Reading my last post makes me ridiculous sad. I should have known that the tranquility never lasts longer than a single blog post, at least not in my world. I felt like I was making progress; not necessarily progress as others would measure progress, but progress by my standards. I have been getting to a place of smiling at my own thoughts again.
Yesterday was a rocking day. And by rocking I mean earth-shaking in the worst way. Now I am left with a perpetual prognosis, a car that is more than just a possible liability (Cameron's death is imminent, to my despair; to his credit he really did try so hard), and a sense that stability has left the building. I laugh ridiculously loud at the things that are not funny according to anyone else; I threaten violence and almost go through with it, not because I want to hurt someone but because maybe it will make me feel something real; I cannot grasp conversations, even mid-sentence (mine). I am once again a walking time bomb.
I WANT TO BE BETTER! I want this to be over. This season is killing me, slowly but surely. One step forward, two steps back; one step forward, which gives me a desperate hope that this will not be me forever, and two steps back beyond the last worst-it-can-get until I become this cynical hope-less shell of a person who does not dare to dream it will ever end. I have taken one back. The snow came: step forward. A day of horribleness to its utmost came: step back. I cannot afford to take another one or I do not want to imagine who I will be. Knowing me, it could be as bad as the dark days if I do not keep proper perspective.
It's 1:22A.M. and I am alone, in the dark (of a finally, miraculously warm room), crying dry tears because this cannot be real. I have been fooling myself to think that I was moving out of the desert or that Freedom Session has been a step in the right direction or that I could maybe possibly sometime in the near future hopefully get off these ---- or that a man might ever want me as I am.
Ah, the inevitable sidenote. I am not looking. I am far from looking for a man. But that does not help me from seeing. What I see hurts...a lot. I see something, or at least a glimpse of a something, and - for the briefest of moments that somehow spans an eternity of a day - I have hope. *DASH* Oh, don't mind me, that was just my hopes being DASHed on the rocks...does that mean I am Israel in this situation or the baby? It is amazing to me that after all this time I still believe someone will want me the way I am. I am used to guys wanting me because they find me exciting and whatever else, and then suddenly realizing that behind the excitement is a girl who desperately wants to be loved...and that is apparently too much to handle. Today alone I saw two examples. Is it so crazy to think that there is a man out there who might see all that I am and still want me with those things? Yes. Yes, it is. THIS ^^^ is too much. And I am not enough to make up the difference.
It's 1:29A.M. and I am still here. It's 1:30A.M. and I am waking up in five hours. How do I put this into words for the person who needs to know? I don't know how.
I'm floundering.
1 comment:
a thought or two about whether this means you are israel...
in the Isaiah 13 passage to which you refer, it seems to be speaking of God's proclamation against babylon; what follows directly is God's merciful restoration of israel.
Psalms 137 through 139 relate the steadfastness of the Jews while in captivity and david's praises to God for the truth of His word and His all-seeing providence. perhaps here your hope will be restored. xo
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