Fare Thee Well, Sweet Memories

I took a walk yesterday evening. I'd been holding it all in, telling myself I had to be strong. But last night, I was tired of being strong. So I went for a walk.

There's a quiet road just down the hill from my house. I live in a rural area, but my street is relatively busy. It would not be suitable for my purpose. So I headed for that winding, picturesque road with a small notepad and a pencil.

Tuesday, my boyfriend ended our romantic relationship. Oh, but he was so much more than a boyfriend. He was, and still is, my best friend. I called him my soulmate. He was my first love.

He sent me a text Monday night saying we needed to talk... soon. I was already asleep, as I started my new job at 6 the following morning. I got the text before I left. I wasn't overly concerned, but I asked if anything was wrong. His reply was that it depended on how I looked at it. Now I was concerned. I went on break and tried calling. He had gone back to sleep, so I left a voice mail. When he got up, he sent another text and mentioned that it was about "us".

My entire being revolted against the reality I knew I had to face. I was sick to my stomach, physically ill all day. I couldn't eat. I held back the tears. I plastered on a smile. I fought not to break down right there in that diner. It's a wonder I didn't have an anxiety attack.

Really, I think it was a blessing in disguise that I was at work that day. I was forced to keep busy and think about other things. So by the time I got off and headed for his house, I had at least accepted the inevitable.

It had finally sank in what he had really gotten himself into. We were together a little over 3 months. We'd dated in high school. We had been friends before that. And even after that, we were still friends. Some people may say that wasn't long enough to know, but we had no doubts that we were made for each other.

We planned our future, talked about anything and everything you can imagine. Raising children, building our own house, writing our own vows. We were serious. Forever, we promised. Our love would be forever.

But I'm 18 and he 19. We're young. We haven't been out there yet. He ships out next April for basic training to be a Navy corpsman. He'll be gone for at least 5 years. He just felt that he didn't want a relationship right now. Not with anybody. He has a lot to figure out. And really, we both do.

I don't fault him. He broke my heart, and along with that, so many promises. But he didn't make them with the intention of breaking them. He didn't lie to me. He meant every word he said. But, in the words of Taylor Swift, people are people and sometimes we change our minds.

I'm not angry. Am I hurt? Absolutely. But that's a risk I took with my eyes wide open. And I would do it over again.

I hadn't allowed myself to grieve. I had to mourn what I had lost. I still have that friendship. It was a friendship before it was anything and it will be a friendship no matter what else.

But last night, the emotions I had bottled up began to overflow. So I cried. And I told myself it was okay. I had every right to be hurt and sad.

Crying helped. But it wasn't enough. Only a good walk would do. Crying and walking and praying and talking out loud. That was the only way to deal with everything I was feeling.

In that little notepad, I wrote everything that I had lost and needed to mourn. "I Love You" one said. "Honeymoon in New Orleans" another said. I set out on that journey fully bent on tearing those out phrase by phrase and dropping them into the creek, to say my final farewell.

What I didn't take into account is the fact that it's July. The creek was only a narrow stream. It wouldn't have the effect I desired. So I closed the notepad and, for now, it remains intact. Perhaps I'll save it for the ocean. Perhaps then I will be prepared to say goodbye. Because right now, I know, I'm not ready to let go.

1Timothy 4:12

This is a letter I recently gave to a younger girl in my church.



My dearest Keri,

I am writing you this letter because God has put you on my heart. He has really burdened me lately to start mentoring. In case you are a little unclear on what that word means, as I was, I've looked it up in my super huge gigantanormous dictionary. Webster says that a mentor is a close, trusted, and experienced guide. Now I don't know about that last one, but I would love to really get to know you and earn your trust.

I want to be the person that you call when you're crying and don't know what to do. I can be the girl who makes you laugh when that stupid boy dumps you. I'll always be ready to pray with you when you have something on your heart. I'll pray for you every day. Everyone needs some encouragement at some point. I will tell you that you're a beautiful soul and point out the good things in you when all you can see is bad.

I can be the one to show you tough love when you need it; because I'm looking from the outside in, I can tell you when you're doing something wrong. I can hold you accountable for your actions and warn you when you've made a wrong turn.

I know I'm not very old. I just turned 18. But I've been where you are. And I've figured out a few things since then. I just want to share that knowledge with you, maybe leave you better off than I was. I know I'm not a perfect example. Jesus is your perfect example. But He's my example too. And I try every day to be more like Him. I want to be someone that you can look up to with respect and admiration. I want you to be able to see my Father through my actions. And I want to teach you to do the same.

I want to help you grow. Spiritually, relationally, mentally (I can tutor you if you need it). I love you unconditionally and I'm not going anywhere. I'll be there for you.

Of course, all of that is well and good, but useless if you don't want me to be your mentor. I would be honored if you accepted and I believe we will have a lot of good times together. Pray about it if you need to. Talk to me tonight if you feel led to. Do whatever you've gotta do. Just know that I'll love you either way.

with all my heart,

Julie





1 Timothy 4:12

Don't let anyone look down on you because you are young, but set an example for the believers in speech, in life, in love, in faith and in purity.

The Beauty of Butterflies

I guess I have a lot to tell, since it's been a week and an eventful week at that. I'll start with what's going on this very moment.

I am so happy. Me and my mom went to my new psychiatrist today. I haven't been sleeping worth a flip. We're talking I wake up anywhere from twice to six times a night. So, he gave me something for that, which I have yet to try out. That's not really why I'm happy anyway. He said that I DO have ADHD as well as bipolar disorder. So he started me on Vyvance. And let me tell, you I feel great. I can actually study now. I can get things accomplished. I can be myself again. It's so liberating. I'm lovin it right now.

Additionally, I've found a new romance prospect. It's really been so crazy. He's a guy I dated my sophomore year. I went on my first date with him. He made me laugh so hard and I was so comfortable with him. We wrote multiple page long notes and could talk for hours. He was such a great friend. The problem was, that's all I saw him as. So I broke it off after 2 months. Even still, I felt so respected afterwards. We had never even kissed. It was and still is the only relationship I have absolutely no regrets about. We remained friends after the split, although we lost touch what with going to different schools and whatnot.

I saw him this past fall. I was at Wal-Mart waiting on my oil to be changed. I was so manic, it's not even funny. So I decided to go virtual shopping. Basically, I grabbed a cart and threw anything and everything I like in it. Cris caught me in the clothing department. It was not a good day. He gave me a hug. I so needed it. It was that moment, though, that I realized that there was something more.

This past week, I was trying to reach out to some friends that I had kind of ditched during the course of my bipolar onset. I had always considered him to be one of my best friends, even when we didn't stay in contact. Cris had texted me a few days before asking for prayer for his mom, who undergoes surgery tomorrow morning. So I decided to text him. We talked and made plans for him to come over to help me with my guitar (because I am terrible). That was for Friday. On Thursday, I texted him, telling him he should come see me at work. I was bored, as usual, but I think something small wanted very much that something more.

He came to see me and stayed for about an hour. We talked and laughed like no time had passed. Later, he confessed to me that our brief meeting had reminded him of how things had been the first time. I confessed that it had made me wish for a second try.

A whirlwind of emotions and butterflies and hearts melting ensued. He took me on a picnic today. I love being with him. Because with him, I'm just me. No one else, not trying to impress. Not worried that he'll judge me. I can just be. And that is beautiful.

At Long Last

I'm sitting outside the choir room. I love the sound of a choir. It's so beautiful. The choirs were my favorite part of the orchestra performance last week. Music is how I self-medicate. It moves me. It brings tears at times, fuels my fury at others. I love the way music portrays emotion. And I prefer to feel my emotions fully, especially my sadness.

I wrote my first song Saturday. I take that back. I wrote one last summer at Church Camp. But this is the first decent one.

Saturday night, I got the definitive we're-not-getting-back-together from Seth. I thought I'd cry all night. Finally I got up and started writing. By the time I finished, I was able to sleep.

I cried less this time than I did when I broke up with him. I think in some very small way, I was relieved. It wasn't what I wanted, but it was something concrete.

All the back and forth and uncertainty did a number on me. I was so torn up about it constantly. At last, I have some closure. Now I can move on, be free of the worry and pain that threatened to rip my heart in two.

This Made My Day

I was completely caught off guard when I heard from Margaret, a girl who had been a year ahead of me at the math and science school. She sent me the most beautiful message and I thought I'd share it with you guys.


Hi Julie, it's been a while since I've talked to you.I was wondering if I ever told you how much I admire you. It seems like I may have never actually told you, and I figured maybe I should. When I'm having a bad day, I don't mind a compliment. I'm not entirely sure, but you seem to be having a rough time as of late. Maybe I can make you smile.

You are quite possibly the most beautiful, kind, amazing person I have ever met. You're open and friendly to everyone, even people like me who probably don't deserve it, or certainly didn't when I last saw you.

You have a voice like an angel, and you make everyone around you feel happier and better just because you are there.

At the begining of last school year, I was insanely jealous of the beautiful junior who breezed through the doors and charmed everyone with her bright smile and warm, wonderful personality. My kind of jealousy couldn't stand, though, because I tend to dislike those I'm jealous of, and there was no way to dislike you. :) I was probably a total and complete jerk to you, but you just smiled and were kind. Even I, who was called ice-queen several times that semester, thawed out and smiled around you.

Recently, I've been making some big changes in my life. I've been looking around to see what kind of woman I want to become. At one point when I was looking for inspiration, I came across your Facebook profile. I was instantly in the memory of this wonderful woman with pretty curls and that beautiful personality. I remembered the night I hung out in your room and tried on everything in your closet with Dani running in and out. I remembered random conversations in the halls about our mutual love of big, flowy skirts and the laugh you made when I commented on your "hooah!" army shirt.

Among conversations of our favorite people to have met at ASMSA, my friends and I always manage to mention you. I'm not sure how many of them really sat down and talked to you, or if they were very close, but I have never heard a single un-complimentary thing about you. I don't know how you are, but I always am interested in the impression I leave people. The one you left was honestly one of the best I've ever seen among everyone.

I don't know if you needed or wanted to know any of this. I just feel that it's a good thing to remind people of how amazing they are. I once heard that a good way to become a happier person is to give three compliments a day. Even if it's something as simple as "Wow, I love your hair!" or "That's a beautiful shirt. The color really makes your eyes pop." (I think I got it out of a Seventeen Magazine or something like that).So now, I try to do that. I try to make other people smile when I can, because that goodness is kinda like Kharma. It comes back, somehow. So, I'm giving some goodness to you.

You are an amazing, beautiful person, inside and out. You are talented and kind and bring happiness, fun and joy with you where ever you go. Your laugh is infectious, and your smile is a cure for whatever ailments a person might be having.

You're the kind of person who has the world at their feet and endless possiblities. I would love to see where you go with them.

I just thought you should know that. I hope you can smile at something, even if it's just making fun of one of your really crazy seniors. :P

Have a *great* day, Julie. You deserve it. :)

Journey

I'm sure you're getting tired of my lists. You may also find that you're beginning to get bored with the dull monotony of a crazy person's life. So here's something a little different. Ironically, I titled it on impulse and soon forgot what I had called it. Here is 'Journey'.

A dark and foreign universe awaits outside my door.
I cherish the home I've known so long. But I desire more.
I view this world from my curtained window, trembling with fear.
Quickly I approach a crossroad; the time to choose is near.
Do I follow the course of old or create another path?
I've tallied up the pros and cons. I'm scared to do the math.
I know where this road will lead. I know what lies ahead.
But certainty cannot allay this surging swell of dread.
The waves are crashing at my door. The walls begin to fall.
A new life blooms before me. It's time to stand up tall.
Though frightening is the world outside, I know that I belong.
I seize the latch, walk out the door. It's time now to be strong.
Icy water rushes at my legs. I gasp and scream for help.
I move into the realm of light. I take another step.
This journey I must make alone. My fate I must decide.
The tide has washed away my mask; I can no longer hide.
The person that I will become begins anew today.
A new dawn rises in the sky. Dawn wraps me in her rays.
Blinded by the brilliance of hope, I travel not by sight.
I trust that I will find my way. My future is so bright.
I don't know what I'm walking toward. I just know that I am safe.
The Shepherd said to follow Him. I walk this path by faith.
I've left behind my comfort zone. I'm left exposed and bare.
I'm quivering from loneliness. I sense the devil's stare.
Despair and overwhelming fear consume my heart and soul.
He'll use every tool he has to keep me from my goal.
The sky has turned again to black. I don't know where I am.
Why can't I find my way back home? What is the Master's plan?
I don't know where I want to go. I hardly know myself.
I stumble, fall, and pierce my soul. I have no spirit left.
Hopeless I lie motionless. When will this torment end?
I'm wandering blind. I'm cold. It's dark. Where has the warm sun been?
I question all I've ever known. This world's become so harsh.
The girl I was and who I am are galaxies apart.
I'm afraid of who I may be when all is said and done.
I'm terrified to know if I will like who I become.

Looking back now, it's so obvious to me. I can see the bipolar at work, see how it affected me. It's so crazy for me right now. Because that seemed normal to me. I can't say that I even realized I was going up and down. I just knew that I was never quite happy. And now to know that there is something different out there, something better, and to have a taste of it, is so amazing to me. I am so thankful that I have the semblance of normalcy that I do, because compared to before, this is indescribably good.

Whims and Fancies

If you haven't noticed, every time I post, I add another phrase to my "I will..." section. I desperately needed some inspiration for today's post, so I flipped to the next phrase I had planned. Lo and behold, an idea came to me. It said I will be excited about my life. Now I thought, "how am I supposed to do that?"

With all the monotony and routines of day-to-day life, it's easy to become bored and kind of like whatever about your life. There are a few things that I think contribute to being excited about your life. First of all, you have to like yourself. My last post covered that topic quite nicely. Second, you must have your spiritual life in order. You'll never find peace, much less excitement in a life that has no meaning to you. Third, it is necessary to go beyond yourself, to volunteer, to do something that makes you feel like you're making a difference in the world. Beyond that, the most important thing I can think of is allowing yourself to dream.

I'm making another list or two today. I'm going to allow myself to dream big. Some of these things may be a little out there, but sometimes they need to be. Sometimes you have to have dreams you'll never accomplish, simply for the sake of having them. It's the act of letting your fancy fly that makes life more exciting. It will be even more awesome to accomplish some of the things that I list. Enjoy!

Dream Jobs:

1. children's counselor with my current psychologist
2. news anchor/reporter
3. interior designer
4. teacher
5. florist
6. cruise ship worker
7. missionary
8. model
9. translator
10. book store owner

Random Dreams:

• design and build my own house
• adopt a child from each continent
• take a hot air balloon ride
• go rock climbing
• write a book
• open my own store
• travel to Italy

Now go make your own list! Seriously.

25 Ways to Love Yourself

I had another therapy session today. It really opened my eyes to something I had been missing. My counselor told me that she was proud of me. Proud of me for making the progress I have. Proud of me for getting the help I needed. Proud of me for being strong and persevering despite my circumstances. She said she hoped I was proud of myself too.

I'm learning to love myself more every day. So instead of writing about how to love yourself more, to avoid being preachy, today I'm going to practice it. I'm going to make a list of 25 things I love about myself. This is actually going to be challenging, although it shouldn't. A person should be able to list off their strengths just as easily as their shortcomings.

Now is not the time for modesty. I'm going to compliment myself, flatter myself, basically be arrogant. But it's okay if they're true things. I realize they don't make me better than anyone else. But feeling above others is not my problem. It's feeling beneath them. Anyway. Here goes nuthin.

1. I have a brilliant mind.
2. I am pretty, some have even said beautiful.
3. I genuinely care about others.
4. I'm generous with my time.
5. I am a gifted writer.
6. I am a talented singer.
7. I am a loyal friend.
8. I dress uniquely, but nicely.
9. I'm a heck of a make-up wizard.
10. I'm a decent cook.
11. I do not use profanity.
12. I am the limbo queen.
13. I have real curves.
14. I am a good leader.
15. If I set a goal, I will stop at nothing to achieve it.
16. I am a hard worker.
17. I'm a phenomenal multi-tasker.
18. I try to keep God first.
19. I have a sense of rhythm. (a.k.a. I can dance)
20. I love to volunteer.
21. I adore laughter and produce it at every opportunity.
22. I am a very accepting person. I love everyone for who they are, and sometimes in spite of who they are.
23. I pursue my dreams passionately.
24. I am a good listener.
25. I actively seek to lead a life of purity.

There for a minute, I didn't think it was possible. It makes me feel good to know that there are 25 things I can love about myself. I encourage you to leave a comment with a list of your own. It may be a challenge, but it's a good lesson in loving yourself as you are.

Tears of Reluctance

My talk with the counselor went well. A few of the points that stuck with me, I'll mention. She said that I'm too hard on myself. My mental health needs to come before anything. And I need to worry less about what others think about what I do. She pointed out that my best wasn't good enough for me. For too long, I've based "good enough" off others' perceptions. She told me I was handling my situation remarkably well and I wasn't giving myself enough credit.

I called Mama after lunch. I had nothing to do and no one to hang out with, which made me feel depressed. So I called and told her the events of the morning. After all that crying, I felt sufficiently drained.

After choir, I came home and ate half the house. I took my sister tanning then came home and went to bed. She had really irritated me and sleep was my escape. She had told me that I didn't have any friends because I hadn't put forth the effort. Then she told me that I needed to walk away from Seth. Both of which may be true, but I didn't care to hear either.

I was summoned to dinner, which is just as well, as I had fallen asleep in my sneakers. When I had eaten, me and Mama were talking about my medication. The conversation turned to school and stress. After a lot of tears, I reluctantly admitted that maybe I shouldn't try to get my scholarship back. Like I said, my mental health has to come first. And by trying to catch up in all these classes when I can't concentrate to study, I'm only making my condition worse.

So I'm going to drop from 14 hours all the way down to 4. I'm going to work at Family Farm, a Christian Day Camp, this summer, which is my heart's desire. I don't know yet what I'm going to do this next fall, but it'll all be okay. I'm not going to worry about it right now. I'm going to live my life and enjoy it. After all, I wasn't even supposed to graduate yet. I'm ahead of the game.

Relapse

I'm sitting here at school in the waiting room of the counseling center. I desperately need to talk to someone, but both counselors are occupied, so I have an appointment at 11.

Today sucks. I had a make-up Spanish test at 8. I got here on time, but I skipped it. Then I had a sociology test at 9. I skipped that too. Because I didn't show up for my make-up this morning, I skipped my Spanish class at 10. Now, I'll be missing macro to speak with the counselor.

Let me explain why I started skipping classes in the first place. If I had taken either test, I would have failed spectacularly. I didn't study. Not one word. It's not like I have a job where I spend Thursday, Friday, and Saturday nights doing absolutely nothing. Oh wait! I do.

I knew I needed to study then, but I found it impossible to make myself start. I don't think I would have met with much success if I had. I can't concentrate for very long these days. The only reason I can write is that the thoughts would make my head explode if I didn't get them out. But sometimes I can't even do that.

Walking over here, I got really scared. I was thinking about how my moods are always screwed up and never just normal. I got to thinkin about how tired I am am of living like this. That's when it dawned on me. Those are exactly the kinds of thoughts I had last time, when I was suicidal. And I don't ever wanna be there again.

Basically, I'm here because I'm freaking out. My medications's not working, I won't see my psychiatrist for another two weeks, and I'm afraid I won't get my scholarship back at this rate. I don't want to have to drop out. That would make me feel like I had failed again.

In the Moment

I'm sitting on my bed, being serenaded by the mooing of calves under my window. I'm all dressed up and so excited. I'm going to the Arkansas Symphony Orchestra with Seth. We're going as friends. I know this, but can't a girl hope? I feel like I'm about to go on an amazing date. I've got that anxious, excited, queasy feeling in my stomach.

I feel like there might still be something there, if I can just chill out and let it happen. I want so bad to be with him, but I'm realizing that I'll be okay if I'm not. It's an on-going journey that still has a lot of miles left, but I'm making progress.

I've got this huge fear of rejection. I don't want to lose one of my best friends. I don't want to feel like I've invested so much and then was left hanging. So usually, I try too hard. I make things awkward because I can't just let things unfold naturally. I'm scared. So I rush it.

But tonight, I'm going to be in the moment. I'm going to enjoy the time I've got with Seth. I'm going to thank God for putting him in my life and be grateful for this chance to spend time with him. I'm not going to worry about what will or won't happen between us in the future and I'm going to focus on the here and now. I'm going to laugh a lot and enjoy the performance. I'm not going to think about whether he's thinking about us romantically. I'm not going to worry myself to death over what he meant by a certain phrase or gesture. Things will work out the way God wants and there's nothing I can do to change that.

An Open Hand

As of late, I've been contemplating surrender. Or rather, what it means to surrender. What it feels like to surrender. What surrender costs. What it would cost not to surrender.

To too many people, the concept of surrender is distorted by images of waving white flags. It is associated with negative terms like coward, weak, defeat. But the kind of surrender I am talking about brings about strength and security. This kind of surrender requires discipline, courage, and trust. So much trust.

Losing control. Handing over the reins. Having faith. Sacrificing your life. Surrendering to God. They are one in the same.

I find that I am reluctant to let go of my plans, of my desires. I ponder what that says about my beliefs. Am I saying that I know better than God does? By holding onto the things of this world so tightly, am I telling God that He doesn't know what He's talking about? Am I implying that He's not as important as those things I hold so dear?

At lunch a few weeks ago, I went to the Missionary Baptist Student Fellowship for their Food for Thought program. The speaker told a story about a little girl and her father. The little girl got one of those plastic rings out of a machine at the front of the grocery store. She loved that ring. She showed it off to everyone she met. After a few months, her father came to her and said, "Sweetie, that's a beautiful ring. Would you give it to me?" "Oh no, daddy," she replied. "I love it so much." Time went on and every once in a while, the father would repeat his question. "Honey, would you give me your ring?" Each time the reply was the same. One day though, when the girl was about twelve, the father asked his question again. This time the girl gave him the ring. Her father grinned as he pulled a box out of his pocket and gave her a beautiful gold ring.

The moral of the story was that if we give God the things we're reluctant to let go of, he will put something else in our lives that will exceed the plans we had. Another illustration the speaker used that I love had to do with our fist. Imagine that all the things of this world are in the palm of your hand. Now imagine that you close your hand over them, so that nobody else can reach in and grab them. What is that saying to God? But imagine that you are holding all those things in an open hand. Now what are you saying to God?

I have to remind myself all the time to hold stuff in an open hand, not to say, "God, this is too important to me. You can't have it." Instead, I make myself say, "this was never mine in the first place. You can have it back if you want it." Usually I'm crying during this process, but I know how right it is.

I will not successfully fight my own battles, plan my own marriage, impress enough people, push through my own obstacles, or heal my own wounds. Only God can do that. This is something I fight every day to realize and apply to my life. I'd like to share with you a prayer I wrote to help me achieve the mindset that I desire.

Father, I'm holding all the things of my life in an open hand. My plans, my relationships, my possessions. They are all Yours to do with as You wish. I'm giving You myself. I'm surrendering my heart. My talents, my skills, my body, I'm committing to Your purpose. Take them and use them however You'd like. I'm opening myself up to be used in ways that will be uncomfortable, but I realize that that doesn't matter. Your service is what matters most, my God. I offer up all that I am. I give You everything because You gave it all to me in the first place. I don't want to be held back by selfishness and shallow desires. I'm not going to worry about what others think of me or what I can gain. I'm going to live for You. I long to be a person who lives her life in constant awe of You. So I am trusting You to guide my life better than I could, lead my relationships better than I could, and give me the things I need whether they be all I want or not. Teach me to fear You. For this I pray in Jesus name. Amen.

Oh to be free!

I had a productive therapy session today. Although, I must say it was unorthodox. My counselor and I discussed my anger issues. Or rather, she pointed out that I don't allow myself to get angry, which can be just as damaging as the opposite extreme.

It was really cathartic to sort through all my stuff. My counselor told me to get in touch with the pain from my childhood. That's scary. Letting yourself be lost to your emotions is not something that comes naturally. We all want to maintain that control.

She had me imagine my dad was sitting in the chair across from me. Then she told me to tell him everything I had ever wanted to say to him, to let myself be angry.

I had never realized the extent to which I esteemed my father. I was afraid to be angry with him. I didn't feel like I had the right. Even more than that, I have a fear of telling people what I think or feel. So vocalizing my anger was doubly hard.

Hot tears began to spill down my face as I felt the anger, the hurt of a little girl who loved her daddy but had been disappointed and lied to.

"You hurt me. You should have been there, but you weren't. When you said you'd be there and you never showed up, when you didn't call for a year, I wanted to hate you. I shouldn't have had to feel like that. You were irresponsible and childish. You should have acted like my dad. You made me think it was my fault. But it's not my fault. It's not my fault," I sobbed, repeatedly beating the chair with a pillow off the couch.

I can't tell you how liberating it was to allow myself to think those things, to put the blame where it belongs. I had to admit to myself that my father was a sorry loser. I had to allow myself to think he was a lousy person and a good-for-nothing father. I had to realize all this and internalize it to clear up the clutter. It was this clutter that had been preventing me from internalizing all the good stuff. People would tell me I was good enough, that I was lovable, that there was nothing wrong with me. But I wouldn't believe them. Because inside, to some degree, I still wanted to believe my dad was the good guy in everything.

Now that that matter is cleared up, I feel somewhat freed, like I've been weighted down and all of a sudden I can fly again. I feel so loved by my Heavenly Father right now. He is lifting my burdens one by one and I'm seeing more each day how He's working in my life.

This has been a big step in forgiving my dad. Forgiveness is not justifying what he did or saying that it doesn't matter. Rather, it is the acknowledgment that I have no control over what he or anyone else does. Forgiveness is being able to say, "you were a jerk. But I'm not going to allow that to determine my life." Forgiveness is an acceptance of someone's actions. Not an admission that those actions were acceptable, but a realization that you have no control over them. Forgiveness sets you free. It means that nothing else holds sway over you. It means that there are things you cannot control, but that you have the power to choose what you make of those things. Forgiveness means that once more you are in control of your life.

My Heart's Desire

I said I didn't need to be in a relationship. In retrospect, I was afraid. I know this now. But now it's too late. I was afraid. And in truth, I am still afraid. But I've realized that sometimes our fear must be ignored if we wish to live our lives fully.

I fear being known. I fear being abandoned. My tattered soul whispered that if I let you know me, you wouldn't like me; you would leave me. In my childhood, another man had left me. I reasoned that it was because he didn't like me, because I wasn't good enough. So I listened to the fear, fed the insecurity.

I said I didn't need to be in a relationship. I said I had issues that I needed to work on. I did. But we all do. What I really meant, what my heart was crying out, was that I didn't know how to be in a relationship. I didn't know how to take off the mask in front of someone else. Because in private, even when I was alone, I was ashamed to bare my soul. I never accepted myself, never loved who I was. I had bought into the lie that I had to be perfect to be lovable.

I fear being known. I fear being abandoned. I long to be loved. I long to share my love. In the end, my God-given need to exchange love is greater than my fear. Because now, I love and accept myself, flaws and all. Now I'm free to love. Now I'm free to create friendships and relationships; I will hold nothing back.

I said I didn't need to be in a relationship. What I meant to say, was that I wasn't ready. I don't need to be in a relationship. But I don't need to not be.

It's not up to me anymore. If you want me in your life, you'll find a way to put me there. But I know how God works. And I am patient.

Sleepless Musings

Friday, February 20

2:45 a.m.

I can't sleep. I had some crazy dreams about tattoos... and Seth. Not together, just dreams about both.

Gosh. I need to get over him. He visited me at Bridgeway Tuesday (the 17th) night. I avoided writing about it because I was letting some stuff stew around in my brain.

Tomasz read my journal entry where I wrote about how Seth is still not over his ex-girlfriend. He proceeded to lecture me on how I was just a rebound, just someone to replace her. I was so resistant to what he said. But now, I'm thinking there may be some truth to his words. I just don't know where to begin.

Bridgeway: Day 7

Thursday, February 19
6:47 a.m.

There is no way I would be up this early under normal circumstances. No way. They drew some blood to check my lithium level and they had to catch me before I ate or went to the bathroom or anything. So. Here I am.

They're talking like I'll get to go home today. Hoorah! Oh, I'm so ready. So ready. There are about 4 people here who were here when I arrived. Everyone else has gone home. And a couple have come and gone since I've been here. It makes it feel lonely.

Thursday, February 19

8:29 p.m.

I'm home. Finally home. It's all so weird. everything feels so strange. It's like something unidentifiable, something intangible has changed. It's my hope that that "something" is me and that it is a change for the better. 6 days in the Bridgeway can't have been for nothing.

I had hoped to be able to come home and start over. By start over, I mean pretend like nothing had happened and start fresh. Unfortunately, that's not the way it works. My past mistakes will still follow me and I will deal with the consequences and results. That really sucks. It's going to make it so much harder to stay positive and not dwell on my shortcomings when I'll be reminded of them daily. My finances will be managed by my parents, I will be restricted to school and work, and I'm starting out with pretty much zero trust. It's hard not to victimize myself and I don't know what to do with all my anger.

Anger is a new emotion for me. Depression, now that's a typical response for me. But the sensation of being mad and not internalizing it to be mad at myself is something entirely new to me. I haven't experienced something like this in years. Anger without self-hatred, anger withough pain, anger that is healthy, albeit misguided.

Bridgeway: Day 6

Wednesday, February 18
12:10 p.m.

So, I've been doing a whole lot of sleeping lately and not a lot of journaling. I'll catch you up and try to be more consistent with my writing from now on. Oh! group time... to be continued.

Wednesday, February 18

2:06 p.m.

In groups today, we talked about the difference in self-esteem and unconditional self-acceptance. Our therapist pointed out that we're all equal to 1. Not 1/2. Not 1 1/2. We're all worth 1. And suicide is like saying 1=0. Kinda profound, huh?

Anyway. the conversation went on to include how we perceive ourselves. People often create labels based on action. If we're not careful, we will confuse who we are with what we do or have. For example, I am not bipolar; I am a human being who has bipolar disorder.

I am not a failure.

I am a perfectly valuable human being.

I am lovable.

I am a precious soul created in the image of God; because I exist, I have worth.

I am not a failure.

I am a beautiful creature who is loved by the most high God.

I deserve to be loved.

I was designed to be just as I am.

I was designed to be me.

I am not a failure.

Bridgeway: Day 5

Tuesday, February 17

5:22 p.m.

Tomasz left yesterday. It's been hauntingly quiet since then. I know he's too old for me to date. That's not even the issue. He was my best friend here. I shared more with him than I have anyone else. I do miss him.

The whole family came last night. I was really tired, though, so I'm afraid I wasn't very conversational.

Jake was my new buddy after Tomasz and Mary and Gwen all left. He's a psych major so we had a lot in common. But he left today too. And they're telling me I won't leave til Thursday. Sigh.

Seth is supposedly actually coming tonight. I hope he makes it. I'm really looking forward to that. I'd be very disappointed. Again.

They didn't let us go up to the cafeteria for dinner tonight. They were short on staff. Phoo. I didn't eat much. And I'm out of money for the vending machine. Probably not good for me.

I've been in bed all day too. I started feeling like I was gonna pass out again, so they gave me some orange juice and sent me to bed.

Bridgeway: Day 4

Monday, February 16
7:09 p.m.

I haven't written in a while. I know. Terrible me. But I'll catch you up. So, I got to go to the cafeteria for dinner last night. It was so phenomenal. I was all excited about my fork and knife. Then I was glad to see the sunset. The fresh air and momentary exercise were very welcome too. I was completely thankful for all the little things. I hope I don't lose that. The best part was that, for the first time since I've been here, I got full last night. Oh, it was amazing.

Anyway. So, I was expecting Seth to visit last night too. He called and his truck had broken down in Benton. That was really disappointing. I got depressed and went to bed.

Today was a sleepy day. Oh my goodness, I've been so tired. and cranky. Having to stay up when I'm that tired makes me really cranky.

Bridgeway: Day 3

Sunday, February 15th
8:03 a.m.

Good morning, good morning! I slept well last night, thank goodness. Crying probably helped with that. I'm in a good mood this morning, but that's how it usually starts. I'm really hoping that my new medication does the trick. It would be so weird to not be up and down all the time. I noticed last night that being depressed made me feel better in a sense; it's my comfort zone; it's what I'm used to. But I would love to get used to being level. Oh, I would be so happy. People take it for granted. I hope I never will. I'm going to go back to sleep til group. I had a dream that Seth came. Still prayin he will.

Sunday, February 15th

11:30 a.m.

Agh. I am so sleepy. I can't stop yawning. But I am making myself stay up. I'm not going to lie in bed and make myself feel depressed. I feel great today, but there's some apprehension. I guess I'm just used to my moods changing so often that I'm just anticipating the next swing, be it high or low. With the grace of God, it will never come.

Bridgeway: Day 2

Saturday, February 14th
?

I swear it's 4:00 and I can't go back to sleep. I don't know what it is about this place that makes a person not able to sleep. Maybe it's the rock hard beds and useless pillows. Or maybe it's the simple knowledge that you're in a psychiatric facility that prevents restfulness. Whatever the reason, this is the worst I've rested since I can remember.

I had a dream last night. I'm sure I had many, but this one sticks out in my mind. Seth had come to visit me. The first thing he did was look around. Then he looked at me and said, "you don't belong here." It was a strange feeling, but I remember very vividly having a realization as I replied, "yes I do."

I am so ready to be better, to have this whole mess figured out and to be home, living a successful, passionate life again. You don't know how ready for that I am. In that same dream, I recall Seth commenting on how different I seemed. I pointed out that he had never seen me "normal". Apparently I had been given some miracle drug that stabilized my moods and did everything I could possibly want it to. But I can't help thinking that I probably wouldn't recognize myself normal. Rather than concerning me, however, this excites me. I so greatly dislike who I am now, that such a drastic change would surely be welcome. Is it strange, then, for me to hope that I'm bipolar?

OMG. This is ridiculous. I just asked the nurse on rounds what time it is. Guess. Just guess. 3:30. Agh. I'm hungry, wide-awake, and ready to meet my psychiatrist. Grr. Not cool. Definitely not cool. Ah well. Maybe now with some of those thoughts out of my head, I'll be able to sleep.

Saturday, February 14th
8:30 a.m.

No such luck. I got up and got something to eat because my stomach was hurting. Then I sat in the Day Room until 5, at which point I began to feel ill. I informed the nurses that I was nauseous and a little dizzy. The next few seconds were a blur. I said, " I think I'm going to pass out," leaned against the counter and slid to the floor. Fun stuff, let me tell you.

They checked my blood sugar and said I was good. So, I don't know what that was all about. But I went back to sleep until 8, when I had to have my vitals checked.

I hope Mama comes to visit today. I'm gonna call Seth and see if he'll come up tomorrow. I just want a familiar face, maybe someone to give me a hug. I feel so lost here. I feel... like I'm not feeling anything. I'm not depressed; I'm not having any compulsive urges; I'm completely numb. I am having a little bit of anxiety, since I haven't seen my doctor yet. But it's like I've put myself on defense. I'm not comfortable here, so I'm in survival mode.

Saturday, February 14th
11:15 a.m.

I had my first group therapy session earlier. I actually enjoyed it, which was surprising to me. I still feel like it would be better to have small group sessions, but what do I know? The therapist guy said that some people complain that there is no individual counseling. I was like, "yeah." But he said that he thought some of the best therapy goes on in the Day Room, between the patients.

This, I think, may be the key. If you want something out of this experience, all you've got to do is put something into it. Most of us here just want someone to listen to our story and not judge. You can talk to anyone about your problems here and immediately, there's a connection. They just take what you're saying at face value and don't think less of you for it. I wish real life were like that.

Another thing asked in group was the question: If you were a survivior of a plane crash, what resolution would you make to change your life? I said that I would appreciate every day I was given. I think then I would live my life passionately, the way life should be lived. The purpose of this question was to compare that second chance to our experience here at Bridgeway. I guess that's something I hadn't considered. This is an opportunity.

Saturday, February 14th
8:00 p.m.

I haven't written since this morning, so I have a lot of ground to cover. Mama, Grams, and my sister Becca came to visit at lunch. It was a really good thing for me.

After they left, I started getting really anxious. I've had a rash on my back since last night and I think it's the nerves. I felt like I needed to be doing something even though I was putting together a puzzle. But it's like that wasn't enough.

Finally, they called me in to talk to the psychosocial analyst lady. I had been talking a lot, but man, when I got in there, it was crazy. I had to go get a bottle of water because my mouth was getting dry.

Immediately after, I was able to speak with the on-call doctor. I did the same thing. In his words, I "came in, started talking, and didn't shut up." After that, I didn't quite feel relieved, just tired and with a headache. His diagnosis was bipolar disorder and he says he doesn't think I have ADHD at all. I start my new medication tomorrow. I'm a little bit anxious, but also very excited.

Jesse came to see me, which was a complete surprise. He and I go to church together. It was nice to see a familiar face and to know that somebody cared. I needed that. I let him read what I'd written in my journal and asked if he had any questions. Poor thing, I think he was still in shock. He never saw it coming. And he actually workes in the psych ward of a hospital!

I asked him to call Seth for me. I had left Seth a message this morning, asked Becca to text him, and was anxious for him to call back. He called not long after Jesse left, which was also unexpected. It made my day though. I asked him to come visit tomorrow. I so hope he will.

I have this gnawing fear though, stemming from my insecurity, that he will be turned away by my condition. I am so afraid that he will confirm my suspicion that I am unlovable. But surely he will come. Surely we have built enough of a friendship to withstand this. Surely. So I hope.

Saturday, February 14th
10:45 p.m.

I'm sitting in the bathroom floor, trying not to disturb my roommate. She has done nothing but sleep. I can sympathize, though. Without my Adderall tomorrow, I know I will be so tired.

I just got done having another intense conversation with Tomasz. It's so crazy that we ended up here at the same time. I was 12 when I first met him. My dad was his commander. It's a crazy world. And a small one at that.

I truly believe that this is no coincidence. We were meant to impact each other's life in a positive way. He is helping me sort through my issues and I really feel that God placed me here to help him find his faith again. I really believe that.

After my manic high earlier today, I could feel the depression creeping back. I cried tonight for the first time since I've been here. Tomasz had been telling me about his past relationships. Then he asked me a few questions. I came here with the knowledge that I would need to share things I wasn't entirely comfortable sharing. It didn't take long for the conversation to get to Seth. I was more open with him about the whole thing than I have been with anyone, maybe even Seth. By that, I mean that I would never admit to Seth that I love him. But Tomasz already knew. Just like Jesse knew weeks ago. I can't always hold that smile and hide the pain. What I didn't tell Tomasz was that I had read Seth's journal (with his permission), that I had read that he still loves another, that the knowledge that her memory trumped any moment we had ever had together cut me so deep. I have always feared falling in love. And now, knowing that my love will not be returned, I am terrified of being left exposed, of being trampled on, of being abandoned. This is why I first began to cry.

I expressed to Tomasz my belief that I am unlovable. He was so patient with me. He wrote 5 affirmations to help me think positively then he made me list my strengths. It's hard to tell yourself you have good qualities when you've convinced yourself you're a failure with no worth. But I think it has helped to have someone who believes in me.

Tomasz and I exchanged books and I promised to help him make a list tomorrow. He also reminded me of my promise to teach him to read music. All for tomorrow. I am praying for God's wisdom and guidance as I speak to him about faith. I'm also praying that Seth will come. Please Father. You know the desires of my heart. But even so, Thy will, not mine.

Bridgeway: Day 1

Friday, February 13th
4:45 p.m.

I'm here at the Bridgeway, following through on my promise to myself to journal every step of this journey. I never thought I would be here. For some reason, I was prideful, believing I was too good, above this, I suppose. I have to remind myself not to play the comparison game, not to judge people based on their appearance, on their intelligence, or on some other shallow criteria, but rather upon their intrinsic value as a human being created in the image of God.

At first, the thought of coming here was upsetting, but I have a sense of peace about it all. I know that God is good and He has a plan that is bigger than me.

I've been contemplating lately why God would put me through something like this. There are so many possibilities, but here are the ones I really took to.

• He may be teaching me to lean on Him in my infirmity.
• Then again, He may be giving me an experience that I will be able to take and help others with.
• He also may use this trial to show the world His glory through my faith in Him despite my troubles.
• I think that maybe this is additionally a lesson in trust: trusting in His judgment, trusting His goodness, trusting Him completely.

Friday, February 13th
6:44 p.m.

I'm a bit suspicious about the methodology of this place. There is a lot of time spent doing absolutely nothing. I shared my concerns with Gwen, a fellow patient, and she said she had been disappointed in the lack of one-on-one counseling. So, I'm not sure how they expect us to just fix ourselves, but I'll give it a fair chance. It's likely I'll be here 5 days.

Only the Embers Remain

So, I haven't posted in exactly 3 weeks. A lot has happened in that time, but I'm sure the important stuff will all come out eventually. I'm going to pick up right where I left off, start as if I never stopped, begin with today.

I am not well. I feel it. I see it. I know it. It's amazing to me that no one else has noticed it, because it seems so obvious to me. But I don't suppose anyone can be expected to know what they haven't been told.

I can barely force myself to press down the keys to type these words. I'm struggling to move thoughts around in my head, to actually engage my brain. The past week, I have felt completely dull. Not dull in the sense of boring, but dull in the sense of not alive. Rather than living, I am existing. I am surviving. But nothing more.

I'm unmotivated. I'm depressed. I'm despairing. I am floundering. And would you believe that I'm still very much medicated??? It frightens me to imagine what it would be like if I weren't taking any antidpressants or anything whatsoever. I have no doubt that I would be suicidal. As it is, I'm bordering on it. Wednesday, I was driving around, not knowing what do with myself, trying to work through a lot of crazy emotions. I found myself wondering, "what if I intentionally missed this curve? What if I crashed into that? What if I ran off that bank?"

Thoughts of death have been plaguing me lately. I've even put 'write will' on my to-do list. Not that I expect I'll ever get to that. I rarely do anything on my to-do list. I just seem to sit here. I couldn't tell you how I spend my 8 hours at work. All I know is that I show up and at some point, I leave. But in between, I don't remember a thing. Which is how I used to be all the time. Which makes me wonder if my depression hasn't developed into full blown MDD (major depressive disorder).

My Adderall doesn't seem to be doing its job these days either. The biggest thing I've noticed is that it does keep me awake during the day. I missed one dose and slept half the day away, yawning through all my classes. I can't get started on anything and I'm crazy impulsive. I've accumulated over $300 in overdraft fees in the past week.

I keep hearing things like, "you've just got to grab your bootstraps and do what you gotta do" and "you decide the way your life turns out". These are very motivational and all. And I know they are true to some extent, but I can't help but think that there's just more to it in my situation.

Maybe I'm making excuses for myself. Maybe I don't want to accept the blame that rightfully falls on my shoulders, but maybe, just maybe, there's something more. I can tell you that I am so tired of running off of will-power alone. Nobody has that kind of self-discipline. Or maybe they do. And I just fail at life. Shrug.

The only thing I know for certain is that I'm tired. Tired of pretending, tired of knowing what needs to be done and not finding the energy to do it. Tired of looking for happiness and running away from the things that will bring it. I'm tired of not caring. I'm tired of worrying about how bad the consequences are gonna suck, tired of messing up and not learning the lessons. I'm so tired of living this way.

I have been to one class this week. One. I haven't done my online classwork for the past two weeks. And I skipped several classes before I stopped going altogether. I know what I need to do. I need to go to class. I know what I want to do. I want to get my scholarship back. But I can't get myself to do what's necessary, no matter how hard I try, no matter how much I cry, no matter how much I beat myself up, no matter how much I consider the end results of my actions.

I've lost the ability to live my life. Instead, I've fallen once more into a pit of darkness, that place where I lose my will to live, to shine. I visited my old choir teacher today. She said that sometimes events in our lives can be like rain on the fire that is our soul. The fire doesn't go out, but the rain sometimes leaves us smoldering and wishing for the days when we were blazing. I can't see any remnants of the fire I once had. She said it was still there, that she could see it. That made my day. If only I could see what she saw, maybe then I'd be okay. But somehow, I doubt it. For some reason, I think there's more to it than that. But more on that tomorrow.

Stitched Together, Glued and Stapled

I was perusing other blogs and stumbled across bipolarchick.net. For reasons that I'll explain at a later date, the name really appealed to me. So I decided to give it a go. There's some interesting stuff there. But one article in particular stood out to me. It motivated me to share a part of my life that has impacted me from a very young age. I've had my heart trampled on, torn at the corners, and discarded so many times I couldn't begin to count them all.

When I was younger, I just covered up the metaphorical bruises. Instead of hiding them from the outside world, I was patching myself up so that I could pretend the wounds did not exist. As I got older, it became impossible to ignore them, so I tried to convince myself that I had put them there. When that also became too improbable, I finally admitted to myself that someone else was responsible for the rips and tears.

Once I could see clearly what the cause was, I did the only thing I could do: I removed myself from the situation. That of course, caused an even larger wound than I had experienced... a break. But the crazy thing is that, even though there was more pain, it was easier to recover from than my previous setbacks. I think the key was that it was a clean break, not jagged, no loose ends, no doubt left in my mind.

Now that I'm fairly certain that I've confused you considerably, I'll explain in real terms what I've described metaphorically.

We're talking about a man and his daughter, daddy's little girl. Her parents divorced when she was 6 months old, too young to know why or feel like she was to blame. Her father picked her up every Friday afternoon and they would spend the weekend together. He drove her around in his pick-up, sang "You Are My Julie-Bug" to her, bought her coloring books and sparkly crayons, taught her to ride a bicycle.

But when she was 5, sometime after she had started kindergarten, he picked her up and took her to a hotel. He sat her down and told her he would be moving away and that they wouldn't get to see each other as much. This made her very sad, but she didn't really have a concept of what it meant. She was only 5. She thought her daddy had made the world. She didn't know that he was thousands of dollars in debt, running from the law, all because he couldn't pay her mother to support his only child. She didn't know. She loved him. That she did know. Without the faintest hint of doubt. Love. No one loves like a child. Pure. Unconditional. Innocent. Trusting. A child's love.

Shortly thereafter, the little girl's mother remarried. The little girl did not like this man. She thought he was mean. And he looked funny. The new not-daddy-man had a job in a place far away. The little girl moved with her Mama and little sister to this far away place called Virginia. They lived in a very tall building with a balcony view.

For a year the little girl lived in this high tower in the far away kingdom of Virginia. For a year the little girl heard nothing from her daddy. For a year, the little girl wondered what she had done, why her daddy didn't love her any more, what was wrong with her. She was hurt, but she didn't really have a concept of what being hurt was. She was only 6. She had thought her daddy made the world. She didn't know that he was carrying the baggage of his own childhood and using it as an excuse to treat his only child the way his father had treated him. She didn't know. She loved him. That she did know. With a child's love, she loved him.

After the year had passed, the little girl and her family moved back to her childhood land of Arkansas. She started a new school and lived in a new house. She still wasn't sure what she thought of this new not-daddy-man. He was mean. But he was there. Her real daddy was in and out, calling once every blue moon, making plans and breaking them, walking out of her life just as suddenly as he would walk in. This not-so-new not-daddy-man wasn't her real daddy, but deep down, the little girl admired and respected him. She even dressed up as a soldier for Halloween. She had accepted him. She even loved him. Loved him as a child loves, as if she had never loved and lossed. As if there was nothing to lose. Love was all she knew. Love was all she understood. Love was everything.

But the little girl's love was confused. Love didn't make you cry. Love didn't make promises it didn't keep. Love was there for you. Love... loved. Because her daddy did make her cry. Her daddy made promises he never kept. Her daddy talked badly about her Mama, and tried to get her to move in with him. The little girl didn't know that he was trying to put the blame on someone else because he couldn't accept it himself. She didn't really have a concept of what living with him would mean. She was 8. She just loved her daddy. That's all she knew. And her daddy loved her. She knew that. And most of the time she believed it.

The little girl, her Mama, her two little sisters, and the not-daddy-man moved to a new home when she was 10. Her real daddy wasn't around much. She'd hear from him at Christmas and her birthday and at sporadic intervals. But he wasn't really there. He took her out for dinner when she was in the 5th grade once. The office called in over the intercom to tell her that she would be riding home with her dad. She thought that was strange, but was eager. She was completely shocked to find her daddy. She had been looking for the not-daddy-man.

At Christmas, she went to see her daddy. He had gotten her an adorable black lab puppy, which she named Ariel. At Thanksgiving the next year, he made plans with her to take her to his apartment for the weekend. He had moved. Again. The little girl went with him. This was the first time she really knew. She knew that she loved her daddy. But she also knew that he had lost his job the day before he picked her up. So when Saturday came and he didn't mention leaving, she knew. When the knock on the door came, she knew. When there was a policeman on the other side, she wasn't surprised. Because she knew. She reveled in the irony of the situation: her former-cop-daddy standing feet away from the angry-cop-man. She left the next morning, bright and early. But she knew. This time, the little girl was angry. But somehow she still loved him. Because love was all she knew.

The little girl saw her daddy a couple times in the next year. Once, he took her to her favorite Mexican restaurant and tried to get her to pay for dinner with her allowance. He ate chips and salsa and looked pitiful. But the little girl knew something wasn't right. Looking back, I thank God for giving that little girl the strength to stand up for herself, a strength that she lost very soon afterward.

The next few years of the little girl's life were pretty good. She got Homecoming in 7th grade and wanted the not-daddy-man to walk her in the ceremony. Secretly, she wished her daddy was the one, but she knew better. He didn't deserve it. And he would hurt her more than make her happy. There was another silent time. She almost forgot about her daddy. Truthfully, she didn't think about him. She had a life. She had a family. She had the not-daddy-man. After the not-daddy-man was deployed for 18 months, the little girl realized that he was her daddy. He had been there her entire life, supported her, hugged her, loved her, disciplined her, done everything a daddy should do. Everything her daddy had not.

One day, the little girl got a phone call from a man she hardly remembered. He was moving back to Arkansas. He wanted to see her. She had a choir concert. He could come to that. He did. And they went to dinner. He seemed to have his act together, he talked about being there for her, about how good things would be. The little girl didn't see it. She didn't see the former-carsalesman who couldn't take responsibility for his own actions. She couldn't see the man her daddy had always been. Even still, she was blinded by her own love. She gave him another chance.

This time, it did seem better. But there was something missing. He came to her Christmas play. She reveled in the irony once again. Her daddy had been to a single spelling bee and that was it. Not a one basketball game, not one Madrigal Feaste, not one softball tournament, not one birthday party, very few Christmas mornings, didn't know the names of any of her friends, had never known about her crushes, her secret desires, her goals. But here he was, waltzing back into her life, walking into the life she had created without him, as if he belonged.

She visited him that Christmas and in February and the following summer. But it wasn't there. She wasn't sure what. But it wasn't there. She was hurt. But she didn't know it. She was disappointed. But she couldn't see it.

That Christmas, a month before her 16th birthday, she did what no little girl should ever have to do. She told her daddy that he had no place in her life. She didn't know all the details. But she knew she couldn't go on hurting the way she did. She vowed to never speak to him again. She knew now who would walk her down the aisle. The not-daddy-man was going to Iraq soon. Again. But she knew he loved her. And she loved him. He was her daddy now. And in truth, he was the only daddy she'd ever had.

The little girl went through the tough experiences that make up life. She found herself carrying the baggage of her childhood and using it as an excuse for her actions. She found herself blaming everyone else for her mess. She found that she couldn't take responsibility for her life. She vowed to never turn out like her daddy.

The little girl faced failure. She even confused failure with herself. She faced college. She faced more failure. She had her first love. She had her first heartbreak. She cried herself to sleep at night. She longed for a daddy who would comfort her. Her daddy wasn't there. And the not-daddy-man... well, he wasn't the hugging type. But the next day, she found herself crying again, longing for someone to hold her, console her. She found herself in the arms of the not-daddy-man. And she knew. For the first time, she really knew.

She was days away from being 18. She was thinking about how her life had been so full of pain and heartache. If truth be told, she was feeling sorry for herself. She was sad. But she didn't really have a concept of pain and heartache. She was nearly 18. But she hadn't lost everything. She still had love. She had never lost that love. She just didn't always see it. She had thought her daddy made the world. What she had failed to see, was that her Daddy did make the world. He had loved her all along. He had loved her enough to send her the not-daddy-man. He had loved her enough to separate himself from his only child. That's when the little girl knew. For the first time, she really knew.

The Sly Whisperings

It's very late, my medication has long worn off, and the caffeine from my favorite tea is fading as well. But I made a commitment to myself that I would post every day. So here I am, with no clue as to what I'm going to write about or how I'm going to bring myself to reveal anything remotely personal. I think that once I get the hang of it, this will have been a really productive growing experience for me. Hopefully I'll learn to share my thoughts with other people and in the process figure out how to accept them myself.

I reckon I'll start with this morning. It did not start out well. It was not good. Not at all. If you have never experienced the sensation of icy water to the face in a warm and snugly bed, you have missed out on a character building opportunity. Poor unfortunate soul. Anyway. So that's how I woke up: lying in a not-so-warm-and-snugly, wet, miserable bed. I'll admit that it was pretty shocking. And it made me a little angry, so between the two I did shed a few tears. A nice hot shower fixed things right up again, but I couldn't help thinking that I want out of here. That's a commonly recurring theme in my life these days, but I'll save that for another day.

I wasn't doused for the simple fun of it, I promise, though sometimes I think my parents do have a wicked sense of humor. Mama gave me ample time to get out of bed and numerous chances. But I went back to sleep. Twice. I have an extremely hard time getting out of bed in the mornings. I can do it. I just have to make up my mind and be very committed to doing it, or I would sleep until noon every day. I guess I just need a lot of sleep.

Regardless of my physiological needs, the part of this whole ordeal that I find most interesting is that I'll get out of bed for myself (sometimes), but not for my parents. This seems to be a pattern of behavior for a lot of things in my life. I hadn't really considered that I was struggling in this area of my life until this morning.

Yesterday morning, I arrived at church with a desire to encounter some piece of information, some stirring song, some moving message that would convict my soul and motivate me to make a positive change. But I sat there through the devotional, the teen class, the song service, and the sermon, not feeling anything that satisfied that yearning.

I began, however, to see the parallel between the SS lesson and my current attitude after this morning's rude awakening. It really struck me that if I don't honor my parents, I really don't have much respect for the Almighty Father. And that is terrifying.

I do realize that much of my problem stems from my present mindset. I am plagued by low self-esteem and an almost non-existent self-worth. My self-respect is barely there, so it's hard to show that respect to another. That goes for a lot of things. If you don't love yourself, you will find it difficult to love another. If you don't think you deserve to be treated kindly, you won't show compassion to another. I'm working very hard toward accomplishing all these, but it is a long road and the kingdom of Darkness loves to leave stumbling blocks in the middle of it.

Logically, I should love myself as much as God loves me. If God thinks my worth is inestimable, who am I to say otherwise? I will say though, that it takes a lot of reprogramming to start listening to that voice when one has become so accustomed to listening to the sly whisperings of an angel who knows my every weakness and insecurity. I don't guess I'd ever thought of it that way til it just kinda came out just now, but feelings of worthlessness and insignificance certainly aren't from the God whose very essence is love.

This is a topic very heavy on my mind so you can look forward to future related posts. I'll dive a little deeper into the subject another day. In the meantime, please pray that I hear the Voice of Truth rather than the dark murmurings I've developed an ear for. Hasta luego y vaya con Dios.

But wait! Where are we going?

When I first decided to blog, I did so imagining it to be an adventure, a fun and simple business. I did not anticipate that it would be so personal, so invasive, so dratted hard. Journaling is easy, but writing with the knowledge that other people will know every sacred thought, will discover all my closely guarded secrets, will uncover each poorly veiled flaw is not easy. In fact, I have a serious issue with it.

What are people going to think of me? What if they find out I'm not as perfect as I pretend to be? How will I face the readers that I know? What happens when someone disagrees with something I write? Why should I write something so personal where others can criticize me? Agh! The questions and doubts race through my ADHD mind with a frightening rapidity and even more terrifying endlessness.

After doing some serious introspection, I think I know where this fear comes from. I can't imagine how anyone could accept me, faults and all, because secretly, I don't accept myself. It's a struggle that we all face in our lives. Even now, I find that I am trying too hard. I want you to think very highly of me, see only the best parts. I want to hide the things I am afraid to embrace, the corners of my soul that shame me.

So now I'm sitting here, eating crunchy peanut butter with a spoon. I'm watching my rating slowly climb on blogtopsites.com and am overly excited by it. I'm also pondering what direction I want my blog to take. What is my motivation for creating this blog? What are my goals? What characteristics do I want my writing to take on? Here's what I've come up with.

Mission Statement

I want to reach other people with the message of Christ. I want to share my story to help other people through theirs. I want to use my blog as a tool to think through my experiences, learn from them, and continue to grow as a Christian.

Things my blog should help me do...

1. walk closer to my Father.
2. share the Word with others.
3. assist my fellow Christians.
4. clear my mind and think things through.

Blog Personality

• Honest and transparent
• Conversational, not condescending
• Clear
  
• Helpful
• Entertaining when possible
• Serious when necessary
  
• Accurately represents the author

I am going to use this outline as a guide as I continue on my blogging journey. These statements should help me stay true to my purpose and ensure that I am satisfied with what I'm doing here. If at any time, you feel like I am violating any of these, please! call me out on it. I am not beyond messing up and you are the only one who can truly hold me accountable.

Shall We Embark?

I recently felt an urge to journal daily, partly as a personal cleansing process and partly to impart what little wisdom I've gained through my experiences. We each have so much valuable knowledge that too often we leave stored in the halls of our minds, waiting for some occasion to pull out a dusty volume. But for most people, that occasion never arrives.

I believe that life is a continual process of learning, a journey. We learn some things quickly. Other things... not so quickly. Some things we learn from watching others. Some things we must learn on our own terms. Sometimes we learn the right things to do, and at times we learn exactly how not to do them. Some conclusions can be made with only our input. But some require the assistance of another. We are all in this journey together. Nothing, not age, not gender, not race, or social labels prevent us from learning from one another.

That is the purpose of this blog. I want to share the things I do know, learn the things I don't, and change a couple lives in the process. Life takes us down some crazy paths, some dark and scary, some steep and dangerous. And at the end of life, we leave behind nothing but the fruits of our journey.

These journeys have been going on for thousands of years. It's overwhelming to consider how many have begun and ended over the course of time. But what I find more profound is how few of these journeys are actually remembered. It can be rather depressing to think that a hundred years from now, no one will remember my name. I want to leave a legacy. I want to make an impact. But I am no Mother Teresa. I will not be a U.S. president. I will not change the world on a grand scale. Or maybe I will. Just not in the way that I think it should happen.

As we grow, I believe we have a responsibility to water the lives around us, to pass the baton, to add a piece of the puzzle to another's picture. Our names may be forgotten. Our lives may fade from memory. But we leave our legacy nonetheless. We leave a part of ourselves with another, and inevitably they leave their mark on another. This is the way that God intended it.

The purpose of living is not to be remembered, but to give ourselves over to our Maker. Our heirlooms are not our names, our famous deeds, or our admirable qualities. Our legacy is not even our own. What truly matters in life is that we shine our Light as brightly as it will shine so that when our candle finally burns out, there are others that will take its place.