Today, I gave my first injection to a real person. Momentous!! :P

I call out for that which I refuse

What is in me that blocks the truth from touching my heart? What stone, what concrete, resides in my soul?

I feel so incredibly alone. Yet, somehow, I know that God is there, sitting beside me, waiting for me. He has been sitting there all along, incessantly calling my name and whispering of His great love for me. I tried to hide myself. I yelled for Him to leave me alone. How I despise Him sometimes. Not so much for His persistent yet unrequited love, but because of WHO He loves, for loving ME!, this wretched, unlovable spec of a thing.

I feel nothing but guilt, shame, fear, loneliness. Pain. Yet my pain is so little. It is based on what? It means nothing. It is nothing. And even that I do not feel some days. In an attempt to protect my broken and bleeding heart, the concrete engulfs me, numbing the pain by burying it deep below the surface, hiding it from sight. Yet this cold relief is unwanted. I long to feel. I NEED to feel, to know that I am alive. And I know the state my heart is in...small, shrivelled, yet still beating, almost frantically. I can see myself trying desperately to hold its pieces together. But with every beat I can feel it falling apart between my finger tips, beneath the concrete that would form its very tomb. I do not know what to do. I have no more hands with which to hold it. And I am tired. So very tired.

I lift my eyes for a moment and see God still waiting there, always waiting.

I was His once, wasn’t I? And He was mine. He was everything. Before, before all of this happened. But somehow a wall got in between us, some invisible wall of a different kind of concrete, a clear concrete. I try half-heartedly to knock it down, but I know my heart is not in it, and I am not sure why. So He is there, waiting for me. And I am here, dieing quietly, sitting here, alone

When will this end? I am so tired of this! So tired of myself! Somehow I know this is all my doing, these walls. Help me, Lord. Take this cursed concrete from between us, and break the stone which surrounds my soul. Give me Your hand. Please. Lord? Can You hear me? Please, just give me Your hand.

But wait. You already have. You gave me both hands. Pierced and bloody. You gave Your very self for me, so that I might live. Your body, beaten and bruised. Have I forgotten that now? Have I blocked those images from my mind? Where have they gone? They used to sear my brain, break my heart, rip my soul. But now they have become mere paint splashed on cardboard, a picture on a wall, an uneasy weight in my heart. Oh Lord, forgive me! Forgive me for building these walls, for half-closing my eyes, lifting my hand so as not to see You there. You called to me, but I pretended not to hear You. I plugged my ears and screamed my own lies every time You tried to tell me “I love you”, and I wept when I felt unloved. I danced and I ran as You tried to hold me. I pushed You away, and then cried myself to sleep when I missed Your arms around me. What have I done? Oh Lord, what have I done! And yet You sill love me? After all this?!?

Yes. I look up again. Still You wait, though I no longer hear You, though I have shut out Your voice, and blocked Your piercing words with my stone and concrete. I know what You want from me. But I am not ready to give it. I can not even give You my hand. No, not even one. My heart would surely crumble if I take my hand away from its place of holding the pieces together, even for a moment. Yet my heart is crumbling anyway. And I do not know why I am in such turmoil, why I feel so conflicted...why it should even matter if my heart shatters, why I am so preoccupied with myself, with my pain, with my emotions, with my life. I am nothing. I am nothing, yet You bought me with a price. I am nothing, and yet You died for me. I am nothing, yet You love me. I am nothing, yet You call me Your own. Surely I can trust You. For You are bigger than my heart, You are bigger than any reference I can make, and You are good. You, the creator of the universe, love me. And no matter what I do, or how I feel about that, You always will. I cannot change the fact that You died for me. I am Yours. And You will make me into something new, if I just give myself to You. You will pick up the pieces from my broken heart with Your great hands, and build a new one, one through which You can shine Your light out of...for other people to see, other people with broken and shrivelled hearts, other people hiding behind their walls of stone and concrete.

Yet I continue to sit here, alone, pushing away the only One who can save me, calling out for that which I refuse.

Excerpt from http://tsbailey.blogspot.com/

Mmm...I think there is much truth in what is written here:

“...Loneliness isn't simply the result of being alone. Most of us have experienced the feeling of loneliness in a crowd, and many of us know the feeling of not being lonely when we are by ourselves. Furthermore, loneliness isn't so much about not knowing anyone - but more about not being known by anyone. The feeling of total aloneness comes from the realization that you have not let anyone really know you. Having protected yourself successfully, you find yourself alone in your fortress, the only one who really understands you. This is a tragedy deeper than you realize. Do you see the circle? Gripped by the fear of truly being known, you hide yourself - believing it to be the best way of keeping "friends" - and in doing so, you end up feeling deeply alone no matter how many people accompany you through life. Like everything else in life, we are faced with a choice. We can move towards self-disclosure and risk betrayal, or move towards self-concealment, and risk experiencing profound loneliness.” - Tim Bailey

“Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. To love is to be vulnerable.” – C.S. Lewis.

My brother is in Ecuador at the moment. I wish I was in Ecuador with him. I am jealous. I wish I wasn’t. I wish I could be just happy for him, rather than happy and jealous.

Sigh. I miss my friends in Ecuador so much it hurts. It’s mostly a dull ache. Constant. Sometimes I forget it is there. But sometimes the pain surprises me, catches me off guard...even now, after all this time. Like when I see a photograph, or hear a song, or remember a joke. It comes in a sudden overwhelming surge of emotion, and like being punched unsuspectingly in the stomach, my breath catches and I feel I will throw up. It makes me feel sick. Tears fall.

Most people don’t understand. I wouldn’t have understood either, before, before I lived there for so long, before I knew what it was like to love other people so deeply.

I don’t talk much about Ecuador. I try not to think about it. I try so hard to find the balance between my heart and living in the present. I don't talk much about Ecuador. I feel defeated when I try, because I am not eloquent enough to convey the depth of any of this.

Les extraño. Más que les saben.

Have you ever tried to will someone to sign onto MSN with your mind?

Procrastination...

result = STRESS

Now, let's see how fast I can write an essay .... :S

The question

“How are you?”

I am beginning to dread that question.

Don’t get me wrong. Most days lately, I LONG to hear those words. I long for someone to sincerely care how I am doing, to matter enough to someone for them to sincerely ask me how I am.

I hate how people often use this question as more of a greeting, habitualized it into a form of politeness and propriety when commencing a conversation. Just listen to people around you and you’ll see what I mean. It has lost its meaning. It has become a ritual type thing equivalent to shaking hands. The question is asked, ”How are you?”, and is promptly followed by the response "Good" or “I’m fine”, whether that is true or not. To respond any other way is unexpected. One might surprise the questioner by saying "Super!" or “I’m having a great day!”, but never anything too negative. That would just be "improper"…and truthfully, seemingly pointless. People don’t ask you how you are doing out of love, but rather social politeness. They don’t REALLY want to know the honest answer, so telling them feels like it has no point sometimes. I hate it. And I hate saying “I’m fine” when I am not. I hate feeling fake. And I really hate how even though no one forces me to respond in accordance with these unspoken rules, I continue to paste on a smile and play the game. I hate that about myself. I hate how I pretend I have everything together when it’s falling apart.

And then, and then there are the rare people that ask you how you are with seeming sincerity in their voice. They turn and look at you. They wait. And you hesitate. You look at them, you blink a few times, you think “rare indeed”. And then you wonder what you should do. You wonder whether they really are sincere, whether they REALLY care, or just feel they SHOULD care. You wonder whether you should tell the truth. Whether you should say “I’m not doing well”. Whether you should say, “I’m so lonely”, “My family is falling apart”, “I feel hopeless”, "I'm really struggling with things", "I've lost sight of what this life is all about". You wonder whether you should say those things. You wonder if you will sound like you are just complaining. You wonder if maybe you ARE just complaining. You wonder if they will think you are a looser for saying those things. You wonder if you say you are not doing well if there will be an interrogation afterwards. You wonder how much they want to know. You wonder how much you want them to know. You wonder if you can even trust another human being. They are still waiting for a response. Panic. Fear. “I’m fine,” you say and smile. And you leave the conversation feeling defeated.

Like I said, I’m beginning to dread that question.

Confession

Sometimes I sign onto MSN and I sit there for a long time. I sit alone in my room in front of my computer screen, staring at the list of people online...

……wishing someone would talk to me.

Pathetic.

I am so depressed!

And you know what? If I died today, it would probably be at least two weeks before anyone even noticed I was gone.