To Feel

I have told some people at the place where I work about my past.  Largely because of the group of ladies who come in regularly.

One of the middle-aged ladies was very interested and asked me a couple questions about things.  She was a people-watcher and had some real questions.  It was fun hearing her interest because it helped me think over some things as well.
On question she asked me was:
How do you feel?

The surprising thing about this question was that it took me a day or two to think out a real answer.

Honestly, my first thought was: You Don't.
Feelings are from the deceitful heart and should be ignored at all times and for all situations.

But I knew that wasnt really the case, so I had to think it out.  And the truth is that you do feel.  You feel the eyes of people taking in your denim ankle skirts and baggy shirts and looking away in disgust.  You feel the wear and tear of waking up in the middle of the night to rock a fussy, sick baby to sleep.  You feel the multiple burns on your arms, still sensitive every time you open the oven to bake and the heat pours out.
You feel shame for thinking bad thoughts.  You feel fear when going out to run errands alone, always watching the people around you warily, ready to scream and run if anyone approaches you.  You feel pride when you look at girls with skin showing and tops popping out of their clothing and fat knees under mini shorts.  You feel accomplished when you have done all that was required of you and still found time to read your Bible before the day is over.  You feel joy when you read a book to a little sibling and get silly and end up tickling them on the floor.  You feel safe in your house where no evil can get to you because of your lifestyle and choices.

But in most cases, feelings on the positive (or seemingly positive) scale are emphasized and talked about and the negative (or perceived negative) ones are censured.
Feelings like depression, anger, resentment, grief, pain, and loneliness were hidden.  It is not befitting a young woman of God to be angry, or to give way to depression, or bitterness.   Unless, perhaps, it be towards lost souls or those dying in foreign lands without the word of Christ.  Then one can be as sad and angry as one wishes.
Righteous anger could be exercised by heads or fathers when something unapproved or even forbidden broke into the sanitized realm they ruled over.  But such occasions are rare and definitely excuse the outbreak of emotion.

Feelings like joy, peace, contentment, praise, and kindness were always encouraged.  Female bloggers (often daughters of QF/P 'royalty') write about the things in their lives which attempt daily to rob them of these virtues.  Girls are encouraged to read their posts and books and attempt to model these "modern-day-heroines-of-the-faith".

But even with all the emotional vamping and sincere efforts to model others; there is a weariness that many good works and no assurance of eternal security produces.  You can only run a car with gas in the tank and only so many gallons can fit.  When you run on fumes, you end up running out. 
And the problem with these feelings is they dont have names.
Depression is a bad word.  It is not a feeling or a description.  When my readers first began telling me I was depressed (back when I began writing in April '10) I was sincerely shocked.  "Is this what depression feels like?" I asked myself.  I began putting names on the emotions that raged in the locked closet of 'bad things' that kept popping up in the life I tried so hard to keep clean.  And thus began my journey out of the life I had always known.

But it only began the journey of "feeling".  I am still putting names on feelings and trying to separate the differences.  I am still trying to connect the puzzle pieces I have to work with to find a picture of who I am.  It is an interesting approach allowing a feeling to roam free while you name it and place it instead of stuffing it and pretending it doesnt exist.

I am FREE!

Maybe I should write this late at night.
Maybe I shouldnt blab when I am tired and angry and emotional.
Maybe I should go to bed.

But I am FREE to make that choice for myself.
I am FREE to wear jeans to work today.
I am FREE to get a job or change jobs or quit.
I am FREE to move to a different city.
I am FREE to make plans and then change them.
I am FREE to spend my money when I am hungry at work.
I am FREE to clean the kitchen or leave it as is.
I am FREE stay up late.
I am FREE to cry and be emotional and upset about things.
I am FREE to go dancing.
I am FREE to de-stress myself by walking or swimming, or listening to angry music, or soothing music, or talking, or dancing, or writing on my blog.
I am FREE to call people, even at this hour of the night and talk.
I am FREE!!!!!!

I cant really explain how it blows my mind being able to have this and to not be afraid of repercussions.
To not have to get up early tomorrow and pretend I slept.
To not have to sneak away because I am trying not to fall apart.
To not have to hide my computer and phone and friends and facebook wall.
To not be afraid of some dance moves, or shaking my hips, or having men look at me.
To not have the Bible (or quasi-relevant passages) thrown at me.
To NOT go to church or 'fellowship' or any gathering of cult peoples.
I do not have to sacrifice my freedom or choice for the sake of any person's pride, or a group's 'testimony', or as a personal favor, or as a duty to a family or 'god', or for my future, or for my eternal destiny.


I guess 'normal' people find these to be strange lists.
And perhaps they are.  But I have lead a strange life.  And I know the fruits.

3rd Worst

So, class, who can tell me what the third worst month/holiday season is for people with bad families/family situations?

No, Christmas is second.
No, thanksgiving is the first.

**Ding, ding!!!
Good job, person over there!  It is JUNE!!! Father's Day, and picnics, and family barbecues, and reunions, and smiling happy families..... everywhere but around you.
I feel like posting something negative and cynical on friend's facebook statii when they gush or coo about having "the best (parent) ever, luv you ______"; or "My (parent) is so awesome...etc"
And then, other people will comment something to the effect of "No, you dont!! I do! My (parent) is better"
And a third person will try to one-up the first two with something else said parent did/said/was to them.

As happy as I am that they had a safe, happy childhood (and honestly, I am happy for them.  Growing up hurting sucks and I wouldnt wish it on my enemies) I get so upset inside seeing comments and updates like this.  I want to say something like:  "Wow, I am so glad you have a parent who actually loved you.  I sure wish I did.  Tell me again how it feels so I can envy you properly."  Or   "I am jealous.  My dad stuffed religion down my throat and encouraged me to be a snotty, proud bitch.  Now people hate my sarcastic and cynical attitude."

And not because my life was all bad.  I have heard terrible stories from dear friends.  My life was a lot easier than theirs in a lot of ways, and I got out sooner.  I am making good progress while they struggle to even make it on their feet.
And I loved a lot of things about my life.  I loved the garden and my herbs and plants.  I loved theology and Greek and studying the in's and out's of other religions and being on the mission field and witnessing to people.  I loved baking and seeing people devour my creations.  I loved singing babies to sleep and rocking them as they relaxed softly in my arms; a solid, warm, weight.
I liked the bustle of people and tons of people.  I liked hearing my dad debate and teach.  My mother taught me how to clean every corner.  I read voraciously and they provided me with an endless library and encouraged my depth and interest there.

Its just that I have been feeling a decline all month (yes, all 7 days of it) and knowing that as the month progresses I will have to keep away from most (if not all) TV commercials, cards, store-advertising, people, etc. if I am going to keep from having to think about the bad.

My knee has been hurting when I lay down.  Sleep is hard when it is telling me I am stressed.  Its like my body is upset ahead of time knowing what I am in for.
Thanksgiving was really busy, but by the time Christmas came around I was ready to collapse and I DID internally.  Gee, I remember that debacle.
This time, I dont know what will happen.
All I know is I hate June.

I CAN do this

I am in a good position this week.
I am fresh from a long "vacation" with people who are more family to me than my parents are or will ever be willing to be.  Speaking of which, it is more of an "emotional security high", where I was loved and cherished.  I feel like I can climb mountains and accomplish my dreams.

In this feel-good-rush of things, I am making big plans and deciding on some things in life.
I need to work on my math.  I hated it while in school and while I did reasonably well, I never wanted to go beyond and excel.  My goal for the rest of this year is to go back through all the math books Mrs. G has and tutor myself.  I want to take my SAT's at least by spring of 2012.
I know that SAT's aren't that important anymore; and for someone who is older going straight into college would save time.  However, with SAT scores I will have more of a basis for intelligence than a GED.  The review and stuff will also help with any college entrance exam if I am ready to take classes
I want you readers to keep me accountable and keep me up on this one.
I really, really detest numbers and I know I am going to have to work really hard at keeping up this level of energy, optimism, and purpose.

At work, M. keeps pushing me to do research into other jobs that she thinks I would be good at.  She tells me repeatedly that I am young and now is the time to move up the ladder, not get stuck in a minimum wage job and turn out like her.  Other people are also telling me this.  One customer who is really nice told me a story about how he got work at a car factory; assembly line work.  He told me how the older men there encouraged him to get out into the world and not settle.  They told him that if he didnt  he would end up like them; working there all their lives.  When they finally got to retire, they didnt have much life left to enjoy.
He told me how he used his money to travel and see the world.  He now runs his own fitness center.

I have so much fear and I know I can get discouraged to the point that I refuse all manner of help and goal setting.  Today I wrote out in big letters "I CAN DO THIS!!!" on top of a paper.  I then listed out my goals for the rest of 2011 and a couple things each for spring, summer, and fall of 2012.
But first things first.

Today I am going to go out and spend a couple bucks on a big notebook. 
Algebra; here I come.

Within a Dream

Ive always struggled with how to qualify (or excuse) dreams.

Lately Ive had one really bad one and a couple lesser-but-still-terrifying ones.
Am I responsible?
Why do I feel responsible?
Why can I excuse some and not others?
Why do I forget some and not others?
What about the ones that remain for weeks, or even years?
What about recurring ones?
What about dream interpretation?
What about symbolism?

A lot of questions and few answers that fully put the questions to rest for me.
But this morning, around 5:30 when I woke up from a dream about work and people buying salads (see, a dream that I can excuse and push off); I had a dream/memory about a circumstance that REALLY happened to me.  It was like re-living it, and it happens to me a lot.  Maybe thats why I have such a good memory.

Anyway, it was a time when the whole family was at a Square Dance with all the families in the area.  They happen every third month in the fall, winter, and spring; and are one of the ways that the young people get into the competition for the Farm Show.  I got into a square with my father (which I normally try to avoid) and he was across from me.  The teacher was teaching "Up to the Middle and Back" in which couples step forward two steps and ackowledge thier opposite couple and step back.
When doing this call, couples can simply nod, can bow, can clap across, or can do a variety of combinations of hand-movements.  I (for some forgotten reason) had not been clapping that night.  I have this thing about people touching me at times and I dont like it.
The previous square I had been in had merely acknowledged and stepped back.  I tried to do the same in this square, but my father wanted very much to clap.  I did not, and I did not put up my hands to clap.  About the second time the call was called, he realized I was not just forgetting and was not doing what he wanted, so he told me I had to clap.  I told him that I hadnt in the other square, and I didnt want to, and that it wasnt required.  He insisted on it, so he began trying to 'clap' my arm.  I tilted my shoulder back so that he could not touch me, so he stepped forward another step (out of the dance, as we were backing up, messing others up) and hit my shoulder very hard.  I realized that this would continue, so I stopped turing my shoulder away and he hit my shoulder another couple times until the dance was over (somewhat softer each time because he slowly realized that I wasnt pulling away).  Everyone in the square saw this and must have known.  No one said anything, and obviously they couldnt have known how hard he was hitting me any of those times.
I decided I didnt want to have to think about this, so I got up and stayed awake until about 8am when I felt safe after talking with someone on the phone.  I slept another 4 hours and woke up feeling better.

I told Mrs. G about this later and she said it was just a bad dream.  She misunderstood the break from salads and thought I was describing a dream.  When I told her it was real and it truly happened she nearly freaked on me.  She asked who else was in the square who would remember and I only know of one person, who I am not in contact with any more.  I dont know if he would remember, but I think he was my corner, and would have seen everything.
I still dont like people touching me, and touching my shoulder especially makes me go all PTSD.

I had an episode at work where someone was talking to me and kindly laid a hand on my shoulder.  I freaked and ordered them to never touch me.  The entire rest of the morning I battled a boiling rage towards them, when I had never had cause to dislike them before. By the end of my work-shift, I could block it out and later that week I couldnt remember what they did.  I just remember they did something.
In fact, it was only just as I was writing this that the memory came back.....

Broken

I feel so broken right now.

I woke up today with a song and a Bible verse floating around in my head.  The song is a 'meh' song by a rather old (80's) CCM singer who is popular in the third-world country where I grew up in.  I had to laugh when I looked up the song on youtube, all the videos were karaoke dubs from that nation.

Anyway, the verse was: "God is near to the broken hearted."

I tried looking for it, and after a couple unsuccessful tries, I found it in Psalm 34:18.
I read the verse and sighed, because God was still out to get me to return home to my parents and be a good daughter.
Then I got mad.  I had given God a rest for a while.  Not 'gone to church', not read Daddy's NKJV version, not even allowed myself to read the tracts people keep handing me at work.  I was hoping space and distance would heal something and let me be a 'good' christian like I was raised to be. *insert meek and quiet smile.

But after a break of about ten minutes I looked over a different version of it because sometimes it helps me take the verse out of preconditioned-reading-mode; which is what I needed.
I suddenly realized that no one else would get my first reaction out of the verse.  Then I began picking myself apart like I always do trying to figure out why I thought that in the first place, and how to change, and berating myself for still thinking the way I used to think. Gah.

And while picking apart myself; this is what I heard:

The first verse is all hellfire and damnation.  Just look at it.  If a sermon is preached about it where will the bulk of the message lay: the second part.  "Such as have a contrite heart."  Obviously, the first thing that sticks out is the huge condition.  'Only the certain honest/blessed/perfect individuals who REALLY have a contrite heart.'  Only those who God has searched and interrogated and picked apart to find no wrong motives in.  Only such as those.  Like: only those with the heart of a child.  Only the REALLY contrite.

And then there is the 'contrite.'  Sheesh, only a KJV-er would understand that.  Contrite is like what they did to enemies in Bible times.  Made them walk under a small doorway in front of the conquering general.  They would have to get down low and possibly on their knees and squeeze through this door (the eye of a needle, anyone?) and humble themselves.  And, because God knows your heart, he is not the overbearing general who only looks at the outside obeisance.  He sees your HEART too, and your HEART is wicked and before you dare ask Him to be there for you, or be near to your sadness and weakness?  You better have it cleaned out of all the bad things and made truly pure and honest before you do such a thing.

In short: You, missy, are so, so, SO far from the qualifier on this verse and SO far from being able to accomplish it that there is no way God could (even if he wanted to, because we all know that God cant abide sin and evil) come near you or even pay attention to your brokenness.  Nu-uh.  Not gonna happen.

And that is when I started crying and decided to not read the Bible anymore for another long while.
My bible-reader is broken and my brain is broken and I cant do this.

Clean Streak

I got a second job about a month ago doing laundry, dishes, ironing, etc for a lady/her family.  She works and cant keep up with it all and still have time to spend doing things she needs to get done.  So, she pays me to do it for her.  And I dont mind.

The ironic thing is that I didnt used to be the clean and organized one.  My mother and sister tried for years to drill into me a sense of "clean up after yourself" and "pick up your room" and "get in the corners", etc.
They threatened me with pictures of hoarders and told me my future home would look like that and smell like cat urine if I didnt learn then what they were teaching me.
And I *was* a very messy child.  I didnt care about matching clothes, brushing my hair, or making my bed .  And in same cases (*looks over shoulder at the bed all messy and unmade.... **cough) I still put things off longer than they might should be done.

But I am not really a messy person.  And cleaning makes me happy.  I never thought I would hear myself say it.  I spent most of this morning cleaning out cabinets, arranging items, stocking the arranged and empty cabinets with all manner of useful things, and cleaning out months worth of congealed brown sticky goo from long-ignored cabinets at work. (yes, loooong ignored.  It took me almost and hour and a ton of boiling water to clean that one out)
I then wiped down the front of all the stainless steel shelves and sprayed them with cleanser and went all the way around Food Service doing the same thing.  And I was in a great mood, happy, and busy keeping myself busy singing little tunes to myself.

And that is when I realized that I was happy doing it.

Someone once asked me what a perfect future would entail, and all I could think to want was to *be happy*.  As strange as that sounds, and as simple as it might be to accomplish, I dont really remember ever being just happy.  At peace with myself, delighting in my surroundings, enjoying the work set before me, and in harmony with the people I come in contact with.
Happy.

I was CLEANING (something I have always loathed and put off) and HAPPY.  And I did it well.  And I made so much space after I threw out unnecessary junk items that had been laying around since..... who knows when.

Mrs. G told me the other day as we were cleaning out her fridge (my idea.... *gasp) that it was because I was not depressed any more.
And that got me thinking.  I do still feel the way I used to, but it is getting to be at shorter intervals, and I can get over it quicker using my wits and all the ways I have learned to combat it.  I do feel more in control of myself and I  like who I am as a person.
And I am a very nice person who cleans, and sings, and smiles at mean people at work, and laughs off mean comments, and who is a good worker, and who is always doing more. 
Its funny.  For so long I tried to be ^ that kind of a person and never could attain it.  It seemed like only a perfect person could keep up such a nice act.

But its not an act.  Its easy.  It comes naturally. 

Like sorting, arranging, and cleaning....

Love

You know why people talk about it all the time?
You know why song after song can be written about it and it hasnt been exhausted?
You know why it makes people do 180's and change in ways they never thought possible?

Do you want to know why all the stupid, cheesy cliches stay around?


Because sometimes it is the only thing in the universe that cant be excused or written off.
It cant be denied in the face of cynicism or debated out of logic and reason.

And then you have been loved....
You are not the same.

It is like living through a tornado. 
You open the storm-cellar door and look around at the chaos that used to be familiar and safe and realize that nothing will be the same again.  What used to matter suddenly is cut down to the basics.  Formality and societal constructs got whirled out of shape and the old rules just dont fit any more.

It is amazing to be with people and know that no matter what they are there for you.  These people would give up anything (some of them everything) for Y-O-U.


I used to feel unworthy in a bad way.  I felt like a louse who deserved squashing for the fate of being born a louse.
But this time I feel unworthy because; when someone you respect and look up to and go to for advice and support is willing to die for you.... it is the only natural feeling.


Is this what God is like?

Fear

I have come to realize a pattern: My knee hurts when I do something drastic, or when Im stressed. Like a blinking red light, only in my brain's pain center.
This time, its warning me early...

This weekend I will be seeing my family again.  For the first time in 9 months, and first time since I left in the wee hours of the morning.  My younger brother is having a public ceremony in honor of his Eagle Scout award.  He desperately wants ALL the family together and got permission.  He called me on Monday to make sure I was still coming.  I told him that I had promised and I would do what was necessary to be there for him and to keep my promise.

I hurt my knee the other month when I stepped back and twisted it in the parking lot. 
It has been hurting since the other day.
As much as I have been trying to take this one day at a time and not worry....
My knee knows better.

Hindsight

Hindsight is 20/20



Most of last week it was raining.  The temperature also dropped about 20 degrees and it even frosted over one evening.  It was only over this weekend when the sun came out and the 70 degrees returned that I realized just how depressed I was/had been.  I had been so much better at handling it over the winter when I expected it and was prepared to combat it.
This week was like a backhand to all the progress I thought I had made.
It is hard to look at myself when I am in that condition.  I am ashamed to admit the depths I sank to, and how crazy it all seems now.
It is so much easier to diagnose in hindsight, as well as to cure and counsel.

Today I had a customer that reminded me jarringly or my dad.  The poor man.  I ran away as soon as I finished checking him out and spent as much time outside as I could, getting carts, changing the trash bags, etc.  I picked up pretty quickly what was wrong, so it wasnt as bad as it might have been, but it was still a reminder to me of all my "issues" (such a nice word to bundle everything up with and dismiss or package it...) and what I had to deal with.
Luckily the day sun was hot and the pansies in front of the store smiled encouragingly at me.  I managed to pull myself together and be alright.  One halting step forward after falling down the stairs... again...