It's weird to go back and read what I wrote so long ago. So long ago, as in 8 months ago. How did the time pass so quickly?
I moved, and work got busy. I started living with Holly. Somehow something changed.
I hope it does again. I hope Charlie proposes, and I hope I can go to grad school. I hope I find out who Jesus is and why He matters.
And I would like to find a career I really love.
- Music and linguistics? But the science focus of "This Is Your Brain on Music" went over my head
- Music therapy with a focus on language acquisition?
- Etymology? But I didn't sink my teeth into "Alphabetter Juice" or the book on words from C & J. Then again, "historical morphology" sounds fascinating. Could I find a way to make it dovetail with music?
-Pyschology. Too broad.
-Biblical theology
Sunday, January 8, 2017
Monday, September 7, 2015
Drowned
Honeyed eyes
White lies
"I'm well,"
But really I mean
"I'm in hell."
How are you?
I ask
A mask my question is
Like fizzy fizz
That hides the color of drink
Beneath its bubbling brim.
Meanwhile I sink, I sink,
I drown in despair unending.
My hand reaches
Above the waves,
All my strength spending
To grasp at anything tangible.
"Our God teaches,"
Friends well-meaning say
"That nothing is wasted."
Nothing wasted?
My life is wasted.
I live with eyes closed,
With faith supposed
But never felt.
White lies
"I'm well,"
But really I mean
"I'm in hell."
How are you?
I ask
A mask my question is
Like fizzy fizz
That hides the color of drink
Beneath its bubbling brim.
Meanwhile I sink, I sink,
I drown in despair unending.
My hand reaches
Above the waves,
All my strength spending
To grasp at anything tangible.
"Our God teaches,"
Friends well-meaning say
"That nothing is wasted."
Nothing wasted?
My life is wasted.
I live with eyes closed,
With faith supposed
But never felt.
Miserable
Miserable as usual. Can't remember the last time I took a shower. I've been in the same clothes for three days now. This is Monday, and I haven't stepped out of my apartment since Saturday. Everywhere I look is a mess. Help.
Tuesday, September 1, 2015
Swarms of swims
Chocolate ponderings
Smooth whisps of yellow green
Cheesy flakes of nefarious neverland
Nonsense
Not nonsense, beauty.
Untailored, rare, crystalline
Simmering smirks and belly laughs
hatred, heated, baked.
Intense and bright, dim as some,
Cancer of light
Cornea rays and billowing blooms
Drivel dripping with sorrow or
Something worth saving
A pocketful of rubbish
Or a handful of charming whimsy
Self-conscious I stare
I ruin with gaze unbending
I would like to be done,
Done and done with the
terrible burden of living
To move unfettered, unshackled, uncaged,
free from the weight of darkness,
Free from the curse
I'm told is not my fault.
Brain, work. Body, live.
Where can I catch a breath of hope?
To breathe with joy, to look with expectant pleasure
That is what I wish for
Not this prison of woe
Of bitter sight and sound
The taste of life mingled, tainted, marred, obliterated
No life, no hope, no thought except survival
Help! I plead, I cry.
But no help comes.
No Savior to rescue, to whisk from flames that engulf.
None.
I alone must face the next day.
I alone, alone.
Smooth whisps of yellow green
Cheesy flakes of nefarious neverland
Nonsense
Not nonsense, beauty.
Untailored, rare, crystalline
Simmering smirks and belly laughs
hatred, heated, baked.
Intense and bright, dim as some,
Cancer of light
Cornea rays and billowing blooms
Drivel dripping with sorrow or
Something worth saving
A pocketful of rubbish
Or a handful of charming whimsy
Self-conscious I stare
I ruin with gaze unbending
I would like to be done,
Done and done with the
terrible burden of living
To move unfettered, unshackled, uncaged,
free from the weight of darkness,
Free from the curse
I'm told is not my fault.
Brain, work. Body, live.
Where can I catch a breath of hope?
To breathe with joy, to look with expectant pleasure
That is what I wish for
Not this prison of woe
Of bitter sight and sound
The taste of life mingled, tainted, marred, obliterated
No life, no hope, no thought except survival
Help! I plead, I cry.
But no help comes.
No Savior to rescue, to whisk from flames that engulf.
None.
I alone must face the next day.
I alone, alone.
Can't
I can't go on like this. I keep saying that, but this time I can't. Or can I? Is it a choice? I want it to be a choice. I want to decide to be well, to enjoy my life, to enjoy the drudgery of office life or at least to tolerate it more than I am. God of the universe, do you hear me and see me? Do you care?
Sunday, August 30, 2015
I wonder
I wonder what to say that I've not already said. What new thoughts do I have to think? I think no new thoughts, only recycled ones. Over and over I say to myself, I cannot go on. Over and over I binge and make myself uncomfortable by overeating. Over and over. Nothing changes. Everything stays the same.
Is it a choice, or is it my inescapable fate to stay like this? After watching "The Book Thief" tonight, I am inspired anew to write, to describe my experience of depression for myself and for others, for others who are caught in a similar prison of darkness. To put words to the feelings of misery that both cloud my mind and strike my soul with spear-like precision.
After watching the film, I am also tempted to call the man with whom I went on a blind date some weeks ago, the man who asked so few questions. Was he so wrong for me? He knows now, I am told, that he asked too few questions, displaying hardly any true interest in me. To call him and say I thought he was interesting and would he be up for getting coffee with me - what do I have to lose but my pride? He was not boring, as so many men are. Should I do it? Tonight?
If not tonight, when?
Not tonight. Tomorrow, tomorrow after work. Tomorrow when I have been doing something productive, instead of sitting at home doing nothing.
Maybe tomorrow. What will I say? What if he is dating someone else? Am I sure I can handle another date as exhausting as the last one?
The true reason I want to call him is that I am lonely. I don't like the thought of online dating, and he is my only real, in the flesh prospect. He thought I was interesting too, and attractive, which is a miracle. Or maybe it was the red lipstick I was wearing that evening.
I wonder if I have the guts to call him.
Is it a choice, or is it my inescapable fate to stay like this? After watching "The Book Thief" tonight, I am inspired anew to write, to describe my experience of depression for myself and for others, for others who are caught in a similar prison of darkness. To put words to the feelings of misery that both cloud my mind and strike my soul with spear-like precision.
After watching the film, I am also tempted to call the man with whom I went on a blind date some weeks ago, the man who asked so few questions. Was he so wrong for me? He knows now, I am told, that he asked too few questions, displaying hardly any true interest in me. To call him and say I thought he was interesting and would he be up for getting coffee with me - what do I have to lose but my pride? He was not boring, as so many men are. Should I do it? Tonight?
If not tonight, when?
Not tonight. Tomorrow, tomorrow after work. Tomorrow when I have been doing something productive, instead of sitting at home doing nothing.
Maybe tomorrow. What will I say? What if he is dating someone else? Am I sure I can handle another date as exhausting as the last one?
The true reason I want to call him is that I am lonely. I don't like the thought of online dating, and he is my only real, in the flesh prospect. He thought I was interesting too, and attractive, which is a miracle. Or maybe it was the red lipstick I was wearing that evening.
I wonder if I have the guts to call him.
Wednesday, August 19, 2015
Emptiness
What a tough day. All day I watched myself as a third party - an outsider of my own body. I sat in meetings and nodded. "Smile," I told myself. "Don't look as bored as you feel."
"It's all about Jesus," one of my coworkers said. "Jesus is what changes these guys."
Why doesn't He change me? I wondered. "Smile and nod," I told myself. On cue, my lips turned upward. I smiled, feeling empty and exhausted.
Trapped in an extrovert's world, I go through the motions of what I'm supposed to do. I feel like I was made for a different time or place. For something other than what I'm forcing myself to do.
I hate it. I hate calling people and asking them for money. I hate tracking things in spreadsheets. I hate sitting in meetings where the other person goes on and on about miraculous life change or about process after process. Another spreadsheet. Another form. Another way to track a measurable outcome.
After a while, it all gets to be the same. Another day, another dollar. How long can I go on like this? I hate what it does to me, how I feel at the end of the day.
I told myself this morning I would be able to go home after lunch if I just couldn't do it anymore. I made it through the day in four-hour increments, but I hated every second.
There's got to be something else, some other way of supporting myself that I don't hate so much. There has got to be a way to survive financially without hating my life.
And there's also the loneliness piece. I not only hate my life while I'm at this job. I feel like I'm wasting it, like I'm waiting for my life to start, waiting to meet someone I can love.
"It's all about Jesus," one of my coworkers said. "Jesus is what changes these guys."
Why doesn't He change me? I wondered. "Smile and nod," I told myself. On cue, my lips turned upward. I smiled, feeling empty and exhausted.
Trapped in an extrovert's world, I go through the motions of what I'm supposed to do. I feel like I was made for a different time or place. For something other than what I'm forcing myself to do.
I hate it. I hate calling people and asking them for money. I hate tracking things in spreadsheets. I hate sitting in meetings where the other person goes on and on about miraculous life change or about process after process. Another spreadsheet. Another form. Another way to track a measurable outcome.
After a while, it all gets to be the same. Another day, another dollar. How long can I go on like this? I hate what it does to me, how I feel at the end of the day.
I told myself this morning I would be able to go home after lunch if I just couldn't do it anymore. I made it through the day in four-hour increments, but I hated every second.
There's got to be something else, some other way of supporting myself that I don't hate so much. There has got to be a way to survive financially without hating my life.
And there's also the loneliness piece. I not only hate my life while I'm at this job. I feel like I'm wasting it, like I'm waiting for my life to start, waiting to meet someone I can love.
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