Under a sheet of rain in my heart; I dream of home. -Bat For Lashes
Hi, whoever still reads my blog and my ridiculous ramblings that seem to make sense at the time, but when I revisit them it feels like an awkwardness I would feel watching a Grindhouse movie with my parents. Anyway, I have been neglectful and it bothers me. That is what I do in my real life. Get real pumped up and passionate about something…. then, I just duck out, hoping nobody sees me. Well guess what? I am sick of doing that. The only thing I ever felt like I could do right was constantly letting others down. Hell, nobody would want to visit the rabbit hole abyss that are my conscious and unconscious thoughts. They even scare me and they are mine! Because of the lack of faith I had in myself the constant doubt always creeping around in my head and my own parents didn’t seem to even care if I lived or died. At least, that’s how it felt to me. My mom loved her phone calls more than me. And my dad loved alcohol more than me. Because of this I have been wandering this earth feeling like I have no purpose while more and more suffering continues. It’s like Job’s story (Bible) he doubted God’s justness and graciousness because all this messed up shit kept happening to him and his family and he was a good man. So, I always thought something would tell me what I need to do because I will die alone in my room if I don’t move forward. Forever lost in this recurring nightmare scared and lost and alone. I felt I never had my own identity, my own dreams, my own core SOUL. I was just so broken all the time that the foolish behavior I exhibited in my earlier years was so I could escape. I didn’t even care if I died. I mean I have seriously been at death’s door ventilator tube down my throat in a coma.. and to this day I still don’t understand what happened. 29 okay health, went to sleep… didn’t wake up. So, in essence I guess I feel a bit like Job as well. The doubt in God when I didn’t understand why it was always me? I never was envious of anyone else never spiteful. Only a tiny teary eyed girl who just needed someone to believe in her.
Life for me was all about tangible things, what I could see or hear or smell. I went along with scientific answers for a long time, then became terribly obsessed with psychology. That was mostly because I had a compulsion to find answers to NEED answers, tangible answers I could rip apart and put back together and analyze them until I would get sick. Throughout all that, even though it gave me horrible anxiety literature was pretty much my only friend the only thing I thought was hearing my sadness and confusion. But, again there was always an answer a diagnosis a skeptical douchebag an inadequate human being that just shits on everyone else for no reason. I had to have answers. It wasn’t out of arrogance or condescension to always have to be right. My parents sure gave me hell for that for whatever cycle of dysfunction their families were wrapped up in. My mom always saying I was trying to make her feel stupid. What?? I just wanted her to know things I knew and that never went well. Anyway, I never had faith in anything even my own self even the answers I read over and over again. Was I just some inadequate worthless speck in the universe?
So, this is not a pity post I promise. I never believed in prophetic dreams or shamans that restore souls to peoples bodies. How devoted people are to their faith to something not tangible not even fathomable! I have always been fascinated with every theological text or song or art or influence in culture we still see today. You know, in trying to find my purpose thinking I could be a social worker I had a panic attack just imagining being trapped in a cube all day dealing with God knows what. So, I scratched that off the list as well. Then I thought I had the perfect solution! I will be a therapist! that excited me for about a week until I thought about all these emotionally damaged people just handing me their emotional luggage while hightailing out of the country with real luggage! But, that’s not really why I couldn’t be a therapist. I am hypersensitive and maybe it was from my family growing up just kind of developing a new survival skill. If I was a therapist I could not handle taking all pain from those people because I take it home and somehow make their fucked lives my fault.
No, but seriously I am not turning my back from my true purpose. I am not hiding anymore pretending the world isn’t spinning and things aren’t growing or dying. I am enrolling in Chicago Theological Seminary School. I need to advocate for those without voices and comfort ones who feel as alone as I did. To listen and not judge to give but not want. I am going to study Chaplaincy because that way I can be objective in every faith but comforting for those who are lost or confused. I have a way of connecting with people and it’s time I stopped keeping that gift or purpose, I guess to myself. I’ve never been so terrified in my life but something is compelling to be a former lost soul helping out other lost sad human beings. I am scared because that doubt and mistrust has made me lose my way too many times.
Yeah, a lot of fucked up things happened to me in the past and I am 33 with two diseases that are meant for someone who is 80!! But, I am just done asking why. I’m done drowning in my parents mistakes and I am done trying to help people who just don’t want to be helped. Anyway, I am so sorry for going so long without a post.
Thanks for reading.