you can read this blog in whichever light makes sense to you. you may think i'm delusional or have some psychosis going on up in the brains, but i'll recount it anyway...
since i was around 11 years old, i've had these really bizarre night terror experiences. as an adult, i've heard all kinds of theories and ideas about the "spiritual world" and have since developed my own ideas about what's what in this world of the unseen. even though i don't fully get what goes on in this unseen place, based upon what i've read and seen on the earth and in people, i believe that there is a pretty black and white quality to what goes on there.
on the other hand, though i do believe in good and evil, i don't feel that it's clear what that looks like in the concrete world we stomp our feet upon.
having established those things:
in the tender years of my preadolescence, i was fairly clueless in my opinions of good, evil, or any other major substantive issue. i hummed along in my own way... jumping knee deep into muddy puddles and catching fireflies... stumbling on racism and violence... abuse... making dandelion crowns and necklaces... building forts in the prairie behind our home... listening confusedly to crass sexual jokes and being propositioned while sitting in "cooperative groups" at Jane Addams Elementary... picking blackberrys and catching sunbathing garter snakes. i remember the innocence and the oozing darkness that began to vein into that sunlit landscape.
i've been an insomniac since i've had a steady stream of conscious memories. from the time i began to read, i've used books as my method to induce sleep. sometimes reading would have the opposite effect and keep me up until the dawn anyway, but i figured that getting into a good story was better than tossing and turning on the ceiling of my bedroom. i was always the last one awake; my bedside lamp was the last to be switched off. sometimes it was lonely and scary; i had a period of OCD involving obsessions with murderous criminals entering my home or the house catching fire--i could see the screaming burning bodies of my brothers and parents.
it was a quiet Spring night. i remember shutting my window against the cool because the chill was invigorating me rather than causing sleep. i lay in my bed with my book turned towards the light as i read. i fell asleep with the light on, the book still curled around my fingers. i don't remember how long i slept or what exactly woke me, but as the blurry ceiling came into focus, i suddenly became aware of a heavy pressure pressing me into my bed. i was startled into consciousness and splashed into a cold frightened alertness. something is wrong. i can't move. i began to panic as i tried to turn my body and lift my arms. something is in here with me.
i could barely breathe because something was sharply clamping and constricting my lungs. i could feel the pages of the book against my fingers and dampness seeping into the paper. everything was so sharp and clear. cold sweat covered my face and arms and neck. this isn't a dream.
and then i heard a low growl coming from somewhere right above my paralyzed body. a quiet malicious, hate-filled snarl. i couldn't even scream as wild horror overtook me.
and then i thought of Him. and desperately i prayed as i struggled to move. i tried pushing words into the air.
and then i uttered His name. my tongue loosened as i spoke it again and then once more. the pressure on my body lifted and i felt released. i scrambled into a sitting position and pressed my back against the wall. heaving breaths. damp crinkled thumbprint on page 232. i couldn't sleep until i could see the sun against my walls.
this experience obviously did nothing for my insomnia. it was confusing and upsetting. and it was recurrent. until about the age of 27, this has happened to me once or twice a year. the most sinister part about all of this was that whatever it was that tormented me in the nighttime began to have a very familiar quality. it was as if this menacing persona somehow knew me and was chasing me. mocking me.
at first, i was afraid of talking about it to others for fear that they might think i was crazy. but, as i grew older, i actually began running into people with similar experiences. every seemingly random visitation was terrifying, but every time, the remedy of speaking His name caused the sharp pressure and paralysis to lift, the growling to fade, and an increasing sense of peace. a decade ago, when i recommitted my life to God, there was a subtle shifting that began in my understanding about what was happening to me. the last time i was attacked was about 3 years ago.
i remember slowly waking next to my now ex-husband to the sleepy blue-gray morning. frozen limbs and heaviness and the sense of a malevolent presence drew me into awareness. unlike previous times, this time i felt completely calm. i felt safe. i knew who God was; i was His daughter and nothing could harm me. i had a deep sense of trust and peace as i spoke to God into the predawn light. yawning, i turned over to sleep.
for the last 3 years, i haven't had any of those experiences... i wondered if i was no longer a "target"?
this past weekend, i did some random traveling around Korea. the countryside was beautiful and i had a chance to read a book and think and rest. last night at 2 am, we arrived back in Seoul travel-logged and w/ no specific options. the chimjilbahng always seems to be the inevitable eventuality in Korea.
after showering the travel from my body and relaxing in the bubbling pools, the warmth from the heated rooms and floors drew me into a relaxed torpor. despite the problem of having to sleep in a large room with a dozen strangers, i was able to get comfortable on a cushy mat. i pulled a blanket over me. 3:12am. it felt nice. warm.
4:17am. i heard a ferocious growling in my ear. my body jerked, but i couldn't move volitionally. disorientation flooded me. my eardrums were pierced by the shrieking of a ravenous animal thirsting to tear my flesh. i recognized this voice.
for some reason, i just struggled and didn't pray. as i lay on my side, i could feel my hip beginning to bruise as i was pressed into the floor. i felt invisible claws slowly sinking into my side and into my stomach. they raked into my body. it wasn't painful, but i still had this strange sense that i was being invaded. stripped into. the clawing sped faster and faster while my screams were caught and muffled in my throat.
and then i felt like i was being pulled into a dream.
i opened my eyes.
4:17am. i arose uneasily and felt my hip. it didn't feel bruised as i had imagined. i wondered if maybe this time it really had been nothing but a dream. shaking my head, i decided to get my book and read for the rest of the night. i padded quietly across the heated floor towards the stairs when i felt claws sink deep into my hair. hair torn backwards and then i was shoved headlong down the stairs. my body flew on choking hot breath. careening downward. i heard my forehead cracking against the edge of the stairs and felt the grating crush of my vertebrae. i saw blackness spreading from the edges in and could taste the blood that streamed into my nose and down my throat.
my eyes blinked open.
4:19am. i was back on the mat. gasping. unable to move. claws inside my stomach. pulling, scraping, yanking. howling screaming gibberish bursting the air.
suffocation. Lord... Jesus... i need your help right now. get him away from me...
the pressure lifted. i sat up and felt bruises on my hip. bewildered.
Tuesday, January 27, 2009
Wednesday, January 14, 2009
what it looks like
when my baby brother Peter was a freshman in high school and i was a senior, this callus began forming on Peter's foot. it grew for weeks until eventually he walked around with a slight limp. he complained and complained about this thing incessantly. when we examined it closely, it just looked like a lump of coarse, roughened skin that sat between the ball of his foot and his second toe.
would you please wash your feet, Peter?
but he limped and limped and even communicated worry about doing the 'dreaded mile' that all schoolchildren have to suffer through K-12, in the States. (whoa, i'm saying "in the States"... Korea has changed me.)
bah! it's fine! scolded my mother.
my mother was one of those Korean nurses back in the 60s and 70s. young Korean women were commissioned/encouraged somehow by the Korean government to study nursing in Germany in order to make a life for themselves. she studied in Germany for several years and then eventually married my father. they ended up in Chicago.
anyway, growing up under her care, we ~never~ went to the hospital under any circumstances (except for an unfortunate fork incident--another time).
i remember once, when i was in 6th grade, i was feeling sick as hell from the flu and she stayed up all night, feeding me Tylenol every 4 hours--so that when i got up for school the next day, i really had no excuses.
i didn't miss a day of school, K-12, for reasons of malaise.
these immigrant parents.
anyway, she took several looks @ Peter's foot and declared him healthy. so, Peter limped to school and began limping through the mile. fortunately, the gym teacher raised his eyebrow at Peter's fumbling gait and made him explain himself. due to the growing litigious nature of our society @ the time, Gym Teacher sent him to School Nurse. School Nurse took one look @ Peter's deformed lump of callused skin and blanched:
oh my..! in my 22 years of nursing, i have never seen such an enormous Plantar's wart! you need to get that treated immediately!
(my mom's thinkin: drama queen.)
so, rather than going to the clinic, we went to Walgreens.
did we have health insurance at that point? not sure... our insurance coverage seems spotty to me throughout life... i don't really blink about not having any...
so we got this Dr. Scholl's stuff in this tiny square glass bottle. it had this toxic, burning yellow tang that you could smell from across the room.
now, i've always been the hand holder through these more minor family health crises (i.e. accupressure for my 엄어) because no one was patient enough--nor willing enough to hold hands and provide sympathy through those brief moments of agony.
this Dr. Scholl's elixir was particularly brutal. you applied the stinging auburn goo to the affected area and then placed this small circular adhesive gauze upon it. after a few minutes of letting it stick and firmly bond itself to the skin, you carefully removed the gauze--w/ all the diseased skin beneath.
Peter and i participated in this bizarre daily ritual every night for about 4-7 days... the skin kept on peeling back and peeling back... we were both fascinated and repulsed... it eventually became painful--and then excruciating for him, as the exposed skin became more raw and red and raw. these were epidermal layers normally not viewed in daily life.
we got down to this point in his skin where, nestled into the sore bloody debris of his foot, there were 4-7 of these little black points of wriggling disease. it was fuckin disgusting to look @. absolutely horrifying that this is what it had come down to.
***
it's fascinating that this is the appetizing image that entered my mind as i sat on the #3 bus as we emerged from the whirling lights of the Shinchon bus stop. blaring Korean announcements blew my hair around my face. the lights flipped and flashed past as i considered P Eddie's words about forgiveness: "he is not a sinner worse than me, but he is a sinner just like me..."
my raw bloody diseased heart... fuckin pus-filled dirty bullshit that festers and pounds and pounds. grimy gritty pulsing black... ... bubbling... sometimes...
only sometimes
he's just like me.
damnit.
just like me.
would you please wash your feet, Peter?
but he limped and limped and even communicated worry about doing the 'dreaded mile' that all schoolchildren have to suffer through K-12, in the States. (whoa, i'm saying "in the States"... Korea has changed me.)
bah! it's fine! scolded my mother.
my mother was one of those Korean nurses back in the 60s and 70s. young Korean women were commissioned/encouraged somehow by the Korean government to study nursing in Germany in order to make a life for themselves. she studied in Germany for several years and then eventually married my father. they ended up in Chicago.
anyway, growing up under her care, we ~never~ went to the hospital under any circumstances (except for an unfortunate fork incident--another time).
i remember once, when i was in 6th grade, i was feeling sick as hell from the flu and she stayed up all night, feeding me Tylenol every 4 hours--so that when i got up for school the next day, i really had no excuses.
i didn't miss a day of school, K-12, for reasons of malaise.
these immigrant parents.
anyway, she took several looks @ Peter's foot and declared him healthy. so, Peter limped to school and began limping through the mile. fortunately, the gym teacher raised his eyebrow at Peter's fumbling gait and made him explain himself. due to the growing litigious nature of our society @ the time, Gym Teacher sent him to School Nurse. School Nurse took one look @ Peter's deformed lump of callused skin and blanched:
oh my..! in my 22 years of nursing, i have never seen such an enormous Plantar's wart! you need to get that treated immediately!
(my mom's thinkin: drama queen.)
so, rather than going to the clinic, we went to Walgreens.
did we have health insurance at that point? not sure... our insurance coverage seems spotty to me throughout life... i don't really blink about not having any...
so we got this Dr. Scholl's stuff in this tiny square glass bottle. it had this toxic, burning yellow tang that you could smell from across the room.
now, i've always been the hand holder through these more minor family health crises (i.e. accupressure for my 엄어) because no one was patient enough--nor willing enough to hold hands and provide sympathy through those brief moments of agony.
this Dr. Scholl's elixir was particularly brutal. you applied the stinging auburn goo to the affected area and then placed this small circular adhesive gauze upon it. after a few minutes of letting it stick and firmly bond itself to the skin, you carefully removed the gauze--w/ all the diseased skin beneath.
Peter and i participated in this bizarre daily ritual every night for about 4-7 days... the skin kept on peeling back and peeling back... we were both fascinated and repulsed... it eventually became painful--and then excruciating for him, as the exposed skin became more raw and red and raw. these were epidermal layers normally not viewed in daily life.
we got down to this point in his skin where, nestled into the sore bloody debris of his foot, there were 4-7 of these little black points of wriggling disease. it was fuckin disgusting to look @. absolutely horrifying that this is what it had come down to.
***
it's fascinating that this is the appetizing image that entered my mind as i sat on the #3 bus as we emerged from the whirling lights of the Shinchon bus stop. blaring Korean announcements blew my hair around my face. the lights flipped and flashed past as i considered P Eddie's words about forgiveness: "he is not a sinner worse than me, but he is a sinner just like me..."
my raw bloody diseased heart... fuckin pus-filled dirty bullshit that festers and pounds and pounds. grimy gritty pulsing black... ... bubbling... sometimes...
only sometimes
he's just like me.
damnit.
just like me.
Monday, January 5, 2009
journal: 1.5.09
so, for as crazy as the past two weeks have been, and despite the silly rambunctious behavior that has ensued, i actually hit some pretty low emotional valleys. i guess this is all part of the "more processing" that i have to do about my failed relationship w/ my ex.
ex-husband.
ugh.
holy shit. i can't believe that i have to use that term. it makes me want to squirm and clench my fists and hold my breath until my face turns purple. or green. rigor mortis.
i'm sure it's hard to believe, but in a lot of ways, i've 'gotten over' my ex-husband. well, i've managed and worked through the heavy bulk of the issues in the past six months.
how do you process 10 years worth of bullshit in six months? it's truly God's mercy on me. i got some really great counsel and so most of the awful feelings have subsided...
an email:
hi P Min,
i just wanted to say 'hi' and really thank you again for your counsel months back. at the time, it nearly killed me to have to lay aside my pride and try to make it work w/ such a cowardly unfaithful man. everyday from June through August, i cried my eyes out b/c i knew i really needed to have faith that God had some kind of grander purpose for my struggles. when you told me to go back to show him love, i can't describe the horrible pain it caused me to keep my heart open to genuinely love Chris. ugh. in reflection, it's hard to believe that i slept on the floor outside of our guest bedroom to show Chris my devotion while he spit on me every single day.
can you believe that i now truly have an incredible sense of relief that i did that? i'm sure you can. you pastors have that magical know-how :)
i'm so glad that i followed your advice. you were absolutely right. had i not tried to honor God in that most painfully difficult way, i know that even ~today~ i would be struggling w/ deep regret and pondering about whether or not i could stand right before Him and feel loved as His daughter. even writing this now makes me feel kind of emotional to think about the lessons that i learned about His love for me--everyday He sleeps outside my bedroom door despite my disobedience.
anyway, i've been mostly happy for a few months now, but in the past few days, God prodded me to reflect back on that time. thank you for recommending that i take the more difficult path last June despite my frustrated and broken-hearted tears. i know i'm much more whole and less crazy today b/c of your advice.
lots of love,
Mary
*****
for about the first 3-4 months after the proverbial shit hit the fan, i was an awful mess of a mess. during that time, i did my best to keep my marriage together. i truly did all i think i could have. i genuinely made the choice to sacrifice myself and my pride and really live out what i believed real commitment to supposed to be about. it sucked. it was much harder than quitting smoking cold turkey. but God really met me during those awful times of desperate tears and crippling pain.
i finally hit a point where i began having panic attacks. i've rarely experienced that kind of anxiety, but at the time: the thought of seeing my ex-husband's face and enduring another battery of his hateful and abusive words actually began triggering this unstoppable, overwhelming sense of dread. as strong as i tried to be, my psyche was actually beginning to break down. i knew i couldn't handle anymore and once i got there, God granted me a peace that i had done all that i could.
i moved in w/ my parents for a few weeks while they were in town, and then i moved in w/ some friends onto a street called Belle Plaine Avenue. i was officially homeless starting on October 1st, 2008.
unfortunately, on top of being cheated on and homeless, i was pretty much unemployed. it was a little terrifying, but i was trying to trust God. i had 3 suitcases containing most of what i'd be carrying around w/ me through life. i guess this explains some of my references to homelessness.
anyway, the first 3-4 months were awful, and initially, the horror was so intense that i couldn't imagine the feelings ever fading. i couldn't imagine that i could ever feel normal again. i felt like such a burden to everyone, but couldn't help but rely heavily upon my family and friends through the worst of the drama. they poured out more love and patience and understanding and grace and--there are no more words... some things just can't be described.
on one day that was closing into the evening:
it was my 1st day of homelessness. i was locked out and tears chilled on my cheeks while i watched October leaves begin to break away from the trees. i felt so displaced and alone and abandoned.
my cellphone rang.
my baby brother Peter called at the moment right when i was really beginning to feel sorry for myself. he showed up immediately and took me out for Thai food.
God was watching and knew what i needed.
indeed. i am truly blessed w/ amazing people in my life.
intermingled w/ the pain, i had these slapdash moments of joy and laughter and entertainment. the balmy summer days of 2008 on Belle Plaine Avenue are indelibly burned into my memory... we talked and talked and ate and smoked cigarettes and drank whiskey and wine. we watched movies and went to the beach. i began reading books again and journaling and praying more and taking long walks and experiencing a depth of love and friendship that i had not in years... i was blessed. i am blessed.
the pain actually began to subside...
and then there were days that i began to feel more happy than sad. i began feeling relieved and excited to leave behind the passionless and purposeless marriage that had caused me such angst for so many years.
the hot summer cooled and the autumn began. my favorite season.
and then the days that i felt happy began to outnumber the days that i felt sad. and then i began to generally feel happy. excited about the possibilities of life and where it could lead...
i think i've been riding the happy wave for about 2-3 months now...
anyway, w/o too much more explication, i stumbled into Korea and knew that God had placed me here. the first 6-7 weeks have been exciting and new and all kinds of fun. but, right around Christmas, i began having some very unsettling sad feelings--the first i've experienced for months.
**i never remember my dreams, but i had a terribly disturbing one where my ex approached me and begged me to come back to him. for some reason i did, even though my meta-persona was screaming NO! NO! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?
**i cried my eyes out in my office on Christmas eve while i forced myself to labor through these mind-numbing assignments for work. where are these feelings coming from? i'm moving forward. i'm moving on.
**the Belle Plaine Girls somehow all reunited in Seoul--7000 miles away from Chicago. we went out for a delicious Korean feast and had a drink at Tei--the dark, smokey, divey bar that plays pretty good music--my new favorite place in Shinchon. we caught up and touched Cheryl's big curly hair and laughed at Lin's antics. Praise and i recounted some of our more memorable Korea moments for them. and then a song that my ex used to sing me came on over the speakers. "isn't she lovely? isn't she wonderful?" the girls sang and i swallowed hard against the rush of feelings and tears that bubbled up.
my stomach has gotten this terribly tense and awful feeling in these random moments.
when i went to church yesterday, P Eddie gave a sermon about the new year. he talked about how we often grow w/ God for a period and then hit a brick wall. we get stuck. he named 3 things that often leads us to being stuck.
1) not receiving forgiveness from God for things that we've done.
2) not forgiving others who've sinned against us.
3) not forgiving ourselves for things we've done.
God. all 3 apply to me. #1 and #3 have been bugging me for years.
a few weeks ago, i don't think that i knew that #2 was something that i really might have issue with. but, when P Eddie said it, i could feel a stirring inside that indicated that i'm still wounded deeply and have more processing ahead.
damnit.
i'm a mess.
i've got a lot of work to do.
ex-husband.
ugh.
holy shit. i can't believe that i have to use that term. it makes me want to squirm and clench my fists and hold my breath until my face turns purple. or green. rigor mortis.
i'm sure it's hard to believe, but in a lot of ways, i've 'gotten over' my ex-husband. well, i've managed and worked through the heavy bulk of the issues in the past six months.
how do you process 10 years worth of bullshit in six months? it's truly God's mercy on me. i got some really great counsel and so most of the awful feelings have subsided...
an email:
hi P Min,
i just wanted to say 'hi' and really thank you again for your counsel months back. at the time, it nearly killed me to have to lay aside my pride and try to make it work w/ such a cowardly unfaithful man. everyday from June through August, i cried my eyes out b/c i knew i really needed to have faith that God had some kind of grander purpose for my struggles. when you told me to go back to show him love, i can't describe the horrible pain it caused me to keep my heart open to genuinely love Chris. ugh. in reflection, it's hard to believe that i slept on the floor outside of our guest bedroom to show Chris my devotion while he spit on me every single day.
can you believe that i now truly have an incredible sense of relief that i did that? i'm sure you can. you pastors have that magical know-how :)
i'm so glad that i followed your advice. you were absolutely right. had i not tried to honor God in that most painfully difficult way, i know that even ~today~ i would be struggling w/ deep regret and pondering about whether or not i could stand right before Him and feel loved as His daughter. even writing this now makes me feel kind of emotional to think about the lessons that i learned about His love for me--everyday He sleeps outside my bedroom door despite my disobedience.
anyway, i've been mostly happy for a few months now, but in the past few days, God prodded me to reflect back on that time. thank you for recommending that i take the more difficult path last June despite my frustrated and broken-hearted tears. i know i'm much more whole and less crazy today b/c of your advice.
lots of love,
Mary
*****
for about the first 3-4 months after the proverbial shit hit the fan, i was an awful mess of a mess. during that time, i did my best to keep my marriage together. i truly did all i think i could have. i genuinely made the choice to sacrifice myself and my pride and really live out what i believed real commitment to supposed to be about. it sucked. it was much harder than quitting smoking cold turkey. but God really met me during those awful times of desperate tears and crippling pain.
i finally hit a point where i began having panic attacks. i've rarely experienced that kind of anxiety, but at the time: the thought of seeing my ex-husband's face and enduring another battery of his hateful and abusive words actually began triggering this unstoppable, overwhelming sense of dread. as strong as i tried to be, my psyche was actually beginning to break down. i knew i couldn't handle anymore and once i got there, God granted me a peace that i had done all that i could.
i moved in w/ my parents for a few weeks while they were in town, and then i moved in w/ some friends onto a street called Belle Plaine Avenue. i was officially homeless starting on October 1st, 2008.
unfortunately, on top of being cheated on and homeless, i was pretty much unemployed. it was a little terrifying, but i was trying to trust God. i had 3 suitcases containing most of what i'd be carrying around w/ me through life. i guess this explains some of my references to homelessness.
anyway, the first 3-4 months were awful, and initially, the horror was so intense that i couldn't imagine the feelings ever fading. i couldn't imagine that i could ever feel normal again. i felt like such a burden to everyone, but couldn't help but rely heavily upon my family and friends through the worst of the drama. they poured out more love and patience and understanding and grace and--there are no more words... some things just can't be described.
on one day that was closing into the evening:
it was my 1st day of homelessness. i was locked out and tears chilled on my cheeks while i watched October leaves begin to break away from the trees. i felt so displaced and alone and abandoned.
my cellphone rang.
my baby brother Peter called at the moment right when i was really beginning to feel sorry for myself. he showed up immediately and took me out for Thai food.
God was watching and knew what i needed.
indeed. i am truly blessed w/ amazing people in my life.
intermingled w/ the pain, i had these slapdash moments of joy and laughter and entertainment. the balmy summer days of 2008 on Belle Plaine Avenue are indelibly burned into my memory... we talked and talked and ate and smoked cigarettes and drank whiskey and wine. we watched movies and went to the beach. i began reading books again and journaling and praying more and taking long walks and experiencing a depth of love and friendship that i had not in years... i was blessed. i am blessed.
the pain actually began to subside...
and then there were days that i began to feel more happy than sad. i began feeling relieved and excited to leave behind the passionless and purposeless marriage that had caused me such angst for so many years.
the hot summer cooled and the autumn began. my favorite season.
and then the days that i felt happy began to outnumber the days that i felt sad. and then i began to generally feel happy. excited about the possibilities of life and where it could lead...
i think i've been riding the happy wave for about 2-3 months now...
anyway, w/o too much more explication, i stumbled into Korea and knew that God had placed me here. the first 6-7 weeks have been exciting and new and all kinds of fun. but, right around Christmas, i began having some very unsettling sad feelings--the first i've experienced for months.
**i never remember my dreams, but i had a terribly disturbing one where my ex approached me and begged me to come back to him. for some reason i did, even though my meta-persona was screaming NO! NO! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU DOING?
**i cried my eyes out in my office on Christmas eve while i forced myself to labor through these mind-numbing assignments for work. where are these feelings coming from? i'm moving forward. i'm moving on.
**the Belle Plaine Girls somehow all reunited in Seoul--7000 miles away from Chicago. we went out for a delicious Korean feast and had a drink at Tei--the dark, smokey, divey bar that plays pretty good music--my new favorite place in Shinchon. we caught up and touched Cheryl's big curly hair and laughed at Lin's antics. Praise and i recounted some of our more memorable Korea moments for them. and then a song that my ex used to sing me came on over the speakers. "isn't she lovely? isn't she wonderful?" the girls sang and i swallowed hard against the rush of feelings and tears that bubbled up.
my stomach has gotten this terribly tense and awful feeling in these random moments.
when i went to church yesterday, P Eddie gave a sermon about the new year. he talked about how we often grow w/ God for a period and then hit a brick wall. we get stuck. he named 3 things that often leads us to being stuck.
1) not receiving forgiveness from God for things that we've done.
2) not forgiving others who've sinned against us.
3) not forgiving ourselves for things we've done.
God. all 3 apply to me. #1 and #3 have been bugging me for years.
a few weeks ago, i don't think that i knew that #2 was something that i really might have issue with. but, when P Eddie said it, i could feel a stirring inside that indicated that i'm still wounded deeply and have more processing ahead.
damnit.
i'm a mess.
i've got a lot of work to do.
Thursday, January 1, 2009
journal: 1.1.09
this is actually a journal entry, so if you're not interested in reading what's going on in the jungle of my subconscious, stop reading here.
these last few weeks have been a complete blur... stealing my 1st kiss, my 30th birthday, friends from outta town, Christmas...
suddenly today, it is 2009. within the first 8 hours of this brand new year: i received a New Year's kiss from a boy who ended up biting my arm, got hit on by a real live Korean boy, had the most amazing dance experience of my life, got a 4:30am booty call (which i rejected, of course), and then after 78 minutes of slumber, i rushed my friend to the airport.
eh. i know it sounds like a lot of things, but it sounds much more dramatic than it actually was.
i guess i'll just recount the events until i get tired...
so, i've had the sneaking, creeping awareness that i've got a thousand complexes, many of which are rising to the surface after being cheated on by a man i had been with for nearly a decade. at this point, i can't even begin to describe what this trauma was like. deeply loving someone to whom i completely committed my life to. committed to someone i knew was pretty imperfect. unable to emote. a liar. a coward. someone who brought out some of the worst things about me. someone who suppressed the things about me that made me happy and whole. plus, he really sucked in bed.
i suppose i could recount the things about him that make him a human and not a monster; there were genuinely some good qualities about him, but why waste my time? at this juncture, why make myself crazy? i refuse to reflect upon the termination of that relationship with regret. i refuse to stay stuck and let him continue to degrade me. life will move forward even if i don't.
but obviously, i've been affected. being with this man really caused me to shrink tightly into a shell, made my insecurities flare, and i really lost my sense of self. in the past six months, i've asked myself: 'who the hell am i?' and 'what the hell am i about?' dozens and dozens of times. i've begun to realize that maybe i'm not a completely awful and boring and shitty person. i really love new experiences. i love reading and writing and talking and laughing and maybe there's still some beauty inside of me.
part of an email:
honestly, as far as the emotional stuff, i'm doing pretty well. the worst of the awful feelings were left behind months ago. i'm not just saying 'screw that' and 'screw Chris' and 'now i'm a crazy liberated woman' or anything like that. God really helped me to heal through a lot of prayer and most of my tears were cried out months ago. i'm aware there's probably some more processing to do, but i'm pretty good for now--i don't like to kid/lie to myself.
i know i've begun to get into the ~crazy~ that is partly me and partly circumstantial. i'm sure it'll get annoyingly exhaustive to anyone who actually chooses to read any of this stuff, but it's my process and i need to get it out somewhere. i've got all these complexes about feeling unattractive and looking like i'm either 14 or 45 years old. i've got the fat-thighs complex that many women suffer from, and also have been feeling like i'm dumber than a mud brick.
when the world as i knew it was shattered, some shards were lost. it's obvious where some of those larger jagged pieces fit, but i want to leave those to lie on the peeling linoleum for now. i'm putting it together as best as i can w/o doing too much more damage. i want to feel whole again but need work on things in my order and timing... as a woman. God's consistently prodigal daughter. damnit. when will i ever learn?
i know i've been explicating about all these encounters that i've been having with men, and most people might read all this and think that i'm being pathetic. that all i want to do is to jump into another relationship. that i need a man to affirm me or something.
to be honest, i recognize some of that bullshit inside of me. i despise it b/c it makes me feel weak. but every human being on earth needs to be validated in certain ways. either way, it's not a relationship i'm looking for. i'm certainly not healthy enough to be in relation with someone right now.
the woman element of my being has been a difficult and tricky arena for me to navigate these days. i shouldn't have something to prove to myself, but my sense of womanhood is in dire need of repair. though i've actually been applying makeup to my face and dressing more feminine these days, i still feel like i look like the 14 year old tomboy that i used to be.
my girlfriends admonish me when i slip into this kind of murky self-deprecation, but it's hard to see what they see. these beautiful amazing women give me a lot of love and are always quick to point out my redeeming qualities. though i have no reason to disbelieve them, i feel like some of their encouragement is bred on the commonality of our XY chromosomes.
i know. i'm damaged.
anyway, about three weekends ago, i got dressed up in a little brown dress that hid all the fat parts, accentuated all the skinny parts, and gave the illusion that i actually had some cleavage. i didn't actually notice that i had any cleavage until i noticed that some guy was trying to look down my dress. you're a barbarian... but do you think i'm pretty?
anyway, after having a few glasses of wine and then heading to another bar to meet with a friend, i did what i always do whenever i hear a good beat. i make any floor i'm standing on a dance floor.
a decade ago, when i used to dance as much as i'm dancing now, i was always too shy and generally disinterested to dance w/ a partner. these days i've occasionally been consenting to b/c of the powerful sense of femininity that fills me, knowing that the guy totally wants my body. you may want to call me a woman of ill repute to say this, but hell: that raw animal urge that i can see in a man's eyes, desiring me, wanting to touch my skin and fuck my brains out is pretty hot.
inside the dusky heat and twinkling Christmas lights in this dive bar, i danced and consented to let this guy move to the beat against my body. i could feel the warmth of his hands on my waist. even after we finished dancing and i went back to my friends, i could practically taste the waves of his attraction. he kept on looking in my direction and smiling.
i think i want to be kissed. press my lips against someone else's lips... i forget what that even feels like.
how do you make such a thing happen? in a public place? i didn't want to go home w/ anyone, but...
I want to get at least one kiss away from the ex. these thoughts built up as the night wore on until finally it was time to go home.
the taxi's waiting Mary!
damnit.
i stalked over to the guy i had danced with. i watched his eyes rove over my body as i approached him. grabbing the front of his shirt, i pulled him toward me forcefully and pressed my lips against his. he put his arms around me and enthusiastically kissed me back. his lips were soft and he actually knew what to do with his tongue. it was nice. i got what i wanted and gave that guy a little thrill.
so when our lips disconnected, i didn't even bother to look up at him as i turned around, left the bar, and hopped into the cab.
i'm a woman damnit.
these last few weeks have been a complete blur... stealing my 1st kiss, my 30th birthday, friends from outta town, Christmas...
suddenly today, it is 2009. within the first 8 hours of this brand new year: i received a New Year's kiss from a boy who ended up biting my arm, got hit on by a real live Korean boy, had the most amazing dance experience of my life, got a 4:30am booty call (which i rejected, of course), and then after 78 minutes of slumber, i rushed my friend to the airport.
eh. i know it sounds like a lot of things, but it sounds much more dramatic than it actually was.
i guess i'll just recount the events until i get tired...
so, i've had the sneaking, creeping awareness that i've got a thousand complexes, many of which are rising to the surface after being cheated on by a man i had been with for nearly a decade. at this point, i can't even begin to describe what this trauma was like. deeply loving someone to whom i completely committed my life to. committed to someone i knew was pretty imperfect. unable to emote. a liar. a coward. someone who brought out some of the worst things about me. someone who suppressed the things about me that made me happy and whole. plus, he really sucked in bed.
i suppose i could recount the things about him that make him a human and not a monster; there were genuinely some good qualities about him, but why waste my time? at this juncture, why make myself crazy? i refuse to reflect upon the termination of that relationship with regret. i refuse to stay stuck and let him continue to degrade me. life will move forward even if i don't.
but obviously, i've been affected. being with this man really caused me to shrink tightly into a shell, made my insecurities flare, and i really lost my sense of self. in the past six months, i've asked myself: 'who the hell am i?' and 'what the hell am i about?' dozens and dozens of times. i've begun to realize that maybe i'm not a completely awful and boring and shitty person. i really love new experiences. i love reading and writing and talking and laughing and maybe there's still some beauty inside of me.
part of an email:
honestly, as far as the emotional stuff, i'm doing pretty well. the worst of the awful feelings were left behind months ago. i'm not just saying 'screw that' and 'screw Chris' and 'now i'm a crazy liberated woman' or anything like that. God really helped me to heal through a lot of prayer and most of my tears were cried out months ago. i'm aware there's probably some more processing to do, but i'm pretty good for now--i don't like to kid/lie to myself.
i know i've begun to get into the ~crazy~ that is partly me and partly circumstantial. i'm sure it'll get annoyingly exhaustive to anyone who actually chooses to read any of this stuff, but it's my process and i need to get it out somewhere. i've got all these complexes about feeling unattractive and looking like i'm either 14 or 45 years old. i've got the fat-thighs complex that many women suffer from, and also have been feeling like i'm dumber than a mud brick.
when the world as i knew it was shattered, some shards were lost. it's obvious where some of those larger jagged pieces fit, but i want to leave those to lie on the peeling linoleum for now. i'm putting it together as best as i can w/o doing too much more damage. i want to feel whole again but need work on things in my order and timing... as a woman. God's consistently prodigal daughter. damnit. when will i ever learn?
i know i've been explicating about all these encounters that i've been having with men, and most people might read all this and think that i'm being pathetic. that all i want to do is to jump into another relationship. that i need a man to affirm me or something.
to be honest, i recognize some of that bullshit inside of me. i despise it b/c it makes me feel weak. but every human being on earth needs to be validated in certain ways. either way, it's not a relationship i'm looking for. i'm certainly not healthy enough to be in relation with someone right now.
the woman element of my being has been a difficult and tricky arena for me to navigate these days. i shouldn't have something to prove to myself, but my sense of womanhood is in dire need of repair. though i've actually been applying makeup to my face and dressing more feminine these days, i still feel like i look like the 14 year old tomboy that i used to be.
my girlfriends admonish me when i slip into this kind of murky self-deprecation, but it's hard to see what they see. these beautiful amazing women give me a lot of love and are always quick to point out my redeeming qualities. though i have no reason to disbelieve them, i feel like some of their encouragement is bred on the commonality of our XY chromosomes.
i know. i'm damaged.
anyway, about three weekends ago, i got dressed up in a little brown dress that hid all the fat parts, accentuated all the skinny parts, and gave the illusion that i actually had some cleavage. i didn't actually notice that i had any cleavage until i noticed that some guy was trying to look down my dress. you're a barbarian... but do you think i'm pretty?
anyway, after having a few glasses of wine and then heading to another bar to meet with a friend, i did what i always do whenever i hear a good beat. i make any floor i'm standing on a dance floor.
a decade ago, when i used to dance as much as i'm dancing now, i was always too shy and generally disinterested to dance w/ a partner. these days i've occasionally been consenting to b/c of the powerful sense of femininity that fills me, knowing that the guy totally wants my body. you may want to call me a woman of ill repute to say this, but hell: that raw animal urge that i can see in a man's eyes, desiring me, wanting to touch my skin and fuck my brains out is pretty hot.
inside the dusky heat and twinkling Christmas lights in this dive bar, i danced and consented to let this guy move to the beat against my body. i could feel the warmth of his hands on my waist. even after we finished dancing and i went back to my friends, i could practically taste the waves of his attraction. he kept on looking in my direction and smiling.
i think i want to be kissed. press my lips against someone else's lips... i forget what that even feels like.
how do you make such a thing happen? in a public place? i didn't want to go home w/ anyone, but...
I want to get at least one kiss away from the ex. these thoughts built up as the night wore on until finally it was time to go home.
the taxi's waiting Mary!
damnit.
i stalked over to the guy i had danced with. i watched his eyes rove over my body as i approached him. grabbing the front of his shirt, i pulled him toward me forcefully and pressed my lips against his. he put his arms around me and enthusiastically kissed me back. his lips were soft and he actually knew what to do with his tongue. it was nice. i got what i wanted and gave that guy a little thrill.
so when our lips disconnected, i didn't even bother to look up at him as i turned around, left the bar, and hopped into the cab.
i'm a woman damnit.
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