smiled and told her it was good.  I smiled at the little boy in the seat, and turned back to the little girl.  She looked crestfallen; her sister having taken all the glory.  I got down to her level and high-fived her and told her she did amazing.

Her eyes lit up and the ache in my heart only got worse.  Her mother hustled them all out of the store and she didnt look back.  All I could think about was my younger siblings and my younger self.  I knew exactly how she felt.  Alone, even though she had siblings and parents and 'family.'  Longing for something unknown and nameless even though she is 'loved' and told she is 'loved.'


I could not get her out of my mind all the rest of that day and week and even now (a month later... as I finish all the writing that I have been storing up) the mark of where she was, the burn-mark she left, makes me question whether she was safe and properly cared for.  I prayed for her, and I dont pray much these days.  There was nothing else I could do.  I cried for her, and for the child I used to be, and for those who dont have a random grocery-store-bagger to make them feel special and useful and important.

I want to see her again and talk with her.  I want to be there every time she comes in the store.  I want to help her.  I want to love her.  I want her eyes to be beautiful and shining.  I want her to be happy. 
And I going crazy? 

Ha**y Potte*

Alas, here again I come face-to-face with my  past.
I fear writing out confessions like this because one-upon-a-time I debated (frothing at the mouth) against those who would dare read, veiw, or consider (reading or indulging in) the Harry Potter books and movie series.
I remember two such occasions very clearly, but undoubtedly there were more.

Honestly, now, the most radical change in my outlook has come from a lack of fear.
To a great degree the reasons we were discouraged from ever showing interest in HP was because of the fear-mongering.  "Let your child read HP and before you know it they will become wiccans!"
"HP teaches children the basic lower levels of spells.  Soon they will have evil spirits they can command."
"J.K. Rowling is a secret witch.  These books are an effort to make more witches and spread demon possession to the rest of the world....." etc, etc
(and no, I dont think any of these are extreme.  I have heard all of these in various ways and more)

A second reason, I believe, is due to a lot more faith in myself.
I dont think I am stupid enough to believe that I can replicate spells and try them and turn into a witch.
I dont think I will be 'taken in' by this evil message.  I am smarter than that and I am not afraid of it.

What is wrong with reading a novel?  Is it 'sin'?
In short, no.  There is NOTHING wrong with reading, or with reading books that the world likes a lot, or with reading books that may portray actions and behaviors that you might not indulge in.  Like a murder mystery.  Reading an Agatha Christie novel wont turn you into a killer any more than reading Harry Potter will turn you into a witch, wizard, or wiccan.

Use your mind.  It is your greatest asset and your best organ.  Take all advice with a grain of salt.  Think through things carefully and make up your own mind.
And live!!  Live fully and with joy.
What more can we desire for a good life?

Troll God vs. ?

Right on the heels of reading a link that my sister sent me about the personality/character of God as opposed to what the common perception of Him is; I got into this comment-discussion on a person-I-know's facebook:

(My comments are #2, 4, and 5.  Someone else is comment #3.  The original author wrote the first comment and the end responses.)
(If you click on the picture you can zoom in on it and read better)
The people my dad (in his own loving way) called "pew warmers" would probably benefit from these thoughts and reminder.
 For me, it was like a flashback to all the terror of my childhood.
I was being over-reactive, but for so much of my life I DID see god as just that: a troll, a control-freak, a selfish self-seeker.
He takes stuff away, just because I like it.
He doesnt want me to be happy or to enjoy things.
I would hide my love and delight because I thought that maybe if God saw he would take it away from me, or kill it, like he killed my bunny when I was young. (the rabbit died from other causes, but I loved that thing like I had loved nothing else).
Whenever something good happened in my life I would fear to enjoy and live it to the fullest because I was possibly elevating it above God.  And then where would I be?  Back in the grey-colored world of serving Him first and putting aside everything else I might possibly like so that He wouldnt re-call it.

At this point, I cant say for sure what I have decided 'god' is or isnt.  I dont know much about him for sure from the tangle of "what-ive-been-taught" that chokes out the sunlight.
The problem with teaching your children that everything you (their parent) believes is correct, is that when one of your beliefs begins to shake, everything comes crashing down.

I was NOT allowed to question my father's theology.  He had gone to a prestigious college and had a pastor's degree and a doctorate.  He had preached and saved souls on the mission field for 18 years.
When I was (extra-biblically, which does NOT happen, mind you) 'spoken' to by God, my father spent a couple days debating me into silence on the issue.
When a friend I email-debated with for a year or so finally brought me around to a balanced view of Sovereignty vs. Free Will my father cut me off from communicating.  (he said I wasnt allowed to email boys because I would give my heart away/fall in love/taint my purity or something like that)
When I dared to look him in the eye and postulate that God would speak to me if He had any special plans for my life and NOT through daddy; my father told me I would need to find a different place to live.


But through this year, I have had faithful friends who have not preached at me or forced me to believe or attend or toe the line.  The have encouraged me to believe that God wants me to be happy. And that he gives us good things, and takes his people to a land flowing with milk and honey so that they can delight in it and WITH him.

The frugal, do things the old way, puritanical "suffer to prove your faith and dedication" is much to engrained in me.  I was told by many (including a grandmother and brother) that I was running away from trials at home and by leaving I was saying that God's strength wasnt enough for me, or that I didnt have enough faith to endure these little trials.  I mean, after all, what is grounding and removal of all communication with the outside world compared to being burned at the stake or torn apart by lions?

I still struggle to believe that God would want me to be happy.  To enjoy life.
To have people who love me in my life.  I fear always that they will leave or be taken away.
I hide my true feelings hoping that the heavenly troll wont see and brutally destroy.
I want to understand God like Mrs. G does.  She came up to me last night, her face glowing, talking about her God who loved her.
Why does this hurt so much?  Make me cry?

One Year

I worked Thursday straight through to Tuesday this week.
Every day, nose to the grindstone.

Friday evening I was having serious health concerns, so I went home and slept as much as possible.
I was really glad to see June go.  I guess I blocked everything, or work was so busy (it was very busy this weekend) that I didnt have time to remember the events of last year.


Last year, readers, my parents found out about the blog.
Last year, at the beginning of June they confiscated my phone and all access to outside communication.
Last year, they began closing in.

I endured a couple long weeks of this until my respite.
The last week of June we sell fireworks at a roadside tent.  We had done it for 3 years previous and last year was our 4th year.  They offered me 40% off the net they were going to make if I did the majority of the work.  I was excited by the offer, because previously they had paid me only a very small amount.
So I threw myself into it heart and soul.  I was there almost every moment of that two weeks (with the exception of going home a couple hours to shower and change and one afternoon I went to a friend's graduation party).  I took in the inventory in the mornings, arranged products, greeted customers, sold, checked them out, worked with bad signal on the credit card machine, worked around inclement weather and tried not getting any products wet (gunpowder and all that), and slept there to ensure the product safety.

We stayed open an extra day because the sales were less than hoped/estimated by the company we contracted for.  He only let a couple stands do that, and we were one of the better ones. *pats self on the back
We made another couple thousand dollars and that evening we began the arduous process of packing everything up, final inventory, taking down tables, cleaning (if it is left messy we are penalized), and then counting up the sheets and totaling everything.
Having begun the day around 8am, we finished and I drove a full car home at 1am.

Once home, we unpacked everything that wasnt to be taken back to the warehouse the next day, and put away food, did dishes, and put the sleepy kids who helped through showers and to bed.  At 2:30 or so I told my mother I wanted to go to bed.  I was covered in gunpowder residue from packing and dust from sweeping.  I had accounted for all the products and done all the math.  The finished sheets were in order and ready to be taken in at 8AM (just 6 hours away).

She said to wait because Daddy had wanted to run the numbers and 'total' everything. (ie. see how much we made, sales vs return inventory, gross vs net with sales tax, and etc.)  I said that I didnt want to (I was too tired), and that we would be doing it in just a couple hours with the company people.
But no, he insisted we do it and he insisted that I be present and assist him.
I was too tired to care.  I did not accommodate him with something he was confused about (it was so stupidly easy).  He insisted that I spell it out for him and hand it to him piece by piece even though he could have done it himself.  Even mother tried to help him and he refused to listen to her/take her help.  He wanted to make me do it.
He threatened every trick in the book and I laughed in his face.  Literally. When I am overtired I giggle and get very silly.  I laughed.  I refused to help him and I repeated over and over how tired I was and how I needed to go to bed.
He finally got everything counted up and it resulted in a $500 overage.  I looked at my worried mother and told her firmly not to believe it.  He got even madder at this, but she helped him recalculate and found a charge he missed.  When the second round was finished we came up $1,000 short.  Even more upset mother.  I, again, told her to not believe the findings.

I finally got downstairs to take my shower long past 3am.  And I fell into bed exhausted and set my alarm for 8 so I could be up and dressed in time to go. The next morning, just as I was dressed, I received a text from my father (upstairs) telling me that I was not going and I should not get up.
After running the tent and signing my name on all the forms, it was a childish move on his part.  I was still exhausted, so I went back to bed.  The rest of the day I went about doing my housework duties and cleaning up from a week of chaotic going and selling.  When Daddy got home he ignored me with a frosty cone of silence.  I ignored him because I felt that although I may have laughed in his face, I had warned him before we started that I was over tired and needed to get to bed.

We came out only $200 down, and it was our best year in that respect.  The next day, (the 7th) I got up later and everyone was doing their own thing in various rooms of the house.  On the table I found a sheet of paper with my name on it and a stack of $20s.  It calculated the total commission we made, then the net, then my 40% minus a couple hundred for 'being disrespectful' (one of the things he threatened me with the night of the 5th/morning of the 6th).  My cut came to about the same amount that I had hoped to make in the first place.

Also, they were going to 'allow' me to still go on the family outing later that month. 

When (around lunch time) they looked on the table and noticed the money gone they were distraught and questioned me sternly about it.  I told them honestly what time I had come up and taken it.  They were angry and wanted me to go get the money and bring it back to them because I had 'stolen' it off the table.  I asked how I could steal my own wages and they said that unless it was GIVEN to me, it was not yet mine and I had stolen it.
I never brought the money back upstairs, but they were quite miffed at me for taking it without an official 'giving'(/shaming) ceremony.

It was my birthday, I didnt care.  I had the money safely hidden and I had an exit date. 
Through helpful friends and a hideaway spot I had been able to receive mail.
Someone had helped me to a pay-as-you-go phone and I had been able to call late at night when no one could hear me or come in and find me with an illegal contacting-the-outside-world device.
My sister had talked with Mrs. G some on the phone after her offer of housing and we decided to take the chance and drive that far in hopes that I would not be chased/followed/found.
The rest of the day was my second best birthday ever.

I had only a couple more weeks to wait out, a big family outing, and then I was leaving.

I will NOT be passed over!

I dont usually start with the clips/movies, and definitely not one of this length.
However, if you will simply skip to 5:38 where Eliza proudly exclaims (in part): ".....but I WONT be passed over"
My Fair Lady is one of my all-time favorite movies. Now that I watch it I find the passive-aggressive male authority and the maturing female lead even more intriguing for all the depth of character and their relation to real life.
George Bernard Shaw was a genius.

Anyway, moving on.
I have been feeling 'passed over' all week.

Frequent readers may remember that I was really trying for the bookkeeping position at the grocery store that I work at back in February. Another girl (e.) got the position.  Mid-May she told a couple people that she was leaving and going to school the middle/end of August. I waited a bit after the news broke to approach the front-end manager, not wanting to appear over-eager or reckless to job-shop when the position was not even 'cold' as it could be colloquially put.
I came in 30 minutes early the middle of June and spoke to (personnel/front end manager[FEM]) about how I was (still) interested in moving up and asked what I could do to prove my readiness/capability. She said she would need to look through my files and would get back to me later that day. That evening after the store closed she told me that she had not had time and she would get to it later in the week.

I waited a week, and then it was an incredibly busy weekend, so I waited for that to be over. Monday after I was done with work, I asked her if she had had time to look things over and she told me 'regretfully' that the store manager had already approved a transfer from another store as a part-time replacement (e. is full-time). She continued by saying that a part-time bookkeeping slot may come open 'later in the fall', but until a 'posting' (public announcement that the slot was needing to be filled) was approved by the manager, I could not apply/que for the position.

I hate to say bad things about my job. I love it and I get along perfectly with all the employees, and I enjoy talking with customers and helping people and doing all the various and sundry things I do. I have been giving 100% to them for over 9 months now. I have never turned down a call-in/extra day of work or any shift-switch with a fellow employee.
I have come in late only twice in all that time, and I have done my utmost to be the best I could be for them. Again: I love my job.

However: for FEM to tell me that it was the manager who had the last say is a bold-faced lie. I know that and I am probably the least knowledgeable of anyone how workplaces operate. FEM knew that this transfer had applied to work here, and I am sure the manager discussed it with her because the FEM does payroll and schedules and such.
For her to refuse me the job and to refuse me to even 'que' for it is totally mean on her part. She knows darn well what the employment needs on front end are and what jobs are vacated/going to be vacated/need to be filled/are not being filled. it is HER JOB.


But I have learned from all this. I am going to the manager next time, not the FEM. I am going to lay it all out for him plainly.
1) I am dedicated
2) I want this job, and have wanted it for a long time
3) When I was hired, they told me this was my spot
4) I have been your most dedicated employee for 11 months.
5) You yourself have called me in at 7 in the morning (and woke me up) and I came.
6) Last time I asked about this position I was told that it was all in your hands
7) I am very competent and would fill this position perfectly.
8) ...blah blah about my good qualities and the things front end could get from me

I plan on talking to him the week before (e.) leaves. I am NOT letting this get past me again.

Until then I have cut my availability. I have been completely flexible to the point of bending over backwards. Not any more.
I found a job that pays more than cutthroatwage and is managed by someone who was actively recruiting me and mentioned (in the interview) that I was 'supervisor' material and that he wanted me to begin asap. I will begin that in August, hopefully, and work only at the store in the evenings. I might be able to save money and stop living paycheck to paycheck.

I am NOT going to settle for being passed over.
I am NOT going to wait and keep hoping naively that dedicated service and devoted work-ethic will advance me.
I am NOT going to starve and not be able to put gas in my car because I am allowing them to push me aside and barely give me enough hours to call myself 'full time.'
I am NOT going to allow FEM to give me any more stress about money or work or my future.
I will NOT be passed over.

and I dont think I am blaming her too much. I have made endless excuses as to her conduct and I have the gut-feeling that she does not advance me because she does not want me advanced. Either she sees me as a 'good worker bee' or she doesnt want me to be one of her lackeys (ie. bookkeepers).
dont know. I DO know however, that the guy who originally hired me believed in me and in 90 days had me doing everything and trained in everything I could be. The day before they fired him for 'suspicions' he was telling me about how I could start training for bookkeeping the first of the new year.

6 months later I am fighting for just enough hours to pay rent and gas.
I am not whining "poor me, my life is so hard." I am going to change things and I am going to make my life better.
I am not giving them any more than they gave me.

I am sorry, Store. You have ruined your best employee.

All I know is....

So the big news of today is that Hillary's Book was reviewed on Christianity Today.
Also, the 'Internet Monk' noted it and sparked a loooong discussion on a semi-related topic: the definition/parameters of the word 'abuse' as it relates to QDs and the Partiarchy movement.

The basic premise of the complainers is that the word 'abuse' is thrown around altogether too much and that its misuse detracts from the people who have really been abused and who are legitimately using it.  Only those who have been 'really' abused should use it and applying it to misuse of authority, overbearing fathers, watching younger siblings, etc lowers it's value and is an abuse. (*coughpunlol)

OK: so what DOES qualify as abuse, people-who-think-they-have-the-right-to-tell-other-people-how-to-talk-and-use-words?
I jump whenever there are sudden noises.
I get scared whenever my managers call my name (even if it is just to ask me to make them a frappe)
I worry when Mrs. G get emotional that I am going to get kicked out or that she hates me.
I dont sleep until I exhaust myself because of the nightmares I encounter.
I bury and block feelings and emotion and fight getting close to any person.
All of that qualifies as PTSD.
I have trouble with religion and church attendance, always hearing my dad through the bible or the preacher or the message.
I havent read my bible or 'prayed' for months because I am afraid and angry and upset.
Can that qualify as Spiritual PTSD?  Some sort of millstone-worthy ailment?
I fight voices in my head almost every moment of every day: from watching television, to what I wear or dont wear, to how I spend my time, to how I talk, to the things I think and the first thing that pops into my head.
Shame, guilt, accusation of constant sin, fear, depression, anxiety....

What else do I have to 'have' or go through to count to you people?


All I know is the pain and hurt I have gone through.
All I know is my 'normal' is what some people called abuse.
All I know is that they cared enough to speak to my wounds and to help me out of where I was.
All I know is that I am freed from that outwardly.
All I know is that the bonds around my spirit are for me to fight
All I know is that they tell me there is hope and someday I will be whole and healed and free.

All I know is that your quick once-over and dismissal of me hurts.

Fathers and Self-Esteem

(To Feel part 3)

I have been thinking a lot about self-esteem and self-image lately and one thing that came to mind was something my father used to say. In the middle of a periodic talk about courtship/dating/relationship-with-the-opposite-sex/etc he would say something like: "Girls date because they are looking for an ego boost and affection. They want to feel special and they want to think that they matter to someone. The place that they should be getting this is from their fathers...."
Similar inferences may be gotten from courtship/Patriarchy books like: "So Much More"

The general knowledge on this subject is that most women have self-esteem problems and that other people can help solve, or at least be a balm to these wounds.
The problem is how people try to fix in, and especially how in Patriarchal/QF circles these issues are passed off/ignored/called something else/or dealt with wrongly.


I asked Mrs. G about whether she had heard or read anywhere the "daughters should get their emotional cups filled by their fathers" line and she said she had.
  All the helpmeet-daughters and that big bad box of emotional incest and whatnot aside; one of the biggest disconnects I find between this lip-service and reality is that for all their talk about being there for their families and ruling and loving their children: fathers do a lot to tear down their daughters self-esteem instead of building it.

Just in the last two weeks that I have been working on this series, I found a half-dozen daughters siting examples of their fathers being negative about their person, or intelligence, or experience.
Anne from the Quicksilver Queen:

"He rarely ever complimented his daughters. He destroyed my self image by making comments like ‘you should watch your weight’ and ‘you probably don’t need a second helping, right?’ and ‘you better be careful when you’re pregnant…some women take the opportunity as an excuse to eat whatever they want and pig out and get really fat’. It hurts when all you wanted was his approval…for him to be proud of you…and he’s always critical of you, your opinions, thoughts, feelings, emotions, appearance, and everything else you can think of..."

And from Permission to Live:

"My parents still acted as though this was up to me, but it had never truly been an option. My Dad told me I would be allowed to take online courses IF I managed to complete my two years of Latin and Greek, plus Algebra, Trigonometry and Calculus, and Biology. He explained that the only way I would be smart enough to keep up with college level courses was if I completed all of my home school and 'applied myself for once'...
College was not going to happen, I just wasn’t smart enough."

Labels like this stick for so much longer than they should. My father also wanted me to 'watch my weight' and would come into my room some afternoons and tell me it was "exercise time". (ie: get up now and get out into the yard and run around because I dont think you have burned enough calories today)
Except, the funny thing was that he wasnt at home during the day and never knew what exercise I did or didnt get. He just saw me as fat.
He would tell me at birthday parties (when I got served a larger slice of cake then maybe someone else got) "A minute on your lips, forever on your hips" and once even said outright that guys would never marry a larger girl if they could get a skinnier one. 
He also wanted me to have nicer skin.  He offered a couple times to have me be a guinea pig for an acne product they were testing at a college (heard it advertised on the local radio station).  He offered to buy a sample of proactive and while he didnt comment on it, I know that he wished I wasnt as be-pimpled as our family genes and my skin-type had me be.

Is it any wonder I still feel fat to this day?  Whenever I look in the mirror the first thing I notice are my hips and the second is the profuse red dots all over my face.  Even my mother (now into her late 40s) has acne regularly.  I just feel like I cant be pretty while I have hips and my family's face.
Honesty, instead of making their daughter secure and emotionally stable at home, I think a lot of Patriarchs end up so crippling their girls self-worth that instead of looking for it elsewhere they are assured in their hearts that it cannot be found in them and they dont think anyone else could find it even if they looked.
Now that I am a rebellious, wicked daughter and left his home, I have the freedom (if I choose) to go out and date.  Surely someone out there might find me attractive and/or marriageable material....right?

Yeah..... no.  I dont have the self-esteem to sell myself to other people, be it for a job or for a relationship.
I dont see myself as beautiful or possessing the qualities necessary to be or do things.
By default.
I am trying to overcome it, but you never realize how deep a sapling has its roots sunk into the ground until you attempt to pull it up.  Like a dandelion, it grows back from the smallest pieces of leftover and when you turn around is in full bloom.

Maybe we are always looking for attention and an ego boost.  But crushing (or attempting to crush) the part of me that feels and wants and needs that is not going to help the 'problem', much less fix it and give you the perfect daughter who doesnt date and doesnt 'give her heart away' to a strange guy in return for affection and time spent together.

Feelings and Self-Esteem

 To Feel (Part 2)

Every time I see her I think: "no one is ugly by choice."

She is dubbed "the ugly stepsister #2" by those of us who dont know her real name.
(and I so wish I did.  I really want to get to know these girls and find out if I can help any of them in any way)

She and her sister come in together usually, with the group.  Everyone at work calls them "The Mennonites" but that is because they dont have any other name.  There is one 'family' of a grandmother/mother/3daughters and one who everyone guesses is a daughter-in-law.
And then there are the look-alike 'stepsisters' who are obviously from a different family.  They are about 100lbs smaller and have oval faces and frizzy hair.   I finally saw their mother (the resemblance is undeniable) and was shocked.  The mother is your everyday QF mom and she looks about 50 (give or take a couple years).  Yet, her daughters look just as old as she does (lacking only the grey hair).
I hesitate to use the word, but sister #2 is less than plan and bordering on ugly.  Her face is unusually pale, with the washed-out and overly large shirts she wears.  Her denim skirts are about a size and a half too large and usually wrinkled.  She wears sneakers and socks like the rest of them.  The mother/grandmother/daughters group smiles and wears flower-patterned skirts and the daughter-in-law knows what colors to wear for her complexion and how to do her hair.  She is the most put together of all of them.  The Stepsisters never smile (that I have seen) and hang in the background most of the time.  Always in denim and never a deviation of style, sag, or wrinkle.

If I had 10 minutes a day I could make that frizzy hair into a classy updo.  Another 5 minutes and some blush and her face would light up.  A slim pencil skirt, a pair of flats (she is a great height) and a deep magenta colored blouse and this 'ugly stepsister' would be someone ravishingly attractive......
If I were allowed.
If she were allowed.
IF beauty were allowed.

But beauty is dangerous.  Beauty is empowering.  Beauty is like a wildfire.
Beauty is something that is kept far away from girls because of its terrible influence and how it changes everyone.


Like every other Daughter of Eve, I struggle with self-esteem and hating myself.  Ask any girl and if she is honest she could rattle off a list of no less than 10 things she hates about herself and a lot more she would change if she could.
I remember the first time I FELT truly beautiful.   The first time I scared myself by calling myself something I had never called myself before: attractive.
I put on this outfit my sister bought for me.  It was my size and it was in my favorite color.  I was hesitant to wear it because it was lower cut than anything I dared wear before.  However, I had been out for almost 6 months and lost some weight and was going to try it if it killed me.   I looked in the mirror and had to look away almost immediately.
I was PRETTY!!!!  I liked how I looked.
I went out of my room and found Mrs. G.
I asked her (I was scared to death and literally shivering) if it was "OK to feel this pretty."  If it was ok to be so beautiful to myself.  If it was okay to feel attractive and to like looking this way.

  It was scary. I literally was waiting for lightening to fall out of the sky and rapists to storm the house.

I looked beautiful.


"Femininity" is encouraged in patriarchy.  Being a dependent, weaker-vessel woman is fine.
Dressing in skirts and not climbing trees or using a chainsaw, but riding horses and making scones.
A meek and quiet spirit: Sure!
Beautiful? No way!!!
You would do better playing with barbie dolls than liking who you are.
Because confident, attractive, and self-assured people arent easily manipulated.  They dont take orders from people they dont respect.  They dont have to do dirty work to get by, because they can succeed on their own terms.  And the power-hungry control-freaks cant take that away from them.
So they squash it in fancy words and biblical terminology and keep girls ugly.  Girls who wear clothing two sizes too large so they dont defraud anyone with chest or legs, glancing furtively at the strapless wedding dress on display thinking how much she would love to be a princess for one day.  Girls who look dully at the mirror; forbidden to add color to their mouths, cheeks, or eyes which remain (respectively) downturned, sallow, and sad.  Girls who look at couples out of the corner of their eye as they walk with their myriad siblings wondering if they could every as pretty as the girl is so a guy might want to put his arm around her as well.

Dying to be seen as attractive by someone else, even if they cant feel it for themselves. 
Dying to be needed for more than the food they cook, the dishes they wash, and the square feet they can clean per hour.
Dying to have someone to listen to them.
Dying to know that what they have been through can be validated
Dying to have someone assure them that their pain matters, and that their heart's cries are heard.
Dying to feel wanted.
Dying to be beautiful.

Feeling nothing and hating themselves.
Is it any wonder we are depressed and suicidal?