I am in the weirdest place. Technically, I am the happiest I have been in a very long time. But you combine that with sleep deprivation and hormonal spikes, and it's hard to keep a firm grasp on everything that's good. Explanations? Ha. Well ok then!

I am pregnant. (!!!!!!!!!!!!!!)

This might seem like the natural course of events. First comes love, then comes marriage, then... we all know the end of the rhyme. The problem was that I never thought I'd reach that point. I had been told for as long as I could remember that I would not be able to have children without extensive medical help. Not having the money or resources to make that a realistic option left us with the simple truth. It's up to God.

Well, God decided that YES, he wanted me to be a mother. Everything I have ever wanted is at the very tip of my fingers and I can almost reach it. It's extraordinary. The problem is the empty spaces. There seem to be a lot of them whenever joy makes its way into my life. It's almost as if when I am happy, I let my guard down, and the darkness sneaks in. It snakes its way into the quiet places in my heart that lay dormant until I lay my head down at night. That's when the attack begins, and I can't help but dwell on everything my mind wanders to in those nightly moments of seclusion.

It's not a mystery that my family has never and will never be anything close to what it once was. I can look back fondly at all the times we shared together, knowing truthfully that those times will never be repeated. They can't be. They no longer exist. Those versions of us no longer exist. We're gone. The family is gone.

I have this habit of grasping onto things until they disintegrate in my hands. I think that's what has happened with my family life. There is a significant level of pain there, while at the same time... I feel numb. If I think too much about everything that has happened or HASN'T happened, I can't control the pain that takes me over. If I keep myself closed to it, I feel nothing. I feel no loss and zero connections. I can feel hurt when I am not included in various gatherings, while at the same time I can safely tell myself that I'm not missing anything.

I have found happiness with Conrad and his family. They have accepted me and include me in everything. I've missed that. I've missed feeling cared about. It's nice to matter, even if it's only because I married their beloved youngest son.

Recently I've been struggling to find my purpose in this world. As much as I want to be a writer who tells stories that change the world, that seems like it's a long way off. Instead I am a newlywed soon to be mother who works full time for a dry cleaning company. The glamour is definitely lacking from this scenario, but I'm content nonetheless. Whenever I had felt like I had no purpose before, I would immerse myself in church volunteer work. Recently that has become less and less possible.

I was the drama director for First Lutheran church for the better part of ten years. I had an identity there. I had a function. I was a contributing member of the congregation, rather than just a face in the sea of people that attend on Sunday mornings. I would write scripts and illustrate live on stage the various ways we are affected by God in our daily lives. I was passionate about it. I loved it. I needed it. I craved it.

I was a single part in a well oiled machine. I served a vital function. Over the course of several years, they slowly upgraded their machinery. My function became less and less necessary. As my job faded, so did my identity. Live drama was replaced with high tech videos. Everything exists on a screen. Live, vital emotion was replaced with well rehearsed watered down platitudes. This wasn't me. I had nothing to contribute. I resigned.

Now, I am no one. I do not exist. My sister Sunnie married into one of the more prominenet First Lutheran families. The only recognition I receive now after 12 years with that church, is my connection to that family. My name has been replaced once again with "Sunnie's Sister."

To make matters worse (for me...much better for her) Sunnie has taken on a position of childcare within the church on a semi-full time basis. She has a very tight knit connection to the "inside" church community. My inside ties have moved on for the most part, so I am very much left on the outer fringes. My sister once complained about the cliques within the church, not realizing that she is now very much a part of one.

I have given it several tries, trying to work my way back into the community. It's been to no avail. It really is a struggle to create a brand new identity when the majority of the people you are surrounded by believe that you and your sister are the same person.

I have stood in groups with my sister. Several women stood directly in front of me, with their backs to me, as if I were not standing there at all. I felt like I was being shunned. They didn't even notice they had done it. I noticed. I couldn't help but notice.

On Thanksgiving, I was approached by a woman I had seen several times before. She talked happily with my sister while I sat beside her for over fifteen minutes. She didn't even glance at me, until I moved to put my coat on. She smiled warmly, and thanked me for visiting First Lutheran. Afterall, it was so kind of me to visit and keep my sister company while her husband was working. She saw the look on my face and asked me if I attended regularly.

"For twelve years," I answered dryly. She admitted to having never seen me before. I knew better. She thought we were the same person. Honestly... yes, there is a resemblance, but seriously. I am much taller, we have completely different bodies and hair colors. Get with it, people.

I have visited other churches, but it's a scary endeavor. It feels like high school all over again, and you have to find your group. There are so many already well established groups, and you have to make the first approach. It's terrifying.

This past Saturday, I had a dream about First Lutheran. It was unsettling to say the least. I woke up scared that I may have made unfair judgments, and maybe it wasn't as bad as I thought it was. I woke up determined to give it one more chance. I arrived at church and dove into the swarm that is the common area in the front of the church. Anonymous. That's how it feels now. That's how I feel. They have everyone fill out a name tag now. I wrote "CORRIE CORDOVA" in large bold print, and displayed it proudly on my sweater. Here I am. This is me. I dare you to think I am my sister.

The whole way there I prayed for a sign that I was still meant to be there. I sat down by myself in the Fellowship Hall and continued to pray. Not long after, I was approached by a woman. She sat next to me and proceeded to talk to me excitedly.

"Oh, I am so glad you're here! I was hoping I would run into you. You have been on my heart for awhile now. I have been praying for you non stop. How have you been?"

I answered her questions, and was genuinely touched that this woman had been thinking of me. My heart swelled with happiness. Was this my sign? Was God answering my prayers? Did I belong at last?

"I think you would be an excellent addition to our Titus 2 ministry." Then she began telling me about the ministry that largely had to do with older women mentoring the younger women in the church. "I just want you so badly to be a part of it."

I was grinning. I couldn't help it. It felt good. It felt SO good to matter. I told her that I would love to be involved, but I wasn't sure how much I could commit to. Then I told her that I was four months pregnant. She cried out happily "Another blessing!" I was confused. Well yes, my unborn baby was a gigantic blessing. What other blessings was she referring to? She saw the look on my face, and decided to ask the question that I had been hoping would never be asked again.

"You're Kathy's daughter-in-law, Sunnie, right?"

I almost laughed. She had to be kidding. Really? I saw her look at my name tag. She couldn't be that dim. Was she serious? My heart plummeted as I pointed to my name tag. I couldn't answer with words. I shook my head curtly. "She's my sister." I managed.

"Oh my! Well, open mouth and insert foot. I'm sorry about the mistake. Well, I suppose you could come too if you'd like. Could you do me a favor and make sure Sunnie knows about it? We really want her involved. Congratulations on the baby," she muttered before scooting away from me as quickly as possible.

Shortly after that, the worship pastor introduced himself to me for the 12th time. "Have we met? I'm..."

"Yes, Chris. I'm Corrie," I said while pointing to my name tag again.

"Oh right. Sunnie's sister."

Ding ding ding! Nail on head. My new identity. My new OLD identity.

"No," I spoke to myself after he left. I answered my own unspoken question. "No, I don't belong here."

People I had once been very close to barely look up when I greet them. I don't know when or how it changed, only that it did and I don't fit there anymore. It's time to move on. As painful as it is, it also feels like a relief. I get a fresh start. I get an identiy that's only associated with me.

Hormones didn't help the situation at all. I'm sure I am far more sensitive than I would be otherwise. I am also easily offended. Things hurt that maybe wouldn't or shouldn't... but they do anyway.

The 6 year anniversary of Mom's death came and went without so much as a whisper from my closest friends. These friends have become my family. They fill the holes that have otherwise been left vacant. They are vital... I don't think they know how vital they are.

Maybe the presence of a tiny baby growing inside of me made it feel that much worse, but I still couldn't handle their absence. It's bad enough that they all live out of state. The only person I straight up said something to was Nikki. I knew she could handle it rationally, and look at it from my perspective. That's because she KNOWS my perspective even when I can't see it myself. That's good and bad. That also means she knows how to get away with things if she wanted to. Fortunately for me she rarely wants to.

Those are my hurts for now. Honestly... I am so very happy. I am content. I am joyful on a fairly regular basis. I am adopting new loves in order to let go of old hurts. Someday I will feel complete again. There are things I will never ever get back, but that's okay. New things will come to fill those empty spaces. There are things I will never understand or be able to forgive, but I am learning to live with that. Each day the pain is a little less intense. Each day Conrad finds a multitude of ways to make me laugh. I can feel the tension and longings wash off of me in waves.

I am bringing a baby into this world, and I will give it a life filled to the brim with love. I will not pass on my insecurities or force my child into worlds they do not want to be a part of. I will not try to shield my child from the hurts I encountered by bullying them into submission. They will make their own choices and face their own consequences. I will be there to support them in the aftermath, always. I will not shame my child if they are overweight, but I will honestly share my experiences. I will not hide food and give my child a complex. I can't wait to be a mother. I learned so many things from my childhood... both good and bad. I embrace it all. While my mother had her faults, she set good examples. EXCELLENT examples on both what to do and what NOT to do. It's a blessing to be able to learn from mistakes, even if they're not your own.

Wow, I needed to purge in words. It feels really good to write things down. I may look back on it later and think that I'm a complete lunatic, but that's okay. It's all a part of the journey. All of it.

Life.

It used to be all I could do to keep myself from writing about it. Now I have very little time to even begin to think about putting words on a page. It's sad, really. It's almost as if half of my body is sleeping, but it's at rest. It is peacefully dormant until I spring fully into action, reveling in the joy that true creative journeys can bring. I love words.

As I have mentioned before, I tend to only write when the world around me is crumbling. My world was falling apart the last time my thoughts graced these pages. Where am I now? Well, the lack of entries would suggest that I am happy. I couldn't find a truer statement if I tried.

I married the love of my life, Conrad Cordova on Sunday, September 14th 2014. We had a crazy ride to the altar, but we were always meant to be there. We were surrounded by our friends and family and it was a perfect day. The ceremony fit us perfectly...right down to me nearly choking to death on a bug in the middle of it. Laughter has always filled our lives, so we couldn't leave it out on our big day!!

My friends are one of the biggest blessings I can imagine. We've all been on a ride as well. They've learned and grown with me through all of it, and as a result, I have closer friends than I ever could have hoped for. They are my family. I have created the family I had always wanted. God gave me the family I had always craved. I am blessed beyond belief.

RJ, Nikki, Lauren and Crystal... I couldn't ask for better. I will have to detail all the festivities in another entry. It was perfect. So perfect!!!

Fiction. Fiction, is my life preserver. The minute I allow my head to get lost within a storyline is the moment when I can cease to exist. At least for a little while.

This morning, I couldn't sleep. I gratefully sought refuge within the depths of my DVR, then greedily soaked in the plots of Thursday night's television lineup.

First I sang along to Glee, next up I was swooning over Vampires, followed closely by Reign, and ended with the most realistic family portrayal I've ever seen in Parenthood.

I'm indebted to these television shows, and many others. If only they knew!!

I can't wait for other people to rely on my characters and story-lines just as heavily. How amazing would that be to have that type of impact? That would be a very good thing to focus on right now. I could change lives with my stories. I've never really thought about that before...

MY life has been changed by stories, why wouldn't my stories be able to do the same? It's incredible to think about.

The only thing I've been able to do lately when the world starts spinning is to just whisper "just breathe" to myself as many times as possible so I can calm down. It doesn't have the same effect on me that it did when other people would say it. How could it?

Sleep aids and anti-depressants, and I still can't breathe. I can't wait for something to change. Something really has to change.

I'd be dead right now if it weren't for the doggies. Dodger is my little human child, and his hugs and kisses keep me going. He recognizes things aren't right, so he loves me even harder. If that dog weren't around, I don't know what I would do. Combined with Mele, the entertaining talker, those two precious canines could save the world, I'm sure of it. I miss my little wiggle bug, my bizzy bells. She was my first girl, and I will never not miss her.

I feel like my heart is going to beat itself to death at any given moment. I can be perfectly fine and then bombarded with thoughts, memories, and emotions. I clutch at my chest and say "breathe, just breathe," but it's nearly impossible. There has been too much that has happened over the last six years. Far too much to be able to handle with just a breath.

When emotional pain transitions into physical pain, that's when you know you're in real trouble. That's when you realize that the road you're on is a long and painful one, with no end in sight. My body hurts like it never has before, and I can't relax. Every muscle feels like it's stretched to the point of breaking, because they're all trying just to hold me together.

I look in the mirror these days, and I see a ghost. My eyes are dark and hollow and my face is thin and pale. I look like I'm dying. I suppose that makes sense, because I feel like I'm dying. I thought I had dealt with everything, and that I was going to be okay. If only I had realized that I hadn't dealt with ANYTHING. I could have avoided so many things if I had only realized that.

I try to imagine what my Mom would say to me right now if she were here. The more time that passes, the fainter her voice grows in my head. Sometimes I can't remember what it sounded like. I'm thankful I have videos to look back on.

I need to focus on what I'm thankful for. I was advised to always look for the good, and make lists of what I'm grateful for. I'm trying to get my brain there, but all I can see-- each and every day, is what I've lost. I can't lose anymore, so I suppose the sooner I can recognize and hold onto what I have, the better.

This is the beginning of a rough journey, and I just hope I make it through it alive.

Things haven't calmed down yet. I went to go see someone for the first time regarding my panic and anxiety attacks. I didn't realize just how debilitating they've been throughout the last five years. I always thought it was just something I had to deal with, things I had to feel. I didn't think there was an option of escape. The sleepless nights and over analyzing of everything in my life was completely uneccessary

I cringe when I think of the unreasonable reactions I've had that have tied into these anxiety episodes. Whenever things got really, really bad, Conrad was there. Sometimes the really bad things had to do with Conrad, but I'm still insistent over the fact that he has magical arms.

There was one time when I hadn't cried in so long after Mom died, and I knew I had to. The A Capella group who had sang to Mom on her death bed had sent me a recording of the song they had performed. Conrad had me wait for him to listen to it. I fell apart in his arms. That happened several times with night terrors and panic attacks. I'm sure I drove him crazy. I had no idea how I would react to everything. We drove each other a bit crazy, but we were happy nevertheless. We were in love.

I resisted needing him as much as possible, because his friends already referred to me as the crazy girl who kept having "episodes". I didn't want Conrad to think of me that way, so I did my best to remain independent and get through it on my own. I kept that attitude and have never asked for help from anyone else since. I closed up like a clam and never talked about anything real. As long as I didn't think about it, it wasn't there.

Then everything imploded. I had opened myself up for it, I had torn down the last wall, and it all came crashing in like a flood. I didn't have time to take a breath of air before I went under.

I ended up having my first ever psych evaluation. She asked a lot of bland questions about drugs, alcohol, and family history. She asked about Conrad, and I couldn't speak. The tears just wouldn't stop. She ended up prescribing me Prozac and Trazedone. (a sleep aid, as I hadn't slept in days.)

The Prozac takes several weeks to make a difference, I'm told... so I'm just waiting. She also told me it would make me feel antsy. So that on TOP of the anxiety it is nearly impossible. I can't sit still, sleep, or stop my brain from torturing me.

I've been carrying around a notebook, because for as long as I can remember writing has been my most favorite and effective form of therapy. I wish it were working better! I just keep drafting letter after letter, because I used to believe I could fix everything with a letter. It's making the panic worse.

I can't imagine my life without Conrad... he's my best friend. We do everything together. The problem is that he found someone else. He doesn't know who he wants more at this point, but I can't foresee winning this fight. I want to fight for him, I want to show him that I'm what he needs and what he wants, but I don't know how. I feel like the urgency to fight is making everything worse. I can't lose him... 

I don't know if the writing is helping, but I don't know what else to do.

Help me.

Over the last ten years this blog has served many purposes. It has been a friend when there weren't any people around, it has been a destination when I badly needed a reprieve. It has been a place to sit and rest and decompress as I think of everything that bombards me on a daily basis. One thing that I have come to realize, the longer I've kept this blog, the longer it has become a place of sorrow. I'm more likely to write here when my world is falling apart then when it is going well.

It's amazing to me how easily words flow when you can't even control the thoughts going through your head. When you're even tempered and happy words become a struggle. You can't vent and write freely. The words are much more forced and contrite.

It makes sense then, that here today... months after my last entry, I am once again seeking solace on these virtual pages.

There have been exactly three times that I have been this low, this depleted. This lost. The first time was when my Mom's cancer came back, and her second kidney was removed. That also happened to be when I started dating Andi. I will never forget the details of that relationship, and everything that happened in and around it. It was a nightmare.

The second time was after my Mom's death. I was living alone and barely surviving. Conrad became my anchor and my lifeline, as well as my torture. We didn't know how to love each other, and we hurt each other over and over again. Our roller coaster ride was never ending, but we clung to each other through every dip and turn regardless. Looking back, I don't know how anyone could have loved me. Sometimes I think I forced him into it, just so I could feel it. I needed to feel it. I needed to feel him.

During that second low point, my family was in a complete state of disarray. It was Conrad who was there, and I've tried my best to downplay and minimize it, because no one should need someone else that much.

This third time, I have my Dad and Sunnie, and they are standing beside me instead of against me, and I am so grateful. It's been a tumultuous five years, and as much as I would like to say I'm healthier and stronger now after everything, I think I am weaker than I've ever been. I hope and pray that it changes.

Last week my entire world imploded. I had carefully built up a structure of fragile coping, that was masquerading as happiness. I was barely hanging on, and EVERYTHING caught up with me all at once.

I ended up in emergency counseling for hours and now am seeking psychiatric care. I'm going to be on meds soon, and I think everything is going to change-- for the better.

There are things I can't let go of. People I can't let go of. Love I can't let go of. I am really at a very low point and don't really know what to do at this point. I don't have a single clue.

I think I'm a person split into two people on any given day... and people only like one of the two. They like the Corrie who lives in make-believe land. Corrie the writer. Corrie the creative girl. I know I already said this, but seriously... it's caused me to really go back and re-analyze every disappointing relationship I've ever had. When things were good, it was because I was writing and they were really into it. When things were bad, I wasn't writing, and they had nothing to care about.

Andi was the first person to say it out loud. After he dumped me, he said "I was confused. I thought I was attracted to you, but I was actually just attracted to your creativity."

WOW.

I think a lot of people are attracted to my creativity. That's not overall a bad thing, I suppose... it's just that there's more to me than that, and I wish ALL of it were attractive. Maybe it isn't. I really don't know. Can one exist without the other? That doesn't seem very possible.

I'm frustrated with so many things right now. Last night I dreamed that I had the opportunity to confront a whole bunch of things, and I was incredibly disappointed to wake up and realize none of it had happened. Confront them anyway, you say? I wish that were possible. Nope... it's out of my hands now.

It's a frustrating feeling to feel that you have nowhere you belong. No place feels like home, because there is nowhere you can go where you feel particularly welcome. I'm confined to one room in Dad's house, and that's due largely in part to an intense saturation of cigarette smoke. I simply can't be around that.

I feel like there is always someone rolling their eyes whenever I say anything out loud about my asthma and allergies. The only people who take it seriously are Kelly and Nikki. Kelly... because she genuinely cares and understands, and Nikki because it's her JOB and she knows how serious it can really be. I feel like the rest of my family acts as if I'm making it all up and dramatizing it just for the sake of attention. Trust me. I don't want that kind of attention.

I'm so sad.

I don't even know how to expand on that. If I allow my brain even a second to consider all of the reasons I have to feel that emotion, tears instantly well up in my eyes and I become so overwhelmed that every day normal functions become extremely difficult for me.

Things happened that shouldn't have, and things happened that wouldn't have... if only. It's very very tempting indeed to just give up.

I am worthless. Maybe not entirely, but that's how I feel. I've come to notice something. Well, I suppose I've noticed for a very long time... but I didn't realize how broad it was until just now. My personal worth has been replaced by the worth of my fiction.

Whenever anyone talks to me, regardless of how the conversation started, it always turns to my writing. I am not the one to turn it there. Sometimes it comes across as them hitching their wagon to the star before it rises. The problem with that, is that the star feels that much less inclined to rise, because it's incredibly weighted down.

People could talk to me forever about my books. They don't so much enjoy talking to me about me. There are a select few...

BJ could talk for hours about my characters and plot points and get lost in that world and their personalities. He would ask difficult questions about their development and thoughts... he couldn't even ask me how my day had gone. Compared to my fiction... I am worthless.

When I talk about my book and the possibility of its publication, I am met with excitement, and communications that I had been severely lacking. Everyone wants to know what's new with the book... not so much what's new with me.

When I have a problem that's very difficult and raw, it's averted by a quick reminder "Someday you'll be a famous writer, and..." oh. Okay.

I often get the impression that people want to know me because of my writing, and put up with me because I'm the writer. Maybe BJ only wanted the writer. He only liked talking to her, anyway. "Where are Clark and Lex?" That is after all, how we met. That makes sense... he only liked me when I was the writer. When I had writer's block or was otherwise engaged, he rarely talked to me. I was cranking out chapters of Haunted just to get an email from him in the mornings.

It all makes sense now...

Or maybe I'm trying just too hard to rationalize things.

Why is it that it seems that everyone wants to be in MY life (writing) but nobody wants me to be a part of theirs????

I don't have any of the answers. Everyone likes my characters better than they like me. I can't really blame them... I like my characters better too...