Is It Really Wednesday?

I’m so exhausted! For some reason I can not get enough sleep. No matter how much I sleep, I wake up more sleepy and more exhausted as the day goes on. 

So, good news: I think my roommate and I have found our apartment. I won’t know for 100% until later today, but for right now we’ve found the best deal amongst them all. 

It’s an older building that’s been renovated and sold as individual condos. The person we’re leasing ours from hasn’t occupied it in a while so we’ll be the first people to live in it. I’m so excited because it’s centrally located around everything. Plus, it’s in this transitioning neighborhood, so by the time our lease is good and in it the area will be booming. I want to sign for two years. Even if Kristin and I don’t work out as roommates I want to keep it, so I’m signing for two. Plus, two years goes by really fast. 

The only downer to it is because it’s being leased by an owner versus a complex we’ll have to pay for everything up front, which means I have to borrow from the parents. NOT HAPPY ABOUT THAT. I have to keep reminding myself I’m just borrowing. This is not me owing them anything but money. Basically, what’s going to happen is they’ll lend me the money and just keep any Christmas and birthday money that comes to me. I’m okay with that. After all, in about two months I’ll be paying $200 less than what I pay in rent now. I’m okay with that. 

Guys, I’m so unmotivated here. I have all these things I should be jumping out there for, but can’t seem to figure out how to go about it. For example: there is a job at this hospital that I really, really want to work at. It’s currently right where I am in my career. The only problem is it puts me in the same area I don’t want to be in: Marketing/PR. The more I talk to people the more I hear that’s how I’m going to have to get in. With no healthcare experience I will have to jump in the way I know how. 

I’m meeting with the nursing school soon to see if that’s going to happen soon. 

I think I’m just so tired that I’ve burnt out on moving forward. For some reason, it’s like I’m paralyzed by fear. I’ve been clinging to Amy for dear life lately because I kind of feel like I’m’ drowning here. She’s such a great person that it’s so easy for me to let her pick me up than it is to pick myself up. I’m so lame right now. 

What happened here? I was totally energized and my own person, then WHAM I’m this baby of a girl who can’t do anything but sleep. 

Good news is in one week I will be experiencing my 3Day journey. I’m sure the walking and being around people will help pull me back out. Plus, I’m going back to my therapist finally!

So It Is, I’m You

About a year ago, I sat in a high school auditorium, really early for church. I had mis-remembered the time and showed up at the end of what I thought was the beginning of the first service. After the closing of the first service and people started to leave I realized I had it wrong. I was new and searching for a place to worship. So, because I was there and not about to admit defeat, I stayed and waited. As I sat there for twenty minutes I read the handout. I never read those things because I’m in either too much of a hurry or just don’t want to. Seeing how it had my full attention for twenty minutes before I started scoping out the church hotties not with girlfriends, I read.

On the front cover was a story about this woman and her past. It started out in such a way that grabbed my heart. She was angry, constantly angry. She fought with her husband and her children. Yelling, throwing things and causing huge scenes. It wasn’t until one morning when, during one of her rages at nothing in particular, she saw her past threw her daughter’s eyes. On the floor, cornered away by the fridge was a crumpled piece of her daughter trying to be as far back as she could be. Crying and trying to remain unseen from her mother’s rage, she saw herself as a little girl in the same way. It took her back to her childhood and the pain she had from her father. Her story was much different than mine, but all the same her father played a big part in her break down. In years of counseling, she came to a place with God and herself where she felt safe, safe enough to confront her dad with the pain he had caused her. When she came to him in love, and truth he denied having ever hurt her and that she was making it up. He, after many years, never caved, but she moved on, let go and became less angry.

This story stumped me that I kept it around. I kept pushing it around my dresser, throwing it in the back of my Bible because I knew there was something about it I couldn’t throw away. I felt like I knew her. I knew, even then, that I was destined for this sort of break down/realization of what kept drowning me.

Have you ever watched “James Bond” and saw him go through a metal door? You know the kind, the ones that open in one quick steel-knife motion and close just the same? That’s what I think about when I hit college. Spring of my freshmen year, I walked away from the love of my life, my major and future plans. I don’t remember exactly when, but shortly after all those changes I felt the blade of the steel-knife like door close me from the rest of the world. My happiness, joy and hope walked out and anger, loneliness and broken spirit entered in.

Just ten minutes ago I had that moment. The moment that I saw myself and could have cried.

A little under a month ago I got a second dog (Pippa). She came to me not as I expected her to. She was dirty, sick and smelly. She was scared, very scared and completely un-teachable. I had rescued her from the same people I had gotten my first dog (Molly). Molly was a walk in the park, but Pippa was another story. I was patient with her and quick to start teaching her the rules. She soon got better and learned that inside is not the same as outside. Since I’ve added a second dog, Molly and Pippa have not stopped playing. They love each other and Pippa does what Molly does. I’ve noticed, though, that since the addition of the not so perfect dog I started training wrong. Snaps on the nose replaced time out and loud “no” replaced better correction. I kept thinking my quick to anger was related to everything else and that once I got over the many hills I had been on, I would be better. Well, I also thought that once Pippa learned to go outside we would not be doing accidents inside. I was wrong on both accounts.

Tonight was the pentacle of pottying inside. Twice I found pee spots (one old and one in action of). The second one I found myself very angry. I disciplined her quickly and put her in her crate. I was so angry because I knew she understood outside was good and inside was bad. What made me more mad was that she didn’t even let me know. She has thing to let me know she needs to go and I got nothing. What sparked this similar experience as with the woman I mentioned before was after I had put her in her crate, cleaned up the mess and what not, I went to her crate and just stared her down. My brain couldn’t wrap around anything but anger. I just sat there, said nothing and stared. She knew she was in trouble because she wouldn’t meet my eyes. It hit me when I realized I wanted her to feel bad. Yes, she’s just a dog and ten seconds after she did it, she had no idea why I was staring her down. I get that, but I can’t help but think the behavior I have towards my dogs is the kind I will have towards my children, so this discipline is very important to me.

I sat there and watched her eyes, her throat and her body. She didn’t move. She swallowed slowly and her eyes constantly looked to the left. Once I saw all those things I saw myself.

(That has to be the worst way to describe oneself as when they looked at their dog they saw themselves, but work with me; I’m going some where I promise.)

I saw myself after every fight I had had with father. I saw myself motionless, fighting tears – never looking directly in the eye. I can remember the “I’m sorry” after every hurtful word, after the time he grabbed me and threw me out of a room. I can remember him asking for forgiveness because of what that made him feel like inside, but knowing he would do it again in the future. I remember hurting and never letting it show. I remember thinking “one day…I won’t ever let him do that to me again.”

Today…tonight, in my anger, I became him. I wanted her to feel pain through my eyes. I wanted to deep within my person react in a higher, angry way, but (because I don’t abuse animals) I separated myself from her. I took a step back and realized I couldn’t use “house, family, job, etc.” as excuses to pretend my anger was just misplaced. I have no place for it. I need no place for it. Luckily, she is a dog and won’t remember that in ten minutes, but what if that had been my child? What if I had stared, yelled or displayed over the top anger to my child? I would have been repeating the cycle I never wanted to repeat. Sorry is great, but doesn’t cover the words you said or the hurt that they felt.

I am glad this is something my therapist and I are working through, but I never realized this until just these past couple of months. I never thought of my dad as a bad dad, but rather me as a bad child. I never wanted to see my dad wrong because he was my dad. I will say my dad is human as we all are and I can’t be angry at him forever. There are a lot of great things he did amidst the bad ones. It’s the just bad ones that burned more; caused more tears and the need for better healing techniques.

In terms of Pippa, well, she’ll have accidents (hopefully less than more). She will be out of time out soon and hopefully all the wiser of her potty behavior or cause me to steam clean my carpet, yet again. Ugh…dogs and carpet. The worst pairs in the world!

Ya’ll, Don’t Fight

My therapist told me to start recording my dreams because he believes my subconscious is telling how to fix my problems and focusing on things that are really bothering me. (I told him about the dream concerning my dad a couple days ago and this is where he said, “start writing them down. Because (I know you don’t start a sentence with “because any more, but whatever) I’m interested I am going to.)

Last night’s dream is titled “Ya’ll, Don’t Fight”. It went a little like this:

There were two groups of people: teenagers and cops/adults. I was first at a camp working with these teenagers so I had earned their friendship. The leader of the group was a guy named Brandon (funny enough my co-worker’s boyfriend Brandon whom I’ve never met). They were a rough group of teenagers and were always looked down upon by the cops/adults. I understood them and knew that they just needed attention and a listening ear. At one point it became a little “West Side Story” with the teenagers being the Jets and the cops/adults being the Sharks. They all wanted to brawl, but I stepped in and talked to the groups first. I said that the teenagers were just wanting to be heard and understood while the adults just wanted to be respected. Once each group realized the others need the fighting stopped and they went on with their lives. The last part of my dream was I became a nanny for a family with a little boy. It’s like after I saved the day, I went to their house really early in the morning to start taking care this family. 

Dreams are so weird. I wish I could remember what my dream was about the night before, but it seems to be happening more often. I dream EVERY SINGLE NIGHT, which means I don’t sleep well. Suck.

“This or That”

In the last couple of weeks I’ve been shaking myself loose from the mental break down I had in the presence of my parents two Sundays ago. I’ve mentioned that my parents wanted to talk to me about my decision to come out to them as “bi”. I, thinking I’m ever so strong, agree to meet them on Sunday for a little discussion. “Little” is hardly the word and “discussion” is not what happened in the slightest. I was, rather, told “wrong” ,”saved”, “don’t approve”, “struggle”, “sin no more” and “we love you”.  Hmm…

After that little two-hour me sit there and they yell situation, I left, picked me up some McDonald’s and went home to plunder away at a large fry and McNugget combo. There were tons of tears. There was tons of anger and sadness. 

Since then I’ve not been the same, good and bad. I’ve pulled away from my relationship with Amy, my parents and generally anyone I was close to. I’ve become more like a air-tight liter of Coke that’s been dropped on the floor one to many times. My lid is about to explode and my reaction is about to be every where. 

In an effort to build some meaning out of my existence I’ve been seeing a therapist. At first, when I found him through Psychology Today I thought he seems to be too mellow for me. As I was desperate for a councilor that was not with the Christian crusade of America (I have no idea if such a crusade really exists) I settled for at least one appointment with him. I had to get all that anger, emotion and confusion out of me before I pushed it into the deep parts of my mind to just poison my thoughts with “what ifs” and “I hate you’s”. Turns out this guy is amazing.

I titled this blog “This or That” because of another blog I read shared to me by Amy. It’s written by an amazing personal bloger named Kristy. This blog she wrote was about her figuring out the path of her life and where she wanted to go. She mentions being married before to a man that she could see her future clearly with. Children, career, life, all of it was visible in the distance. It wasn’t until her mother became ill that she realized she didn’t want any of it. It wasn’t what she wanted for herself at 25. Marriage, mortgage and children were not on her agenda, so she started over on her own. She now, at 32, is coming back to this place of marriage, mortgage and children with a renewed self and more focused mind. She says she couldn’t have been a good mother then as she would be now. Unfortunately, her ovaries are no longer functioning. It’s becoming more obvious that she will not be able to have children. Towards the end of her blog she says words that describe me right now. She says, “I don’t think I’ve made a mistake, living this life. I know I’d make a much better mother now than I ever could have been ten years ago. But by waiting, did I lose my opportunity? By having “this” did I miss my chance at “that”?” 

Mistake. That word is one I hate to know personally. I always want to win, choose the right side and do the right thing. I hate being in the wrong, the bad or the guilty. Funny how when you sit in your own life, overwhelmed by everything else, the wrong is blurred and the right further away. I don’t know what the right or the wrong is for me and I would care for you not to tell me either. I boil at the very chance to mess up, to some how throw myself down the stairs of life and break every possible future bone in my path, but I hate taking it one step at a time, too. I hate that life can’t just be something I LIVE rather than something I talk about. I’m over people telling me what I should do and what I shouldn’t. I think, sometimes, I would much rather live on a island all on my own. Absent from people and communication, but then I think I would be far crazier than I am now. 

Every night I sit in my bed, pondering my mistakes, my failures and my direction for the morrow. I would call myself an optimist minus my brain. How, in all the years of good times and up beat emotions, have I come to this place of empty? I keep thinking if I do “this” or “that” I will better be able to answer those hard question pressing in on me. Funny how “this” or “that” don’t really help me, but further complicate my life and add to the need for something else to distract me. 

Did I mention I wanted to run? Yes, last week I sought a councilor to help me answer just one question, “do I leave?” I wanted out of my parents hand. I wanted to get away from people that knew me and knew my family. I wanted to do my own thing and exist in my own person absent of those knowing anything about me/family. But, in all things complicated there was also this need to stay. This need to teach my mind that running wasn’t the answer and establishing strength next to the things that break me down was far more important than lovely weather and new faces. So I’m staying. Staying to the point that I’m looking for a home. I’m tired of the renting game and hate owing the rental man. I’m hoping within the next two months I’ll be living in my own place with new possibilities. 

That’s my focus right now. That’s my time line. What seems to not care is my heart. What do I do with feelings? What do I do with Amy? 

Before my lovely chat with my parents I was head over heals smitten for her. Feelings haven’t changed but the safety of expressing them has. I don’t know how to go back. I don’t know how to feel those safely or exist in a relationship with her safely. My mind, my parents, my co-workers, the world is heavy upon my heart and I don’t know how to win under them. Remember…I have to win. 

I can’t just close my eyes and jump in, taking every sharp wave with stride because I’m scared. Fear surrenders me motionless, I will drown. “This or that” is something I seem to bounce back and forth on. I hate bouncing. I hate being beaten about like a basketball missing the rim. One side grabs me, fails at the free throw line and the other team tires equally as unsuccessful. I’m the ball the teams don’t realize I’m the reason they’re playing. Without me there would be no game. Without me there would be no reason to compete. Without me there would be no need to play without concern. 

I’m tired of being played with. I’m tired of being something for a reason versus a person with a heart. My soul is none of anyone’s business, but my heart is capable of being crushed by anyone. 

I also don’t want to be that person for Amy. I want to be careful, highly careful with her heart. I don’t like playing this role. I don’t like being the person saying “hey, there’s a small chance I’ll ever have the strength to actually take the big step, but if you’ll wait it might be worth your while.” She doesn’t run and I don’t want her to, but I wish she didn’t love me. Only because I love her and the whole thing isn’t fair to her. I just don’t have answer. I don’t have an answer today and who knows if I’ll have an answer tomorrow. 

I’m tired of not having the balls to just make a decision and stick in it. I’m so afraid of missing “this” for “that” it becomes harder and harder to do anything. I’m a risk taker and love making that jump, so why am I so afraid? I have never had this type of fear with anything. I’ve just done it. 

You know what I’m also tired of? Being 24 and having to have it all figured out. Since when does a 24-year old have to know what’s going to happen for the rest of her life? I blame my dad. He’s always been like “where’s your plan” and “what are you going to do”. It’s great in considering a house, a job or something NOT related to your heart. 

Dad, I don’t have an freaking plan! I don’t and won’t. I don’t care to find one and I don’t care to make one. I want to be smart and not hurt people, but I don’t have a plan. Sure, sure, it may end up biting me in the ass but I’m tired, very tired of walking that tight rope for you. I’m tired that I have pretend to have it all figured out in order to talk to you. Did you ever know you’re scary? Yeah! You’re not the same guy you were when I was a little kid. Perhaps you’re more concerned now with our well being and just want to make sure we’re okay, but you’re scary. You either think you can scare things out of us or be mean and we’ll just do whatever you want. That’s how you’ve beaten me down before and, I’m sorry, I don’t want to do it anymore. There has to be a break in our relationship. You have to now be an adult because I am now an adult. No, I’m not as learned as you nor have I gathered the many years of wisdom you’ve obtained, but you did it on your own, why can’t I? You moved a million miles away from your family for job and sanity. I’m not moving because I’m facing you, but I will not allow you control me. I’m an adult and it’s high time you treat me like one. 

I’m going to make many, many mistakes. I’m going to fall down and have a hell of a time getting back up, but as long as God gives breath in this body I will get back up. I will do things as you wouldn’t. I will do things as you would. Either way, I’ll be doing them, not you. 

I don’t even know how to talk to you anymore. I would love, love to send these words to you, but you’re so damn defensive that you wouldn’t even read the truth behind them. I’m tired of having to have a plan for you. I don’t live on your dime and I’m not under your roof. My plan is my own and if I do decided to live it absent of your hand, then you must sit back and be thankful I’m able to do it on my own. 

…

I can’t wait for my therapy.

Tell Me What To Do

It seems I’m just looking for answers. It seems that what I want is someone to tell what to do, what to say, what to think and which side of the fence to stand on. Up until this point my life has been not completely for myself, but rather to please and uplift those I value. My parents, God, my educators, my coaches, my Sunday school teachers. At the time I would have placed myself in a different category; one that was a rebel of traditional thinking and open to those around her. Whether or not both of those things (meaning independent rebel and dependent pleaser) were true, I find myself, in this moment, some where else entirely.

I’ve wanted to walk that fine line between gay and straight and my early twenties are laced with it. I keep wondering when things will start to just be rather than possibilities. I wonder will I ever truly stop this “struggle” between men or women and exist in one perfect, albeit solo, place? It makes me laugh to talk to lesbians and straight women about this whole “bi” thing.

…

“This whole ‘bi’ thing”…this whole bi thing is me! I’m tired of having to constantly defend my middle ground. I’m tired of people not buying it’s gay legitimacy or just calling me greedy. I’m tired of wondering why I have to choose at all. Choosing…makes things so much easier though. Perhaps it’s me choosing. Perhaps my perfectionist ways are too strong for my own memory and I’m forcing myself to choose because existing in the middle is nearly impossible to do.

Today I had a conversation with my mom about hardly nothing in particular, but relatively dancing around my complex truth. Reader: I’ve mentioned that when I told my mom I’m bi she would not except the gay life style and that it was a sin to be let go. She urged me to seek help, move away and change everything I’ve ever done up until this point to wash “it” out. Our relationship, after many conversations, has become something more bearable and slightly more enjoyable though she still wishes me to never act on this. I love her words, “just don’t be flaming.” I remember a friend telling me that was the reaction he got from his mother. Hmm…I guess they would be good friends.

In that conversation I made mention to my therapy and she inquired how that was going. For those that know me I am not shy about telling you my story. My whole purpose in telling my mom so young in my life was I was tired of pretending to be two different people. Now my mom knows this is something more real than she hoped for, but we just don’t really talk about it. Soon enough we will, but for now this is the way it goes and I’m okay with that. So, I told her about my first session. In my words I found my heart pouring out honestly and openly. I did not deny or shove my truth under the carpet, but acknowledged it’s presence. I can’t honestly remember what she said after or even what I said before, but I know as I hung up the phone I felt okay.

It’s weird actually that I’ve been feeling more and more okay each day. What’s weird about it is in this past year of facing it, being scared by it, personally accepting it, declaring it and asking others to accept it I’m coming into a place of peace. My largest fear has been draped around the a response I’ve been seeking so feverishly. I’ve been looking for closed doors to tell me this is wrong. I don’t trust God’s voice in me, so I’ve asked Him to show me the only way I know how, through open doors and people I trust.

When I felt the strength to finally stop playing games and just be done with my relationship with Amy I thought that was it. I told God if He wanted me out of that relationship and it wasn’t for me that here I was as free as a bird. I asked Him to do whatever He must to help me let go and move on. I was so flippy-floppy in my relationship with Amy that I just assumed it was God trying to get my attention. I didn’t want to drag someone who I loved and really cared about through my unsurity when she was completely sure. What I didn’t expect was love to be revealed in her absence. I clung to God whole heartily and carved out my person for His fulfillment. I took the open doors to be His direction and allowed Him to help me just take one day at a time.

How did I get HERE? Not “here” meaning sexuality/preference/faith/age/whatever. “Here” meaning August 27, 2008. How did I get HERE? Through open doors.

I’m pained and confused because I am consistently expecting God to tell me I’m to remove myself completely and fight this desire the rest of my life. I don’t know His plan and I don’t know His purpose for my life, but what I do know is I find myself HERE not by my hand.

So much has happened in the last month since I walked away from my relationship with Amy. I have come out to my mother, fought the battle with her and am still finding my grounding. I have found personal freedom in my decisions from my parents. I’ve still managed to be not as close to God as I would like to be, but I feel like I’m getting there. I feel like instead of turning the shoulder He’s meeting me face to face. I don’t know how else to interpret these things other than His hand.

Take it all the way back to college, if you will. Ever since the Christmas break of my freshman year I have been taking it one day at a time through open doors. I became an RA for a on-campus dorm my sophomore year by His hand. I was suppose to go to Australia with my school for a mission trip, but it was canceled. At the time I kept wondering why, but now that I look back it was the closet summer I’ve ever had with my brother. That summer was for he and I. My junior year I got a campus job that influenced my choice in sorority to which I became president of my senior year. I met the friends that I did and had the relationships I did for reasons. Some of them were toxic and I didn’t take all the efforts God provided me to get out, but He still didn’t leave me hanging. I graduated school with no luck of an internship, so I took a job at Starbucks to just pay for my stuff while I lived with my parents. A month later, through His hand, I landed an internship with a company that found me. The company was ridiculous, but it provided me my first job. I worked there almost two years and met Amy. When I changed jobs to work where I do now I found myself completely broken in my career. Through Amy I met Teal and through Teal I met her mother, my Career Councilor. As I’ve pulled back the deep, core layers to myself I found the strength to tell my mom I was bi. Through the break down of that moment I discovered my deeper issues needed therapy.

Right now I exist in the middle, the testing period. I call it the “testing period” because I’ve never existed in the middle before. Right now I’m completely, 100% in the middle. I am in the middle of career rechanneling, relationship befuddling and sexual preference fencing. I have absolutely no direction except forward.

The only thing I have right now are my beliefs and they are stalling because I seem to be conforming to more of the world than I want to. I’m sorry, but I do not want to exist in a life where I give a fuck who’s dating who in Hollywood or what designer I should be wearing while driving “that” car. I don’t want to believe everything is okay and that gray is the best color there ever was. I want to be black and white. I want what I stand for to be loud and proud with no muddled edges. Don’t put me in your box just because I make up the “B’ in GLBT. Don’t assume I think like you just because I’m a Christian. Don’t you dare try to mold me into your mindset when I don’t want to be there. Just because I’m bi does not mean I’m a Democrat. Just because I’m a Christian (Jesus follower not religion) does not mean I’m going to beat you over the head with the Bible about your sins. Just because I’m twenty-something years old does not mean I have not wisdom.

In short, I find myself still wanting to know “is it right” for so many different things. What’s funny is that as I’m looking for someone to tell me “yes” or “no” I’m finding my own person. In a weird way, I’m standing on my own two feet and it feels okay.

Emotions, You Are Not Real

It seems I’ve completely forgotten that I actually have a blog and truly enjoy the cathartic release once I write down my inner thoughts and daily ramble. Soon, my little children (that was kind of creepy), I shall have my website in working order (that’s if I really sit down and get started) and we will see things start to fly.

In current, Penelope events I have started seeing a therapist. First off, that word makes me giggle. The-Rapist. I’m sorry, but that’s the only way I can make myself remember how to spell it. I’m the world’s worst speller and I have to use things like that to help me out. Also, I’m really, really bad about using the right sounding word in the wrong way. For example: I’ve always used “verses” instead of “versus” until a good friend (Chris) said something. Now, I can assure you I will not make that mistake for that word, but there many other words I have yet had the chance to folly up. Just wait…it will come.

I started seeing my Therapist on Tuesday and will be seeing her bi-monthly because that’s all I can really afford. I knew on our first visit we would not have hit anything but the bases. I came in with a list of things I wanted to accomplish in seeing her. She immediately had me pegged. She called me a “perfectionist” and I thought for a second we were going to brawl. No, I’m only kidding. I’m completely aware I am a perfectionist and am cool with most of it. Funny enough when I was younger people use to say that to me and I never understood why. To me I didn’t seem like one, but as I’ve gone through a few years in my adult life I’ve realized how much of a perfectionist I am. Not OCD, but where’s that line anyways.

One golden nugget she (Karen) said in describing me, “you don’t know the difference between emotion and reality.” So true Karen, I don’t. That’s why I love movies, TV shows and the like because to me it’s real. I hate to say it, because it makes me feel more lame than ever, when I first moved back home from college I would watch “Friends” and actually feel like was among friends. Lame? I would think so. But, that’s the story of how my mind words. I interpret emotions for reality and basically assume if I’m feeling a certain way it’s for a reason. That would completely explain my crazy, albiet slightly manic, behavior when I was stressed or going through the visit of (guys advert eyes here) Aunt Flow. Well, I guess not manic because I was never like that, but you get the idea.

So, for some odd reason, today I feel slightly sad. Not sure why and really shouldn’t care, but my old “this must be reality” stepped in earlier and said “Oh my goodness you’re so sad! You should go home and lay on your couch.” Stupid inner emotion voice. So, in my best efforts I am trying to tell myself it’s not real, which seems to be working quite amazingly.

Another thing Karen said that struck a cord was about me, in being a perfectionist, not knowing how to sit in the waiting. She said as children in our society we’re taught that weakness is derived from waiting and that we should make a decision and make one now. The best, healthy thing we could do is wait and make the appropriate, well tested decision versus (see I told you I would use it right) rushing into one for mere principle. I started thinking about this and realized that right now, in my 20 something body I am in the phase of life that requires sitting in the waiting. How could I possibly know which career would end up being the true passion of my soul and carry me well into my old age unless I wait for all the right things (i.e. career counseling, career researching, entry-level positions). Also, how could I possibly move forward in my effort to find a future mate when I can’t even feel secure in my sexual preference? I am about to hit (or already in) my quarter-life crisis and the main theme of that time line is waiting. You have to wait and I am going to have to deal.

Karen and I talked about healing some old wounds and clearing out all the old baggage I’ve pushed into the dark, locked cellar of my heart labeled “Hopefully It Will All Go Away Some Day”. Soon, I’m sure, I will be blogging about those festering demons and their quick (hopefully) release from my person.

You know, one thing that makes me hesitant on pursuing a counseling relationship with Karen is her way of faith. I’m not going to judge what she believes and say she’s wrong…okay, no that’s exactly what I’m going to do. She said something about “do we honestly believe that God, in all His glory and all present person, makes mistakes?”  She said it in such a way that made me believe she thought He does. I quickly uttered, “No, I believe He does not.” To which she quickly twirled into the fact that we are the ones making the mistakes and how we often interpret God’s voice and direction for what we want. When we do that we get upset when those things do not happen and blame Him because we thought He was the one giving it to us. When I first heard that I thought, “What relief.”

What you must understand, dear reader, I have had a hard time coming to this point of my sexuality and sexual preference. I hit rock bottom of lonely, abandonment in college to which I decided to throw caution, care, plus general wonder if God would be happy with me and had a same-sex relationship. I can remember a couple of firsts and how they happened, but in terms of how I found myself kissing her or wanting to kiss her I can’t even tell you where that came from. It wasn’t like I said to myself, “Hey, you’ve got nothing to do and it could be fun?” I remember wondering how I got there, but that’s it. Next thing I know I’m kissing her and liking it. Too bad the Katy Perry song wasn’t out then.

After that, I always assumed it was a one-time deal that lasted too long and was filled with way too much drama. I thought I would go back to men, find the one I would marry and call it that. So, in stumbling into general attraction, desire and love with my best friend (Amy) was not next on the agenda and heavily fought. I’ve always seen these stages as faults and cracks of my dysfunctional soul. It wasn’t until November of last year that I started to embrace my attraction to both. It wasn’t until this last month I thought I was ready to take the next step and tell my parents. Right now, I can’t honestly say I know what I’m doing, but have always had this sneaking thought, perhaps, I was not completely off course of the path. “The path” meaning God’s direction in my life.

But, now that I start thinking about those words, I hear a different thought all together. What if because I want to be here, I am making myself believe this is where God wants me? I’ve often wondered how I could have really strayed so far from Him (if that’s what this is) when I was trying so badly to meet with Him. I can’t even tell you how many times I found myself face down on the ground in complete faith He was going to take me through this life and release me from that miserable time in college. I mean, what the hell was an optimistic, extrovert, socially friended by nature person doing in a dark corner preferring to be alone?

I know this is deep, but I’ve decided I’m going to really treat this like a diary. This is not a blog about current events or anything that does not pertain to me.

I am yet again divided. Divided in whether or not I’m here because God wants me to be here or if He’s waiting on me to walk away.

I hate saying that on a blog where anyone and their mom can read it because if you’re gay and read that last sentence it would anger you. It would show you yet another reason as to why you shouldn’t believe in God. I hate that, but I can’t pretend to write things that are not real to me in this moment. If you think that and are ready to move on to your next blog to read, then I’m sorry. The last thing I want to do is turn someone away from knowing God. It’s just where I’m at right now. Whether that’s right or wrong or even where I’ll be in the next moment, it doesn’t matter.

I’m a believer in Christ and His plan for my life. I believe He’s the one I want telling me where to go and what to do, but what I can not figure out (from Him and NOT the religious right) is how am I doing so far? Perhaps that’s an answer I’ll not know until old age or maybe ever. Maybe I’ll have a clearer understanding of that answer in a couple of weeks, but right now I’m going with trying to take it one day at a time. I’m learning to live a life opposite of my parents and being unafraid of possibilities. I believe God will show me the next step. I’ve made it very clear in my heart, mind, body and soul that God is in control and HE will open my doors. I will not wait in the darkness of my thoughts no more, but take the opportunities He’s given me without reproach.

Today, I realized my emotion of “slightly sad” does not control nor reflect reality. It does not define my person or clarify my crazy, all over the place life. It just makes it easier to pick a song on the iPod or feed the desire to shop more.

More on therapy to come! I’m sure you can’t wait.