Rachel Getting Married

So I had initially avoided seeing "Rachel Getting Married" for fear that it would make me cry or remind me of my own sordid family. It did. Both. I loved it though. I loved not knowing at the end what was going to happen. I loved that it portrayed the recovering addict as living her life, literally, one day at a time. If only it were as easy to accept this type of person back into our lives the way Rachel did. Granted, she hated her sister. She resented the attention always bestowed upon her. But when Kym really needed her, she was there. I wish I could be that strong... or that beautiful. Beautiful film. I recommend it to any and everyone. 

Goodnight. 

I'm Trying

I've been taught my entire life that no matter what someone does, it is expected that if they apologize we accept their apologies with grace. Compassion is a strange word. At the heart of it is passion... any deep feeling or emotion. right? Compassion is supposed to be a deep rooted understanding and sympathy for another's person's suffering. How is it that compassion can not be an understanding of another person's elation? Why must it always be commiseration? So I ask you to briefly commiserate with me and understand that someone I know and love (whether I like her or not) has extended her electronic apologies and love to me. Granted, both may not be sincere through the cloud of drug haze she lives in, but the effort was made. For the life of me, I don't know what to write back. I can't be mean... part of me fears she will not be with me for much longer and I would hate to "wash my hands of her" and never speak to her again. I can't tell her all is forgiven... it isn't. I so desperately wish that someone would just tell me what to do.

Bad Dream

Sometimes life just gets so hard. I pray to close my eyes and awaken to find that it's all been a horrible dream. "It's all just a bad dream. It's all just a bad dream. It's all just a bad dream." I repeat quietly under my breath, as though wishing it so will suddenly make it truth. "It's all just a bad dream. It's all just a bad dream. Because if it isn't, it's a really horrible reality." I say time and time again. I close my eyes and repeat this mantra, silently to no one listening. For when I speak, television volumes are raised and I am subconsciously tuned out. My life falls apart around me while I desperately reach for the pieces. Trying to not only keep myself afloat, but somehow manage those around me. For the most part I am seemingly well pulled together and on the surface happy. On the off times when the world slips out from under me, I wouldn't want to be around me either. I lose it. In more ways than one. A simple argument about plates on walls becomes a huge issue about everyone in my house being mean to everyone else. Until I feel isolated and alone. 

It used to be that reaching for a piece of glass and praying that the pain and crimson red blood could flush away every ounce of anxiety I felt. Momentary solace washes over me as my hands shake and my heart pulses, but no long term peace is found. I'm still stuck in the same dead end job with no true happiness. I'm terrified to be in a relationship for fear that someone will really get to know me and run away screaming. Or beat me just to have an "out" or an opportunity to get away from my crazy existence. 

This is not the life I signed up for. 

Blocked

So if anyone is reading this and they know anything about me, they would know and understand that I have "written" my first novel. It's difficult because I am now trying to edit it, while also trying to summarize it. It's horrible. I love the book and if I could sit down and talk to anyone about it, I know it would just sell itself, but unfortunately that is not how the publishing world works. Goodnight. I have to go to my real job in the morning. 

Church

As promised... So I went to mass a few weeks ago (Catholic, not that it matters) and decided I don't care for church. I love religion and spirituality but I'm not the biggest fan of organized religion. I know it may sound strange coming from someone raised in a religious family, but I found the entire experience unnerving. 

We sat in mass, listening to the priest drone on about the importance of donating to the church and not feeling at all connected to God. Granted, when the collection plate is passed, I will put money in gladly. Not for the reasons that the priest preached. He told me I wasn't giving to the church for myself or for my neighbors and not even for my community but that I was doing it for God. God doesn't need my $20. God doesn't need me to show my love by placing a "not-so-anonymous" donation into a "pledge envelope".   

Maybe it's just me... or maybe it's silly. I don't know. I do know that I've never felt further from God than I did in the church. I guess I am just going to go back to praying each night before I sleep. It calms me so much more.

Pick Me Up

So I'm still pretty sporadic with the whole idea of blogging. I never think to do it when I'm at the computer, when I'm church though... or at work... or walking the dog. All of those times I really wish I could Blog about all the insanity in my life. Anywho, this blog is inspired by my incessant need to be "picked up" the last few days. 

   I'm typically a pretty well pulled together person, who helps other people when they're down. Recently, I've been this whiny, anxious, pessimistic person. I have this one friend who always tells me it's okay that I can't handle everything without having someone to talk to. It's really amazing of her, because she truly listens. We superficially appear to be from different worlds, and  I understand she and I don't seem likely friends. For whatever reason, I know that she understands who I am; who I really am. She seems to understand, as though she's been there. It's strange because I whole heartedly trust her. I don't know if it's made me happier and more tolerable or if it's made me utterly weak. Honestly, I guess I know that it's both. 

   Goodnight. Is weak bad?

Next Time: Church. Never felt further from God. 

First Time

So I am new to this whole blogging concept. I never had any desire to read blogs... let alone write my own. I find myself in a stage in my life where anger follows me around like a dark cloud, with no silver lining. I don't want to be an angry person. I don't want to hurt anymore. 

 I'm not going to pretend that writing this is a magical panacea to cure all of my pain and wash away my fears, like the tears I can not cry would wash away my waterproof mascara. I guess, I am just writing this as a means to feel heard. I am writing as a means to feel understood, even if no one ever reads it or ever glances at it. Worse, even if it is read and you view me as a monster, please try to understand. 

I am 23 years old. A college graduate, with a degree I've never used. I make less money than most high school dropouts and I get yelled at/cursed at on a daily basis. I have no children. I am not in a committed relationship. Believe it or not... I'm not hideous. I'm very introspective, however, and very rarely let anyone in. If you should decide to continue reading this, you'll grow to understand why. 

To anyone who may have actually read this: Thanks. I hope you enjoyed reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.