I've thought long and hard about posting this. It's been sitting in my Drafts folder for months, being edited and changed here and there while I decide if I'mbrave enough to share it. I've been too afraid to post this, but I knew that one day, I would have the courage to let other people read it, because I'm healing. It's slow and hard and painful, but I'm healing. I am. I'm doing it with my hands shaking, but I'm doing it, and my eyes are open.

I don't always FEEL like He loves me. In fact, a good deal of the time, I FEEL like he doesn't. Life is long and hard, and I am a sinful woman. I sin, which makes me FEEL like I am further away from Christ, and that FEELING drives me to sin even more by doubting that He is with me at all. I am a loveless, depressed, angry, impatient, unkind, wicked, unfaithful, harsh, chaotic sinner, and I often FEEL like that makes me unacceptable to God. But I have this hope: That He didn't come to save perfect people. He came to save people like me. People who are lost, and broken, and angry and afraid. He didn't come to save my FEELINGS. FEELINGS are fleeting and deceiving. I can't trust them. But I can trust the one who promises to give me love that trumps my lovelessness, joy that conquers my depression, peace that washes away my anger, patience that overcomes my impatience, kindness that tears away my unkind heart, goodness that breaks apart my wickedness, faithfulness that covers my unfaithfulness, gentleness that soothes my harshness, and self-control that teaches me to do away with chaos. I can't trust my FEELINGS, but I can trust Him.

I feel like I can't even talk to her anymore. It's not her fault, I just wish I could be okay for her. I'm sorry, mama that I couldn't be normal and okay.

I'm finally getting to a point where it's easier to talk about what happened. That's what's so scary- if I can talk about it, it's real. The memories, the discomfort, the reactions...all real. But I'm healing. Slowly, but I'm healing.

My hands shake, so does my heart. I can see in my head pictures of what happened like I watched it happen to myself. Everything goes foggy and muffled, there is nothing but me and the frightful memories. I hate that so many things remind me of what happened. I hate that I can't even say the name of what happened. Tears come, burning in my eyes along with the pain and shame. I start to hyperventilate, then wonder if I'm going to die from feeling all of this, wonder if maybe that wouldn't be so bad. I want to be held, but I don't want anyone to touch me. The thought of someone's hands on my skin makes me nauseous. I know what could have happened, but I also know what SHOULD have happened, and more than that I know what DID happen. And oh my soul, why can't I think of it or speak of it without trembling? For anyone who is reading this, does that ever go away? I want to shed the chains of what happened, I want to claim the words that have such control over me right now, and most of all I want to forget. I want to forget everything. My gosh I want to forget everything that ever happened.

Some famous author said that we come from the ocean. I don't believe that's true, but I do believe that there's a reason why we are so drawn to the tide - a reason why we have such a fascination with stories of pirates and vikings.  It's because they have lived the lives that something inside us aches to live. A life where all water returns to its source.

I had a strange dream last night. I woke up wishing for this. Then I just thought about how insanely messed up I am. Who wishes for deeper wounds to validate what happened to them? It's hard sometimes being trapped in my own mind, and I think I'm getting bad again.

I don't even really know what I want to say anymore, but I want to say *something* . I want to tell someone, but I don't know how to say it when it's already been said a thousand different ways.

I won't say that I already know these things or even that I'm fully convinced. But I will admit that I'm still learning, and that's okay.

When you've been through trauma especially at the hands of someone close to you, you find that your trust is broken and hard to reassemble for anyone. And when you finally get the courage to speak, all you want to do is tell them how hard it was for you to say.

I have such a hard time letting myself relax and not be productive, and it's so true that if you don't give yourself a break sometimes, your body will force you to take one. I caught up on rest after having been awake for 23 hours straight on Saturday. And now I'm laying across the foot of my bed with soft music playing, and a book on one side, my tea on the other. I'll call my mom at 8 and then I'll go back to bed. Today I was good to myself.

Feeling really lonely tonight. But it's fine. I'm just tired.

The more I learn about myself, the more I hate who I am.

We've suffered much in the pursuit of providing others with comfort, sacrificed so much to keep from causing offense. I'm learning things about myself and some I wish I could forget. But most often, I wish I had let out the wild rage that has lingered so long just beneath the surface. We will heal, don't you worry. We will be whole again.

When I was a kid, Sundays after church we would always have dinner as a family. My mom would cook something special because it was Sunday, and we always got to have ice cream afterwards. That was our Sunday routine. We would have a quiet time or nap time afterwards, and spend the evening in peace and quiet. My mom makes the absolute best potroast, and I remember walking into the house after church and just smelling her cooking all ready to eat once we changed back into our normal clothes. I haven't been doing well. But on a whim, I decided to make my mom's recipe for potroast, and taking a bite of it healed me in a few places. I'm not doing well, but I'm gonna be alright.

Perhaps one day I'll hear that song and I won't think of him anymore. His phone number is off of my phone, the conversations deleted. It's time to move on.

I've read that when you're depressed, you should treat yourself like you're sick- take a few days off work, rest, take long baths, drink tea... but what do you do when you feel like this constantly? I can't take every day off from life. I'm in meds, and I don't know why I still feel this way. Nothing lasts longer than a moment. I just want to go back to the way it was before.

Maybe we were in love in a way. I wrote poetry about him, and he told me that he thought I was beautiful. But we're no longer in love. I love him from afar, but scars and open wounds litter our skin from cutting each other, and we're better off apart. But that doesn't mean that I don't feel the urge to call him whenever I see a yellow house, or a set of cards or see blue moon beer bottles.

It was a bad day...night...whatever.

I'm not okay. But I will be.

Lately my life has been a hundred days of tragedy broken up by moments of clarity where I know I'm being held. I sob for ages, just begging for Him to not let me go because i can almost FEEL His arms wrapping around me. He doesn't let me go, but a few moments pass and I can't feel His arms around me anymore. I know that they're there, but it's getting harder to have faith. I'm holding on to it with whitening knuckles, just praying that it won't slip away.

I've been struggling with my faith for what seems like years. I'm not sure how long it has been in actuality, but my greatest fear is that when I die, I won't go to heaven. I am a very bad Christian, I know that. But for some reason, faith that I am truly an heir to the promise escapes me. It comes and goes in waves. Some days, only praise is on my lips, and I can feel Christ surrounding me with love. Other days I feel like Hagar in the desert, hungry and thirsty for belief, but waiting to die. I feel like I'm going insane. Oh God, please stop this, I cannot weather this trial.

The spirit is here within me, and praise the Lord. For His presence is sweeter than any earthly kiss, more stimulating than any drug, more blindingly wonderful than any drunken stupor, and more exhilarating than any riches I could possess. All Glory Be to Christ.

I read this book. I keep trying to think of words to say about it, but I guess I don't really know what to say. And I don't know why every time I think of the color blue, or the name kyle, or heartbreak, I can't get this picture out of my head that I've never even seen but that I've read over and over. You spend the entire book watching two people who you can so obviously tell are going to fall in love, and then at the end there's a twist so cruel that it felt like I was the person who is being destroyed. I can't get it out of my head. I don't know why. I guess it just doesn't seem fair that two people who are so perfectly matched two people who are so obviously in love, and who would have a romance as bright as the brightest sunrise, would end so bitterly. But they both knew that she needed to die in order for the rest of the world to live. I just had an epiphany of sorts. Jesus did that. He spent His 30 something years being kind, and healing, teaching. Then you find out that in order for everyone else to live, he needs to die. I guess the difference is that in the end you don't know that everything turns out okay. In the Bible you know that he rose again, that His death meant something. I don't think that hers did. I think that for a love that shone so bright as theirs did, it would have been worth the world in order for them to just be together and love each other. Maybe I'm just lonely, and it felt good to know that someone else is lonely too. Or maybe there's some deeper reason why I can't seem to get the picture out of my head of two people who would have loved each other endlessly deciding who has to **** one of them in order to save the rest of the world. Maybe I just wish that I had something that beautiful even if it had to be ruined so quickly after it started. Or, maybe there's no reason at all. Maybe I'm just tired and emotional, and I cry about silly things. I just don't know why it strikes me so much that even after these months I still think of it and it haunts my eyes and my mind. I don't know why. I've been trying to figure it out ever since I heard the last words of that book. And I tried to figure it out again this morning when I turn to the very last page and reread the scene again. Why is it that the things that make us feel or hurt most deeply are the things that we crave to relive? Perhaps it's because we've spent so long not feeling anything, or feeling the wrong things, even if the feeling that we have is horrible, it's worth the purity of feeling it all.

Something I wrote from my heart and mind. Dealing with a lot right now, I didn't have the energy to think of anything to go before this, hence the elipses start. Lonely...tired...dejected...tired...