Wednesday, January 13, 2010

As simple as I can

I don't want to edit my post, but clarify... I think I worded the simplification of my predicament a little wrong in the 'Thankfulness' post. It does not work in that way. ^.^

My brain was switching, I was knocked into depression due to it, I think, as the first step-

Life added on to that... and everything that plagued me in my life. I had stress and loneliness added on to my brain fooling about with itself, and I had no comfort from other people around me or any sort of a helping atmosphere, and so I got worse and worse, and couldn't get better by anything- I still had the stress, no real comfort, and so on... and I felt helpless and suffocating and alone. I think I felt suffocated because I couldn't do many things I wanted to, and I kept becoming less and less able to do things, even very, very simple things... and I kept feeling pushed in on all sides.

In the end, I became numb. I couldn't feel anything. It was very recently (or it seems so) that that happened... I think about a year and a half ago, at the Hunters' gathering, I still felt some things, and the strangulation feeling was very evident. Now, I don't feel it any more- I'm numb, and there's nothing to compare my inability to, so I can't feel strangulated. There's no way I could feel it if I don't see something different than it, if you know what I mean.

I don't think that this state is something I am supposed to be in, or something that will happen if I get stressed again- I know God wouldn't do that, somehow, and also that this came to happen likely because of a combination of things without 'treatment' which I probably won't have again, either. I should say that I trust God won't do it again. He has a reason this time, and if the trial comes through, He has no need to do the same thing again (unless for some other inconceivable reason, I suppose, but let's not go into that, please?).

I'm pondering just how to describe this to people. I don't think I have anything to describe it with... because all images have failed me. It feels like a jail that's pitch-black with absolutely nothing... and I feel starved and unable to breathe, hardly, and I feel wounded and sore and weak so that I can't really use my muscles, and so on... and I feel emotionally lost and unmotivated and unable to do anything... and I have no comfort.

But right now, there is a faint glimmer of hope... I can't imagine how to say just how faint it is... but seeing ANYTHING and knowing it's there, or that it probably is, is so ridiculously nice... it's very... very nice. :)

Since for so long I've been far from being even just in between happy and unhappy, everything that 'makes me better' just boosts me up a little closer to the line between happy and unhappy. I can't imagine at all being really happy. I can be grateful now, just the teensiest bit compared to before- I can't really feel it -but... I am not happy. I'm very discontent. But I'm happy compared to what I have been, and it seems like bliss, because how on earth could I have something this remarkably wonderful? I don't even deserve it! God's going to spoil me!

I see right now just how dark this is perhaps to read... but I like to think about and clear my mind on it (or possibly confuse it more)... this unhappiness has been my life so that I don't know happiness, and where I am, I suppose below me is absolute falling into despair, and above me is kind of... feeling bad and knowing I'm bad, but not submitting to it, no despair.

I'm at the place where I'm not despairing, but I can't feel sadness- it's all I have- I'm numb, absolutely numb, and... I'm not in the place above where I am where you can see happiness just above, brightly shining as a beacon of hope. I am so glad I'm not despairing. But I don't think I have to fear it. I simply am not made to despair... though I feel as though it would be so, so easy to fall into despair, like I'm clinging onto a cliff and could fall off, but somehow I'm not... as though I have enough strength not to, but I know I don't have enough strength, so I know it is absolutely and no-doubt God Who keeps me up. I know so well it isn't I. I have not enough strength to do it... in fact, I'm devoid of any strength.

But never fear! I'm not really this glum all 'round. :)

The Story

Here's how it went about-

I was depressed, at first, just normally depressed. It was a stupid sort of depression. I was just sad, felt lost, and all... Gina had gone to L'abri for a week, and I sort of murdered myself by reading books all night and sleeping during the day. I think the reason I did that was likely due to hormones and actually acting on what they made me feel, and I kept being depressed, my brain kept changing, but during it, my life went on. I had stress. I had things nagging at me. Nobody in my family accepted I could be getting into something, as in, my siblings don't care a jot that I'm depressed and they think I'm making it up, so I didn't have support. I was pretty much alone, struggling through it with God.

My parents knew about it, but in all my life, I never wanted (and still don't want) people to sacrifice things for me. They have no need to- if I get all beat up, I'll recover someday. I don't want it. I don't need it. I really don't care!

So, I got beat up and cut by things, and with my brain changing, stresses added to it, and I got worse and worse, and lost my grip on reality so that I couldn't even pray (or at least, I have no idea if I'm really praying... I'm just speaking words, and they have no meaning, no real desire behind them- I did pray, but I don't think that any desire was in it, any real wanting God to do something)... and I kept adding prayers to my list, and I kept praying for all of these people, and I kept caring for so many people. I also kept telling myself, 'You're not THAT bad, just wait and you'll get out of this,' and other things. And... I got worse and worse... and at some point, after talking to Mummy about it, I decided to not pray for so many people. God could take care of them, and I am still praying every moment of the day, even when I don't know it- God knows what we desire deeply, and He will take care of it even if we aren't conscious we want it all the time.

Now, I think I have reached a peak of this... I am very numb, and I can't really understand English and keep track of full sentences at once, and I live automatically by what I have absorbed of how to live and act over the years of my life, and... I am empty. I have nothing in me. My character is hidden deep inside of me.

The reason I got bad was because of brain switchings, and then the add-on of stress, I think... no relief from it or anything. I feel bitter that I ever let myself have stress, but I'm way, way too submitting and so on to just say, 'I won't do it. Forget about it. Deal with it yourself,' or whatever. There are so, so, so many things which bother me... and all my life I just said I will live through it, and when I'm eighteen and marry, I can go and do what I really, truly mean to do.

Well, the truth is, I can't just wait to do things until I'm married. I have to apply the hoards of knowledge I have and learn to live life. I don't know how to. I don't want anything. I don't care for myself. I don't need anything... I could live through anything- it would be life.

But, though all of this seems terribly hopeless and so on, God has let this happen for a reason. I always had a shadow over me... I felt lonely, alone and left behind. Older children and even children my age seemed to push me away, and every single thing done against me in my life, even as teasing, has impressed upon me and now I see it... it's ridiculous... how it all worked that way. I really, truly thought I'd live through it, that it was temporary. I think sometimes I wondered if it would have real effect on me, and it has. It's why I got depressed as I did in times... I felt lost, and every kind of depression was the same sort as the last- I felt lost. I knew God was there, I knew everything was lovely, but I was separated and could not possibly inject myself into humanity, so to speak. I didn't feel a part of it. I suppose nobody really does, but I think the way I felt it was a very much more profound way than that... I really can't DO things with people. I tried, but it never, ever stayed for long... and it was always overhung by a shadow. I just couldn't do it. I can't relate with people how I wish I could... I do it as a wanderer.

I think it's exactly why I can only fathom writing about people who are lonely and wandering, secluded and alone. I can't go past that beginning full of thoughts of loneliness, and I can't ... I can't fathom anything... to do with not having that. I dream of it, and I think it will sometime be mine to be happy and joyous and full of life, but for now, I am dead and dull and sad. I imagine that all the time, I could be crying because of this. I know life is beautiful, but one bit of my life is so absolutely horrid that I want to scream about it, but I'm so used to not crying or screaming that I can't.

I think that if I were to be with friends, both of these things could eventually be done... I need to let it out. It's been bottled up all my life.

And now, I shall leave you! Sorry for so much... it's a lot to read. ^.^ Many of you know it all, I think, but I need to say it again and clear my mind about it... it definitely cannot all be written of in one moment, though.

Thankfulness

One thing I find to be absolutely and always containing me when I'm not fully taken over by depression or some sort of miserable sadness is thankfulness... anything good makes me absolutely bursting with thankfulness, and I can't help but stop and thank God for the thing.

It... seems natural. Absolutely natural. And it's very nice... because then I know I can't always be hopeless, and in those times, I realise that bad things aren't all that there is, and they don't own the world, so to speak.

As of the past week or a little less (I think), I have been this way... I haven't been like this for more than a year, I believe. It's cruel how long it has been. It used to be all that I was, even when I was depressed, I still knew that there were amazingly wondrous things all over, and I thanked God for them. But I've been numb for so long, and was absolutely impervious to anything. I can't feel anything, really, but I think it's all coming back...

Yesterday, I felt drained. Tired. Mentally sleepy. I could tell it was my mind, and I knew it was there, faintly tugging at me. I am tired. I just haven't felt it, and I haven't cared- I have to keep living on. People want me to. So, I must do it.

I want to rest. I really wish I could go heard and soul into resting, but I can't... I am expected to do things.

I wish I could be a hospital patient, so to speak, and be able to sleep, rest, and all of that... I want it very much, but I feel like maybe God doesn't want me to have that. I can be perfectly thankful with what He gives me, and I know that in the end I'll likely realise why it was better than the other possibility, but I still wish for it. I have for all of my life so far. Absolute rest, just... lying, not expected to do anything at all. I desire so much to be in situations like characters in movies where they are resting from a wound- I have a wound, and I want rest from it... desperately. I wish I could rest without other hassles. I think I could heal faster, but I likely am not going to get that.

Something I was sure of lately is that once I was taken off of doing some things, let to give them up for now, I would take up other things. I know it is so now- I have taken up other things. I feel pulled to write, to make things, all that, now. I think I am likely healing straightway, but I wish so much I could start over... it would be the most peaceful, amazing thing in my life so far. I want to start over. I likely will have to- my life from now on will be very different... I have been lonely for years, and alone, and left to be by myself, and now that will end, in a way. At least, that's my impression.

So... I am struggling to submit to getting better, too. I fear that if I get better, I'll not have anything to do. I won't have anything to think about. But that isn't true- when I'm better, everything I used to think about will be unlocked for me to think about, uncovered... and it will be the most amazing thing I can imagine. I've been locked from it in a little prison. I can't even see the things, or imagine them. I really can't... not in the least. I don't know what they're like... I see sunsets and trees and animals and all, but I am locked from understanding they are really there and knowing just what sort of a thing they really truly impress on me when I'm not insane.

It is cruel, really... I know it is... I don't know how to enjoy things. I still look for beauty naturally, but I can't exactly see it. I know that it's there like words on paper, but the words don't show an image in my mind right now. I don't know if this even makes sense...

But I'm sure that I must be starting to feel my tiredness... and I was not wrong. Not wrong at all. For years, I wasn't wrong. I was always cautious coming to conclusions about this... though I only saw a little bit of it, or a faint glimpse, what I saw what really there, I believe. It's all showing now... seeing good things helps me to no end. I have been stripped from seeing things while I was going through something very separate from happiness... I suppose I shall post next post how I got into this- it helps... (I am separating these two 'sections' of one post because it will make it ridiculously long to have both, and at least have two half-as-long posts...)

To state it as simply as I can in one paragraph- my brain was changing, all the hormones, chemicals and so-forth were having all their hectic plays, and along came stress, discontentment, and the loneliness and aloneness that has been with me all my life. Possibly my brain is still in the same bout of changing, or else it's done and I am left almost insane with a ridiculous amount of stress- I have absolutely no idea. That's one thing I just don't know among many things I vaguely know. ^.^ Now, I am numb, can't really do much of anything, I can't control myself... and I'm most discontent, but I am used to submitting and compromising and being poked at on every part of me and made smaller, being pressed in and in and in... and sometime that has to stop.

Friday, January 1, 2010

'Tis 2010 and you don't know what I'm writing about

Or do you?

I have been at embroidering very happily. In every moment I can find, really and truly, over the past few days. ^.^ I pick up and embroider when someone's typing something out on Gmail and hasn't entered it yet, in between my turn in a game, in between many things when I have some seconds to stick a needle through and pull it... and then in those times when you have more time to embroider.

And I really didn't force myself, either. It just came. Somehow, doing something is obsessive if I... do it. I don't know if I really enjoyed it, but it is very beautiful, what I made, and sometime I can show you all what it looked like if I ever, ever get Blogger working correctly.

No. I don't have 'New Year's resolutions' or whatever people call them. I don't even know how one monitors those sorts of things. I just do what comes up in life, and I don't give up, either. I'm stubborn... I don't think that anything I really, truly try to do ever gets tossed away. I always pick it up later, and typically I lay it down due to time or else because I need some rest from it. And I finish it later. So, I'm embroidering what I've always wanted to now... or rather, I finished it already.

One thing that I will remember this year as is it is the year that I stopped being a decade and a half, and instead I began to be a decade and a half and a fifth of a half. Really. That's... sad. Bad year! It stole me my wonderful little title!

Though, I'm not yet a decade and a half and a fifth of a half. That's a tad later. But I will be plenty soon, and it's this bad year which did it to me! I suppose one day, I can say I'm a fifth of a century old, or two decades, or a score, and after that, a quarter of a century or two decades and a half or a score and a quarter!

:D

Or a score and five. ^.^

Anyway. That's odd. Weird.

The real current terrible thing is that I am missing the Gathering. O.O The people at the Aherns' did call us and chatter at us and I played harp for them (and they flattered me rather like eating too much ice cream), well... but I'm not there! The up to that is that John says he will try to have one this summer if nobody else is set on it. The Hunters said the same, that they would do it if nobody else did, so obviously the Hunters and Aherns have to work it out. Unless Mrs Ahern isn't up for it.

At any rate, if 'tis so, I get to see the beautiful Rocky Mountains again and the pikas (I hope), and also to traipse the Western Wild. I love the west. But the east is also beautiful.

I had come. I had seen. Then I wrote. ... Okayyy.

Friday, December 25, 2009

It's the day!

Joyyyeux Noël!

(I'm trying to replicate the 'MERRRY CHRISTMASSS!' thing...)

I'm not sure I have the heart, sanity, or something to give out wishes. But you know what I mean, I think.

So, I'm alive. I'm not sure if I mentioned earlier whether I got the yarn and crewel yarn... I did. I don't think I strictly got crewel, but I did get wool embroidery yarny stuff. And some lovely three colours of yarn along with another... which is many colours, like Joseph's robe, I suppose, in the Bible.

I have been on a 'harping spree'... I suppose I'm harping a little happier now. I prefer to do it when my fingers are dry, but often when I come to it, they're sweaty.

Today, in my stocking, I got some oddments of the sweet sort (dried fruit and chocolate/yogurt-covered things) and a drop spindle with roving. Just a little roving, but some. o.o

I'm kind of happy about it, yes! But I find that when I try to work with something in my hands, I feel dizzy and sick. I think it's the focusing on one area as though nothing else exists. So, I tried to wend my way onto a computer so that I could draw embroidery designs... and here I am! Wow!

~.^

Well... I've been contemplating odd things for long. I'm kind of morose, feeling a tad not perfect, and very lonely. I felt like this last Christmas. Why do I always feel this way when I ought to be realising what the day is about? I can't really do it... I feel so unpious. I did sing descant yesterday, though... after we had listened in the morning to the King's College Choir in Cambridge, England. Wheeee. So fun. So nice.

The only thing is... I can't enjoy anything, so I feel like giving up! And there's nobody to tell me not to, now that people are off on their separate vacationings for Christmas. I'm very, very glad I didn't get gobs of presents from one person, though. So far, I only have one strict present- the spindle. I'm FINE if I only get one thing like that in my stocking. I'd rather get a tiny bit than much... then you know what to do with it.

I have the feeling that I'll probably give some of my candy away to siblings because I won't want to eat it anytime soon, or not much of it. I feel sick if I eat too many sweet things, or too much sweetness, and eggs and cheese tend to make me feel sick. I know it's not physical sickness because I feel perfectly fine in my body, but in my mind, everything's confusion and sickness. It's very odd. But sometimes I feel like regurgitating due to it... though I try my best not to, and so far I've succeeded.

Among my bad tidings, I think I'm getting sick. I'm/we're hoping it's not whooping cough or something...

But still, merry Christmas!

Tuesday, December 22, 2009

One post per day

That's what I want to do. Or one post per two days.

I hope to post short posts.

But wait- telling about how I'm going to post isn't going to help!

I'm in search of a spindle and roving and some crewel (or cruel) yarn. I want to embroider things... for people. Not to mention, I want to make myself a double-sided hood... wait, that doesn't make sense. Uh. I want to make a hood that is two bits of knitted stuff thick.

>.<

I can't really think very well.

I'm also desperately wishing to make myself clothing. And I want to go to Raleigh and visit Mari, but I doubt it's going to happen. Anyway, I'm not sure that I'm mentally prepared to go travelling alone on a train. And I don't think Mum will want me to, anyways. And I sort of don't want to be alone on a train.

Please work your way past accidental typo things... I am so tired, sort of.

I feel like I want to sleep and then wake up every morning to a different house and a new day and some work to do. Work for hands. But no- I can't work. I have nothing to do! So, I'm going to draw pictures of firebirds and weird colourful birdies.

Farewell!

Sunday, December 20, 2009

Trying to put my finger on it

I was writing Nostalgia. Here is what I wrote, and, because I can't put fancy italics and such on here, it will lack that very important element of this section.

I was trying to pinpoint just how rottenly ridiculous it is that I feel. There's lots of this sort of thing in Nostalgia to this point, and in my mind. Hopefully, if you understand or want to say anything, say something. And understand that I'm being perfectly honest in this. ^.^ I suppose many of you probably understand I am...

--

There's nothing more that I wish to do but to scream. I want to give up and scream, to go hysterical!

Doesn't anyone understand how in my present state, I am nothing but hysterical? I am! I really, really am! Just take it! But I can't let it out because of some strange force in me saying, 'This is life! This is life!' And what a stupid, confusing voice that is, force, whatever... it tells me so much what is not true.

It is not life!

I have thought everything that I go through is life. The deaths, the pain, every lonely feeling I felt, the shadow that overhung me because of being alone, a shadow of depression. I told myself for years that everything bad that happened to me was life. Pain is life- pain goes away, somehow. At some point you die. At some point the pain of a deep cut will go away. At some point the itch and sting of dry hands will go away. Sometime, it will all go away.

I wish everything … would show itself to me. That I would feel everything and realise I'm not alone, nor is this life. This fake room I'm in... this consciousness... is not a real consciousness.

HOW confusing it is. If I had only written this down ages ago so that it would be out of my head and when I did write it, it wouldn't be confusing.

My old self is... a lovely thing. It is furnished, finished, full and absolutely lively. But the consciousness, the little room that has been made with me locked inside is not the real me. This room, with only a door, a window and a picture on the wall, is not me. The picture doesn't even characterise something- it looks so fake, I don't know what it is- it's some nightmare from when I was a child with a fever. This room is a plague and torment. I can't see outside, and the room has blank, white walls and a plain floor and ceiling, a small room, and useless room. It's a cold room, and there's not a spark of life in it.

This is where I live. It's a prison- I am locked in it. I can't get out by window or by door. It's all I know, all my little world has.

It is this way, I think- long ago, some people would tell me that I couldn't do something I said I thought I could, or that I wanted to try to do. For years I thought that I couldn't do some things, but when I was alone, I fought it out to myself, thinking that yes, yes, I could do it! I knew I could, and if I couldn't do it, I wouldn't be me!

The 'wouldn't be me' was a sort of insanity. If I were not what made up my character- those things I really thought I could do, or that I was -I would be insane. Blank. Like a clean slate that had never been touched or used. I wouldn't be touched by God's hands in His great work of pottery. I would be empty of anything, devoid of any sort of being. I would have a spirit, but an unformed spirit, something without character, virtue, feeling, or anything. It's so strange... but it's that everything that makes me up weaves itself in the rest of the things and they're all intertwined, and if one thing is gone, the whole thing isn't right, can't be- it falls apart and scatters, and somehow... I am nothing. I am plain.

This room is the plainness. It's a confusion of not being able to do, feel, think, or anything. I can't wrap my mind around the simplest ideas, and when I try, I just go giddy with the dizziness of the effort. I don't even know that I try very hard, but I know that I can't try. I can't even try.

O, I HATE it. I hate it so much I could scream, but I've told myself for years that, as I got worse, this was all life. I got 'used' to it. In a very stupid, grim way. A way I just abhor with so much of my being I want to dash it and kill it... and watch it suffer.

I just... I don't know that I could do that, if I were clear- I'm too nice and all -but I feel so angry at it. It's a slave. Hateful.

But it is how I live... and I can do nothing more. I can't do anything. I don't want to even think about it, and I want comfort somewhere... some way to forget that this is all so bad. It somehow isn't, and I know that because this fake me, that isn't me, isn't REALLY me, and sometimes I know that, sort of, and wish I could knock it down and look at the real me, at the beautiful hangings, fire, and pictures, and furniture, and rugs, and everything that a lovely, furnished home I would like would have. My home, sort of.

My mind.

My mind is lost to insanity... a... slave has taken over my mind. I can't even push it down, and the confusedness kills me. I know it makes sense, but I can't even let this make sense to me. I have to write down my thoughts as soon as I think them, because they pass away, and whatever words come out and describe them when I just say them after just thinking them, those words stay for now until I can later read through this and change the word choice and all. I can't change it if I try. I can't understand what I said.

I can't even get a vague impression.

Who has this? Who in the world understands this? Who cares? Everyone thinks I'm being a silly little thing, I suppose. Anyone would. But WHY can't people just make a leap of faith? Especially Christians who have to believe in something they cannot see. O, useless life! Just throw me away if you don't like me! It couldn't be worse, could it?

If I were to talk to someone, I would be sarcastic and sardonic right now and likely rather morbid, saying 'jokes' … sarcastic jokes at people that are truly despicable. I feel like letting it out that way when I am so annoyed and frustrated so that I could tear my hair out if I didn't have an automatic idea that it isn't the thing to do... I don't do drastic things because all my life I've been told and I've believed that I shouldn't do them.

But I should scream. But I can't scream! I'm so used to suppressing screams, crying, everything, so that I have silenced myself and I sometimes am jovial. Well, I don't feel jovial when I'm so angry. I suppress the anger within me, though, so that sometimes it bursts out and other times it doesn't. I'm used to looking, when I'm angry, just serious and depressed- never smiling, but just looking kind of... useless. Thoughtful. But how awful it is... that I've always hidden myself.

Oh, I WISH I could scream. Could someone take me and let me? Could someone drag me away, pull me out of this?

No, there's no one to do it.

Well, thank you- I'll keep on wandering and killing myself until I die.

God sie mid eow.

Friday, December 11, 2009

What I collect

I think it's an interesting thing to write a post on. Maybe. I don't know- I'm not really a blogger, am I?

But one thing I do every day (well, I do a lot every day, but this is one of the things) is collect spellings of words and pronunciations. I find what I prefer and use it. An example is that I prefer pronouncing 'either' like 'eyether' rather than 'eether'. Not with a soft, unvoiced 'th', though, but I think you know what I mean. ^.^

I also like to 'cultivate' an older look at writing... if that makes sense. I like using old subjunctives and doing sentence structure the way I find it done in old books. I hate modern rules of punctuation and such- they're so forced and ugly and sound all academic to me. They sound stiff. I like old kinds because it seems to fit a train-of-thought style which I suppose I have.

That's one of the only things I collect. It's interesting to note (to me) by this that I tend to do a lot of things in my head, not physical things. I don't collect stamps much because... I don't see stamps much. I have learned to hide in my own mind and use thinking as a way to keep myself entertained... I don't know why. I like to sing, which is loud and the kids don't like, but I can live without singing if they want me to (but I just sometimes feel, 'I will just SING whether they like it or not or I'll explode...').

So, over years of feeling like being pushed on all sides, I've learned to satisfy myself with just thinking. It's both a good thing and a bad thing, really... because now I don't know how to let myself have some few joys for me to look at, things that are MY OWN WAY. I don't know what my own way is, really. I haven't for years. I think that now is the time God is going to let me see it, to let me have some sort of self-esteem and be able to bloom *outside of myself*. I haven't for years... I've suppressed my knowledge within me, and my wisdom, and everything. My friends see it, but my family doesn't and those who are with me in RL won't likely see it. I'm quiet, timid and only sometimes I'm bold, and people generally just stare at me when I am.

I know there's more to me than my family makes out. My not talking to them about my thoughts, learning to live *alone*, has made it this way, and they still think I'm like I was when I was eleven, just a bit taller and bigger around and looking older.

But I KNOW this must be the last time I get like this. Since I was eleven, I've gone often into bumps of depression, if that makes sense. This time, it was sort of... a looong time. And it is the last time, I think. I have this feeling God's been telling me it is, all these years... I may not have seen it, but God meant me all along to be normal sometime, but likely I'll feel lonely many times the way I have all my life until 'then', and sometimes I might wonder if it really ended.

Often, if there's any chance of my friends or siblings leaving me out of something, or any kind of me being left out, I start being protective and defensive and stiff with people... and I am perked and aware of anything they say, what could they mean? I have been left out of things kind of subtly throughout my life, and those times all built up to make me be an alone person who lives inside of her head.

But I don't think I can really live this way, any longer. That is one reason why it must end... because it simply makes sense that it will. And God has always made sense in my life. I'm not saying that every moment of my life I know what's going to happen and know how it works, but oftentimes I look back and realise that EVERYTHING went PERFECTLY. Even if it was horrible. And still is. It all went perfectly for some great end... and I don't know how I know that, but somehow I do. It's like looking at a clock, of course... it all works perfectly together to work the seconds away. You may not know how it does, but somehow you know... I am not sure. I think sometimes God just shows me, even if I don't really see the end and how it does... He tells me it does and shows me little bits of how it does, and I can not at all complain. There's no reason to.

But right now, I don't see perfectness so well. It's hard to see anything. But I know that this has to be the end... it does. And I don't think counselling will bring me out- I think God will, along with what tools he used those other times. I've been this way before, just not exactly the same and not for long... I'm depressed for the 'same reason'. I'm just lonely. Alone. I feel forgotten, untrusted, even though I *think* I must be able to be trusted. I am an honest person and I ... all these years, I've been changing deep, deep inside of me, and I don't think my siblings understand to what extent. They don't know me as who I know I am. I try to show it, but it depends if they will actually accept it. For all they know, I could easily be faking it- they have to make a leap of faith from the eleven-year-old Amorette to the fifteen-year-old. Or just current. I don't know that my age has to do with it so much as my state of mind during those times.

That's how it is. :) My mind is my house. It's not much of one to me, and I don't at all feel 'home sweet home' about it, but that's what it is. This house I live in in the middle of the city isn't much of a home to me... because it doesn't offer me comforts or shelter or anything. I have... somehow... been so AWAY from here. I don't know. It's so radical just how I have been, I think, that I can't explain it. It's too weird. But also, it's very much what many humans feel deep in themselves, even if they've been loved so much and had a home, we all have a sense of loneliness and lostness.

And the way out of it is God, is it not? It's not like you immediately feel happy and unlost (I don't think that's really possible *at all*), but you know... *why* it is this way. We aren't where we belong. All the pain and suffering isn't RIGHT. We know that. Innately. And so... here we are, waiting.

^.^

Friday, November 20, 2009

The Many Goings-on

As of the past few days, or even longer (as... in a way... it's taken all these years I've been this way), I think I am coming 'to terms' with what is causing this. It is a happifying thing to know that. I also got my biology report done in one sitting, in one day, on Monday or Tuesday. I was ... really stunned. Very glad. Ridiculously.

Even though I don't particularly feel it, the way I 'felt' that pays for all of it. It's proof I'm getting better... and it makes me happy. Even when something sad happens... if I have a response to it, it... it's not bad, it's wonderful- I'm not numb, I'm not just not seeing it, I'm having a slight response to it, at least, and it's joyous. Anyway, once I get my head back, I will be able to put my sorrows on God again, and it will all be well. It won't matter. And I'll still be glad that I can feel sorrow.

So... I'm sure I'm getting better. And I'm also sure that it has to do with my surroundings and so on- I know it does. I'm glad that I know that... I'm not going to let myself bewail it for the rest of my life. It is better, even if in a way it is sad, than not being able to tell at all, and only being able to feel miserable in a numb, stupid, most gruelling way.

Even if now I know how much I am a slave to working, and I sort of made my own slavery (though before, it was a wonderful thing, it now has become something... really bad, as it has not been balanced with knowing God can take care of sorrows, and I can just help people bear through them)... and the odd dilemma is that I am unwilling to stop going on, even though I am already crushed... I won't stop doing it. I'm so used to doing it, and I meant to do it from the very moment I began to mature, I think. Even before that I wanted to bear sorrows for people, so, therefore, I would say it's my character.

So, the dilemma is, I am unwilling to stop, but I am not willing to keep on doing it. Why is odd, I suppose, to you all. I am stubborn. If I start doing something with a great meaning to really do it, I won't stop until I'm done unless someone makes me. And all this time, nobody's made me. In a way I'm willing to keep going on, but in a way not- I love to help people, but now, I just can't do it anymore because I'm so crushed that I myself need help, and without help, I won't be able to keep on doing this- but I'm unwilling to stop helping others, to stop trying. And I am unwilling to give up. I also can't really. People still expect me to do things, to conform to what they want, to keep on getting more discontent from it, and I cannot stop when they want it.... I am also held in the reins of the people around me. I won't stop trying to serve them, whether they notice what I'm doing or not (the majority of the time, they don't, really)... and I am not living in my own home, and my own home isn't really a home to me. I'm miserable in it. Discontent. I can't live to do what I wish to do- all I do here, half-willingly and half-unwillingly, is serving others, making sure that they have what they want. When they complain, I feel compelled to go and make it better for them.

And... sometimes I'm told I have to. But I can't really do it anymore. I need to stop and to rest and to simply give up and let myself be crushed, and then God can take the burden and help me up, or help me to someplace where I can just lie down and sleep for a decade and recuperate all the strength that was completely drained from me in more than two years of uselessly trying to make ANYBODY BUT ME be happy, content and not miserable.

And making ungrateful people 'happy' doesn't work- it won't give me any satisfaction now because they keep wanting more. They're hungry for more of my constant saying, 'Okay, I'll try,' or doing the thing without saying. I can tell when my siblings want me not to do something. There are some things I don't do still because I just don't have the time to find out what I'll do to somehow squeeze out of their way... and I say in my mind, 'LIVE WITH IT.' I don't say it to them. I don't want to make them sad. And I don't really feel that way. I still want to make them happy for the endless rest of their lives with me.

Three years. Maybe.... until I can leave this house. Three years of what I see as slavery. Slavery in a home which I don't see as mine, slavery in a city where I can never run about and be *alone*... this city is stuffed with houses, people, and no friends except people at church and at co-ops whom I hardly know anyway, and whom I can't come to know now because I will be forcing the relationship, not letting it chug along by itself.

I want to be with friends, with people who will appreciate me, and really truly know what I'm doing, and what I want to do. This home really tires me to no end. To no visible end- I keep on going even though I do believe I am already crushed.

:/ I know there's more to it than that, but one long post of this will do... farewell!

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

'That Happy, Festive Season'

I was just thinking of November so. The month you sit down somewhere to write fifty-thousand (or more) words in a month.

I have been writing 'this much' since before- I was pelting down Nostalgia, as you know (if you've read previous posts and have been haunted by my conversation for awhile), and got many, many words. My goal back then had been to get fifty-thousand before NaNo, and I did that quite a lot before NaNo (by a week, maybe?), so I got a lot more before NaNo.

I am lunging well up to one-hundred-thousand now. I am currently at a happy 87,914.

And that 'festive' feeling, probably 'writerly' feeling, has come upon me! This writing much and the fact that I actually think I'm writing 'something' and that I am really getting practise out of this for writing books later makes me feel very accomplished. It makes me feel like I am a writer.

It also makes me feel that someday I will be blessed by God to do what He wishes me to... whatever it is, I think it will be glorious, and I might have an idea of what it is. An idea, though.

At any rate- that is much of what I have to say. I like how I am feeling now. It is an accomplished feeling, and an accomplishing feeling... like I will come with my stubborn sword and conquer that which I wish to do and think it would be good to do. I have many things I want to do- I'd like to give myself a more efficient and colourful wardrobe. Not a silly wardrobe of today. Something that will likely also inspire me to write nice things. Likely many people will ask me questions and stare at me for wearing bright, long dresses and things, but I'd rather be questioned and stared at than not do it... who cares what the world things? And wouldn't it be lovely if everyone wore nice, modest, colourful clothing? Batiks and calicos and tartans? And what about historically-'inspired' clothing?

I'm not sure anybody will get what I mean by 'historically-"inspired"'... I mean something not so much like Goth styles or whatever, but more like clothing that is made with techniques and constructions which people used in the centuries previous to now. I am interested in many ancient ones, all the way through to around 1950. I am not particularly fond of anything after that, really.

One thing I've recently liked is the idea of mediaeval-based clothing. Not a lot of people know what mediaeval clothing was really constructed like, and I'm not sure how they *did* it, but I think that I can use the 'basic idea' to make something nice for myself.

I never really 'liked' clothing... I don't have a huge wardrobe, and I'm not crazy about finding all kinds of things to add to mine. I just want to have what does the job, although hardly any modern clothes do all I wish they did, and that is JUST why I want to make my own. I really, really dislike how people have come to make clothing... not just in how they look, but how they feel, and in how they are to be worn. It isn't common sense to make them how they are made. And so, I think I'll just have to start over from scratch, and from what has been made in the past, and make up my own clothing all alone. :)

So, someday I might have something to show you all... and as I get better at putting things together in a timely fashion, I'll feel accomplished in the station of making garments, like writing... and I'll also work on translating and reading, and I can translate things for peoples' birthdays. I don't know who would appreciate that, but I know whom I know might.

This post might be summarised as a little piece of my mind. I suppose I should write more of this, and I will get almost daily posts out with something worthwhile in each.

One thing interesting about me- everything in my mind tends to be somehow related, and that is one reason why I go off on tangents in posts, because somehow things have to do with each other. Even if I don't seem to be showing a relation, there are some... but that makes sense- everything is related because it is in a world God created, and the things God created all are so heavily intertwined that ... it could only be that way, couldn't it? And there's so much to learn, too... which is the reason I spend so much time thinking, and now so much time pelting words down in Nostalgia. ^.^