Postive Post Tuesday

So, here's the thing about this whole "Postive Post Tuesday:" Micah recommended that from now on I force myself to post one postive blog a week. Although it seems silly, this may be the hardest thing I ever do. I am not a positive person. But here goes nothing. The first Postive Post Tuesday blog.

Last night Re:Action was pretty amazing. It wasn't a "normal" meeting, whatever that would be, but we opened up and truly prayed and worshipped. Worship was definitely emotional for me. I have been losing my voice the past few days and I knew I was singing so I was really worried about that. My daily Bible verse actually had to do with praising the Lord through song and music. I kept it in my mind whenever I got nervous about singing. Well, 6:30 rolls around and I expected to not even be able to speak, but when I opened my mouth the music just poured out. Not the best ever, but I did it. It was an answered prayer for sure. It was so reassuring to see how close all of us at Re:Action have gotten. Lately I've felt like my friends are slipping away, but last night I actually felt like part of the group. It was amazing. I'll be honest, I've lost a lot of my fire, but God has continued to show himself to me. It's just so comforting to know that he's there even when I fall away.


Okay, so it's not the longest or most positive post ever, but it's a good start.

:)

Just Write.

There are nights where I sit here and ponder this crazy world I'm living in. Is there any reason? I've already found the rhyme. Not what I had hoped for. The cyclical rhythm of third grade poetry; always ending the same. The water slowly filling my cage has me gasping for breath. It's another one of those times I beg for death and soon find air. Maybe I'm not okay. Maybe I like it that way. I have nothing to say, I just love the sound of my fingers sweeping across the keys. I hope you don't mind. Tonight I'm writing for me. I feel so tired. I wish I was more than what I am. I'm so sick of dreaming, I feel like drowning. The pretty girl is lost, dead, and buried. I'm all that remains. Pull the trigger and watch me explode. He holds the gun to my head and swears it's out of love. Just kill me already. But with each dying wish I fnd another breath. Someone won't let me go. What's purpose? I'd really like to know. My voice goes unheard. My cries fall on deaf ears, unanswered. I'm gone. I'm never coming back. Come to me. Save me. If you can find me. It should end here. I should walk away, walk back. I can't. I'm not even sure I want to. I can go on faking just a little longer. I'm letting go of everything that matters. Pushing away and hoping nothing pushes back. I'll let myself fall into this oblivion. Will it ever end? These words mean nothing. Useless phrases and paper-thin cliches strung together in some semblance of order. Read it. Hear it. It means nothing.

The Annual October 22nd Post

I keep telling myself these will end one year. It'll be a magical year when I wake up and he's back in my arms instead of where he know rests. A year when I'll stop blaming myself. A year when we'll all stop feeling this pain. It is this day that reminds me how truly selfish suicide is. Yeah, he was hurting and yes, it was my fault. But we didn't deserve this. We deserved to be able to call him and hear his voice, that same playful tone he always had when we were attempting "just friends." That tone that told us all he would be home someday. But this day, this dreadful, dreary day, just serves to remind us all of things that happened and things that never will again. Our last spoken words were not happy ones. That may be one of my biggest regrets. I know which is the biggest of all. It was a simple letter that caused three rewrites of my last letter to him. "2) I loved you." What I should have said, the truth, "I love you." Now it's too late and he may never know how I felt. He may never know that I forgave him for everything. He may never know that he always held my heart. Three years have come and gone since I last had hope of seeing him again. I kept the superstitions alive as long as I could, but the time has come to accept reality. He's dead. Gone. Buried. I'd like to believe he watches over us. I'd like to believe it was his voice calling my sister to me just in time. I'd like to believe that the sudden warmth and comfort during my hardest times is God giving him just one more chance to hold me. Today is October 22, 2008. Today marks the third year since Ian's suicide. Today is the day my heart breaks again, if only for a few hours, if only for a few tears.

My life. My love. Not yours.

So sick of people pretending they care. We're not friends. You're a stupid skank-whore. Let me remind you two, you left us. We're happy so you know what fuck you both. (Sorry for the language, trust me I'm censoring myself.) So much for the "I want to be alone" and "It has nothing to do with her." That's why she's calling me from your phone at 10:00pm. That's why her message said I can reach her at your phone. I'm so sick of both of you. Just leave me alone.

Last night, I fell, hard. Last night, I sincerely smiled for the first time in a while. Last night, it all made sense. I meant it when I said "I'm yours." Nothing's changing that. Let them say what they say. Baby, I'm yours.

Moving on. Going. Going.
Gone.

When white fades to blue.

People talk about how hard it is being bipolar. The drops and climbs. The murky gray in between. Yeah, it sucks. But do you know what sucks even more? The unexplainable drop triggered from deep within. I was enjoying my mania, thank you very much. It's the unexpected that hurts the most. The sudden aching and pull for sleep after many active nights. In the gray you have time to recover, to wake from the blue, to calm from the white. When the two combine suddenly, there's no space to breathe.
I just dropped. Ican barely see the surface anymore. The bright white disappeared into the depths of the dark blue. And I let myself fall deeper. I'm not ready to pick myself up yet. I almost want to swim deeper. It's been a while since I was this low. I wonder if I can still hold my breath this long. I used to be able to swim for months before lifelessly floating to the surface. I'll miss the white; I spent more time there than ever. I liked it, but I love swimming. It must be that masochistic side of me.
Sometimes I feel it coming, taunting me; "care for a dip?" But this time, this time I was thrown overboard with weights tied to my ankles. I thought I was safe, made it through the rapid still flying high. I never saw the deep plunge out of madness into sadness that led to my doom.

First of two posts for today.

This one will be more of a blog, the next is partly a blog, but written as part of a book I'm considering writing.

Sometimes I don't know who to trust. Sometimes it seems that everyone could be just as honest...Or just as decieving.
Why would he go out of his way to mention that he was breaking it off entirely with her if he didn't mean it? But on that note, why did he make a whole separate myspace to talk to me? I can't help but wonder if he said it so I wouldn't ask. I can't help but wonder if he meant it. I don't want to be the "other girl" again.
Last night screwed me all up. What was he looking for when he pulled into the driveway? Was it as simple as he said, some late-night company? Or was it more? I thought I might awake (assuming I had slept) to a note saying "I was wrong." Or even just "take me back." I'm not afraid to say too much anymore. I'm sick of hiding it. The more I hold it in, the more it just eats me away. I love you. I said it. I love you even more than before. You said it. So how could you say "friends" after that? I'm done feeling used. Three times. Three times more than I wanted to I gave you what you wanted. I thought it would make you stay. I know now I was wrong.
Then I get to him. Oh him. With those eyes, that laugh, that voice that sends me in a whirl. I'm falling; hard and fast. But all these branches sticking out from the cliff keep holding me up. They both say two separate things. One firsthand, the other through her. Who am I supposed to believe? The one who I thought loved me more than life, but turned out to be caught in her web? Or this beautiful stranger with no reason to lie? He knows my horrid past. He told me his. Why would he leave that out?

I don't know what I'm thinking anymore. My bones ache from lack of sleep. A whirl of their voices spins in my head, blurring my vision until I fall to the floor. Say I'm being dramatic. Say it's just teenage lust. But don't tell me this pain isn't real.

It's amazing.

I have been amazed over and over this past week with the people and kind words God has brought into my life over the past week. Everything from the perfectly timed text message from the woman I babysit for. An email from a woman I barely know, with words I needed to hear. Messages from people that are slowly becoming friends. A sly comment by my boss. And running into people I had nearly forgetten that have done nothing the past few days but put a smile on my face. I'm not just okay. I am thriving. I am making a life for myself with the foundations in faith. I may not be a by-the-book Christian, but I love my God. I have a thriving relationship with Him. He has proved Himself true time and time again. Now it's my turn!

Everything that's been held inside.

Well, it's over. He spoke the words and now it's over. We were supposed to fall asleep in each other's arms tonight. Now it's over. I'm breaking inside. I wonder if he felt it. I swear the sound of my heart tearing apart shook the world. Maybe I'm being dramatic. Maybe I'm allowed to be. Six months, thrown away. Was it me? Was it him? Was there someone else? I can just see him kissing her. She probably tasted better than me. I can feel him touching her skin. Probably softer than mine. I'm not okay. I have frizzy hair, I'm always breaking out, I complain about my weight, I only shave when I plan on wearing shorts, I sometimes forget to brush my teeth. I'm easily replaceable. Do you think he knows I miss him? How could he not? I would scream it from the rooftops if I could, but I have no voice left from screaming to myself. And so the tears pour again. I can't hold it all inside anymore. I wanted to spare you all, but it was slowly killing me from the inside out. I feel empty. I feel like it's over. It's over. Words I thought I would never hear. But that's it. They've been said. Is it really over? Was it me? Was it him? Was it her?