So Long, Farewell

Ok, I don't want to seem bitter and heartless, but as I send off the P's to their new home, I can't help but let out  a big sigh of relief. It's really a new chapter, one that I hope will endure as one of the happiest in my lifetime. What's left to worry about now but flower arrangements, packing up to move in with my soon-to-be husband, and picking out destinations for our honeymoon. Really, what is there to be worried about (meant to be rhetorical, to be honest).

I appreciate the concept of moving. I knew a lot of friends who moved around quite a bit in their childhood and they never really felt they had a true "home." But in my case, each move I've made has come with some significant shift in my life.

When my family move in high school, it was really beginning of my own reinvention. It marked the start of my transformation, out of the timid and shy little girl who was too afraid to ask grocery clerks where things were.

When I moved away for college, it helped me to see who I could be on my own. It helped me to find out what I wanted to do with my life, apart from anyone else's expectations of me, and gave me the time to build the courage to go get that life.

When I moved out of the P's house after graduate school, it really emphasized and deepened the rift in our relationship. Maybe one of the hardest times in my life, but like ripping off a band-aid, though it was painful at the time, the wounds really needed to breathe in order to heal. The only way I would gain any true independence was to be the one to deliver such a sharp blow.

As I get ready to move again, into my husband's home, I first send off the P's. I really hope that it's a new beginning for them too. The beginning of their discovering who they are again, as individuals. Rather than dutifully denying themselves their own identities, I hope they can rediscover what it means to live in this world, to enjoy what's out there.

So here's to the weekend. There's much to celebrate...my first weekend on true freedom, raises...just plain making it through another week without going entirely insane. But not too much rest for the weary. I've calculated that I need to lose 2 pounds a week to be on target with my weight loss plan. Yikes. Good thing my DVDs came in today.

Waiting...Always Waiting

As I face some of the most promising and positive changes of my lifetime, I guess I'm worried that it won't live up to the hype. I'm waiting and dreading at the same time, as if I'll find out that, in the end, these things won't bring me peace either.


I've always admired the "cool girl." The one who refuses , even forgets, to call her boyfriend. The girl who doesn't care too much about her job yet excels in it. But instead of that girl, I was always the girl who cared and thought way too much.


This has been a tough year on that end. I've cared too much when my boyfriend was angry with me or just plain having a bad day. I've cared too much when I screwed up at work. I've cared too much when the P's said something I didn't like. Last night, I lay in bed and felt myself begin to worry. Not about anything new or anything worth losing sleep over, but nevertheless, I did. At one point, I had to just say to myself, "What's the point, anyway?"


There is none. The increased heart rate, the loss of sleep, the welling of emotions, and the constant (no, really, CONSTANT) level of fear is really pointless. If there's no crisis to worry about, I'll search my life for things to pick apart. Yes, it is a beautiful day, but I feel fat. Yes, it is exciting that I'm getting married, but some things may not go my way. Yes, it is a relief that I'll have some distance from the P's now, but I don't know the exact timeline.


The Boy is recently studying for his master's, and he said that there are several times a day when a man's brain is literally "at rest," but it doesn't appear women experience the same. This attests to the notion that women are better multitaskers, but it also points to the fact that women are worriers. I'm tasking myself with learning and practicing brain rest. To enjoy the good without a second thought. To be thankful for the good without a "but."

From the Outside In

Ok, a month has gone by and I've had nothing to say... But this is not to say that there's nothing to talk about.

The Czar and Queen are moving! The Czar has moved OUT OF STATE, a clear 3-hour plane ride away, and the Queen will follow in a few weeks. You'd think the very notion of freedom, in the metaphorical and now physical senses, would shove me into utter giddiness. Don't get me wrong, I'm excited as hell. But it all feels very strange at the moment. It's like I'm watching my life unfold, only I'm not really in it.

I've been wondering lately why it is that I don't get overwhelmed with emotions like I used to. Don't get me wrong, the anxiety of pending relationship doom will send me into a tailspin, but where's the quickened pace of my heartbeat when a road trip is coming up. Or the screaming, jumping up and down elation when I hear great news. Or even just telling the story really, really loud? No?

Maybe it's just the pure weight of what those things mean. It's exciting, of course, all that's happening or going to happen in the next few months before my nuptials. But there is a LOT that is changing. The biggest transition of my life (up to this point) is now coinciding with the greatest and maybe most permanent experience of separation in the single, most painful relationship in my life to this point, too. And it's not as simple as opening presents on Christmas morning. The joy of separation is also fused with grieving the end of very significant phase in my relationship with the Czar, the fear or anxiety of what's to come and the big responsibilities of being a wife and then a mother... These are crazy big changes!

I can hardly wrap my mind around it right now. But the bottom line is that there could be no better way or time for all this to be happening. Maybe more explanations on why that is to come soon.

Yes, I Know

"Be content with what you have, for He has said, 'I will never leave you nor forsake you.' So we can confidently say, 'The Lord is my helper; I will not fear; what can man do to me?'" (Hebrews 13:6)

This verse and the promises behind it have been repeated to me over the past several months. My mind glosses over the familiarity of it. Yes, I know. Hang in there. It'll be over soon enough. Yes, I know. You can handle this. Yes, I know.

But tell a victim of domestic abuse that, with God's help, they can make it through yet another abusive relationship. Yes, I know. I just don't want to.

I've been trying to tell myself that it will be ok, that I just need to hang in there a little bit longer. I have my bad days, and then once in a while I have a surge of hope, a glimmer of contentment. Whether it's something the boy says, a new voice to speak the same words I've heard over and over, a silent smile from a familiar face, someone who listens without trying to tell me it will be ok... some days, I feel enough glimpses of the truth that I actually do believe I can make it. Of course I can make it. I guess I mean that I feel I can make it... but make it whole.

This is my battle. Others may struggle with demons that take the very clear and discernible shape of circumstances (like barrenness), of people who have hurt them (like cheaters), and any number of other things. My demons look and sound very familiar... they sound like me, the look like me, they feel like truth. My demons are my own inability to believe, to trust, to feel safe, to feel whole, to feel loved, to be confident, to let go, to give back, to give in, to forgive, to love even though I've been hurt, to accept that I will be hurt again, to separate the lie of utter defeat from the truth of hope.

Waving the White (Red?) Flag

I had never been in a serious or long-term relationship before the boy came along. I think it's for that reason that I never knew the full extent of my own insecurities and anxiety. Whether the Czar and Queen are the root or foundation or just inspirations for of all of that, I can't say for sure. But up until I started dating the boy seriously, most of those feelings of fear, anxiety, depression, etc. were all connected to the Czar and Queen. So when it comes out now in my relationship, I don't always recognize it.

It's true that I've had falling outs with girlfriends and "kind of" boyfriends in the past, but this is the first time I've hinged my life on someone. Obviously, no other person can make or break you, but when you make that scary commitment to marry, you've set yourself up to some major vulnerability... vulnerability to being hurt the way no one in your life has ever been able to hurt you before.

Recently, in a fit of insecurity or PMS or something, I let my anxiety get the best of me, and the boy started to wave his red flag. Hey there. You're being insecure. I'm not going anywhere. Just relax. But I didn't get it. Time and time again, I've asked him to not get upset that I'm upset and to just reassure me that I'm just being insecure. And he did. And I still thought he was attacking me.

At some point in our conversation, it clicked that he had been trying to do exactly what I had asked for and wanted him to do, and I was utterly shocked. Will it ever end? Will the torture never end? What if this stupid insecurity never goes away? In a moment of insecurity, the anxiety inflates any negative thoughts, and I go into a bit of a frenzy. It feels unstoppable, and even when someone is trying to help me, it all feels like an attack. I started to wonder if I would ever overcome this insecurity. I was angry with myself for not seeing how the boy had genuinely tried to do what I asked. (Granted, he hadn't done it all that well, but he tried. He later apologized for "chucking" the red flags at me instead of just waving them in the air.)

With the wedding drawing ever so near, I can't help but notice all the different ways insecurity affects my feelings and, therefore, my decisions. I've been avoiding the gym, because I think none of it will make a difference. I will never be happy with my appearance anyway. I've been avoiding my parents, because no matter how nice they're being, they'll come back to hurt me anyways. But what has curling up into a ball to protect myself done for me? Has it kept me from getting hurt? No. Because I cannot live this life alone. And if I can't live it alone, I can't live without getting hurt. Slice it any way you want, but insecurity is not to be solved by disguising it with self-sufficiency or abrasiveness. Maybe the only way to overcome feeling vulnerable is to be ok with being vulnerable in the first place.

Student by Day, Streetwalker by Night

I'm well into my 20s, actually closer to my 30s, but I have what you might consider a "curfew on steroids." Even in high school, I didn't have the traditional curfew my friends had. It wasn't ok to go see a movie as long as I was home by 10. It wasn't ok to go to a dance as long as I was home by midnight. I never went out. This might account for why I had but 2 friends in high school, really. We would hang out at someone's house until about 4, when I rushed home to get there before the Czar or Queen were home from work. This worked for the most part. My social life was ablaze from 3 to 4pm. Hoppin.

When I came home during breaks in college, I made sure to find a seasonal job and pick up as many hours as I could. Take your shift? Sure! Take an extra shift? Sure! Someone called in sick? I'll stay late, sure! I schemed to make sure I was closing so that I could wake up late, enjoy a silent house, and then leave before they came home. There were a few times where I would say I was working and instead hang out with friends, and those were glorious days of freedom.

After college, I moved back home and a dilemma presented itself. I had lived by my own schedule, coming and going as I please, for 4 years. What now? It became very clear that my non-curfew from high school was still in place after I babysat for my pastor. Yep. Pastor.

At the time, my pastor was probably in late 30s or early 40s, and a friend of his was finally getting married. He was to be a groomsman, so he and his wife were looking for a babysitter for their 3 children while they celebrated this very special occasion. I was a graduate student at the time, so I gladly offered my help. Besides, they lived just 7 or so minutes away from my house.

That night, I played some Scrabble with the eldest, shared some girl talk with the middle, and put the stubborn youngest to sleep successfully. I was enjoying the silence of the house when my pastor called to say he'd be a little late. Maybe 30 minutes. This would put me home past midnight, so I called the Czar. The response I got beyond baffled me.

What kind of church is this? What kind of pastor stays out and leaves his kids at home past midnight? You... are a street walker. What are you doing!? You're so stupid. This is ridiculous!

Yep. He called me a prostitute. Babysitting for my pastor who lives 7 minutes away until 12:30 on a Saturday night as a 23-year-old clearly means I'm selling my body for money. Is it any wonder that I've learned to lie so easily to them? It's very sad, but it's the only way I can get any sense of freedom. So if anyone asks, I'm working late tonight...

Moving?

I've always thought (sometimes quite dramatically) that something hugely tragic would need to happen in order for the Czar to see that he's not every in control of anything outside of himself. Whether that meant I fell ill or he fell ill, I was open to anything. The boy says I should wait before I "wish harm upon them," but the logic behind it stands, I think. When do drug addicts finally admit when they have a problem? When they've hit "rock bottom." The Czar is addicted to control. He must hit rock bottom.

I recently learned that the Czar's work may be changing. Circumstances have left him to seek out other employment, including options that may require a move. Is it utterly evil of me to hope for that? I honestly believe that, in this case, the sayings "absence makes the heart grow fonder" and "what you don't know can't hurt you" will go neatly hand in hand and ride off into the sunset. Bemoan my cliches all you want, but here's to good interviews and a little bit of luck.

Exhausted

I'm utterly exhausted. By nature, I'm a person who is constantly thinking. I'm thinking about the challenges I face, the ones I'm about to face, the ones I might be facing soon... I think about the pathetic relationship I have with the Czar and Queen, and how tragic it is that a family should feel so... unlike family.

I think about how their selfishness has sapped me from getting any joy out of wedding planning. I think about how their parents must have been in order to create such people. I wonder whether they even know the joy they're missing out on by holding on to this notion that they have some kind of control over anything. I think about how this part of them might never change. I wonder what it would be like if it did.

I think about the path my life has taken and wonder if my standard of living, being lower than that of most my friends, says anything about me. I wonder if people look at me and think that I've settled...in life and in love. I think about the job I have and how thankful I am, but wonder if wanting more is selfish and immature. I think about the boy and how much I can't stand being away from him. I think about building a home with him and how far that feels.

I think about my friends having babies and having dinner with their respective families, laughing about the new tricks the babies have learned. I wonder if I will ever know that deep joy of familial peace, of knowing this is exactly how it should be, or if it will always be full of resentment and sideways comments about my weight, my failures, my shortcomings. I think about my cousin struggling with Lupus, and I wonder if she wonders the same thing. I think about friends who used to mean so much to my daily life, who now are mere updates on a computer screen.

I think too much. Lately, I've been taking melatonin supplements for sleep and St. John's Wort for mood. I think they're helping, but this deep-seated belief that my life will never change keeps me from being faithful even to that little task. I think all day about tragedy and mourn. And I'm exhausted.

The boy has been telling me lately that he wants to take me out. We eat out often, so it means something a little different for him to put it in such a way. But given this new mission of deciding where he can "take me out," I'm at a loss. How much are we looking to spend? What kind of food is he in the mood for? I'm tired, so should I pick a local place? What about this and what about that? The utterly consumption of thought has sapped me of enjoying even this simple gesture.

Exhaustion has made me forget how to enjoy anything. I can't blame that on the Czar and Queen, can I? I don't think so. So whether it's Chinese take-out and an episode of Lost or a fancy steak dinner with cocktails, I.will.enjoy.it. At least for today, I will release this big bunch of worries I've been clutching, as if the strength of my grasp can prevent any ensuing chaos.

Dreams in a Fantasyland

Sometimes I imagine what my life would be like without anger threading through every part of it. I'm going to explore that on my anxiety vacation for the next 6 days. Of course it would be hard to imagine my life without a family at all or finding my own means of survival at a young age... but to be free of the expectation to carry the honor and value of an entire family, an extended family, and a long sequence of life choices...

Hi, there, freedom. Good to see you again. Let's hang for a while.