Thanksgiving. I gave thanks, as I have much to be thankful for. I recognize and embrace each of these blessings, and I give the glory to God, and I reflect on every little gift he's given me. But I still can't shake this feeling.

I am on the brink of something amazing. I can feel this anxious anticipation bubbling up in my abdomen at least once a day before I squelch it. Why am I pushing it down? Probably because I keep thinking we are not to be anxious for anything.

It's so hard to keep good things inside. I have no problem whatsoever doing that with the bad. It's the good that gets tricky. I want to say everything that pops into my head, and I can't. I have to be guarded. I have to wait. God's timing. In HIS time. Yes, yes...

Here comes the annoying part. I am patiently awaiting God's timing for everything the very best I can, and yet... I feel like it's already HERE! He decided the who, the what, and the why. He showed me everything I needed to know. Still we wait. *sigh*

I want to dote and gush and give, but instead I wait in the background. I can't do too much, say too much. I can't push. It feels like if I do too much in any one direction, I will accidentally break something. I feel like I'm in a crowded gift shop, and I'm shoved into the 'breakable collectibles' corner. I feel like if I even breathe too loudly something will crumble. I can't even move. I want to move.

It's a lonely place to be, trapped here in this corner. All the shoppers are busy picking out the perfect gift. I'm guarding an arsenal of happily-ever-afters, but... I can't buy them yet. Or maybe it's that I've already purchased them, and they're gift wrapped, and I've hidden them away, and now I wait. I wait, I wait, I wait. It's not time yet. That's the PERFECT metaphor. All of these gifts that I have to wait to give. There are so many. So so many.

Here's a question. Am I ready to receive? Yes. Yes, I am. I hang on every positive syllable. I revel in each slip and indication of a hint of a promise. They're there, right under the surface. You can't help but compare it to before. Ah yes, then. Everything was easier then. Everything was simple, exciting, and new. My biggest concerns were the uncertainties, and my own self doubt. Now there aren't any uncertainties. I already know how I'm viewed. I don't need to wonder. I just need to wait.

I'm incredibly human sometimes. You add being female on top of that, and it's just a recipe for disaster. I know all the truths. I know what will happen -- eventually. Try to explain that to my female humanity... it's nearly impossible. I still want the words, the assurances, the fun stuff. Faith is hard sometimes.

Oh well. I know what I know, and I know that if I can remember to remember it, I'll be okay. I know it.

Things get slippery. Do you know what I mean? Well, I know what I mean, and I suppose that's all that matters. Ha.

It's almost as if you find your footing on top of a mountain, and you're just about to straighten your back and enjoy the view, and you realize that the top of the mountain is covered in ice, and down you go. You reach out frantically to hold onto a rock or tree as you slide down, but everything pulls out and falls with you. This is discouraging, to say the least...because if the ground is cold enough for it to be covered in ice, it should be solid enough for tree roots to not pull out of it. Whatever. You're falling. You should concentrate on that...

I had so many things and people to hold onto, and I was just about to stand up straight and take it all in, and now... ice. The bright side? I will stop falling eventually. Sooner or later, I will reach the bottom. Hopefully I won't suffer too many injuries. Or, you know... die. Nah, I'm a survivor. Chances are, the things I was holding onto for support before, are already at the bottom, waiting to catch me. That's a comforting thought.

Ow. My head hurts.

I think I get excited, and then I hold on too tightly. Lennie from "Of Mice and Men" comes to mind... "I'm gonna love him and keep him and squeeze him..." Dead mouse. That's it... I've killed them all. I've loved them to death. Suffocation. Dang it. Well... tough. I love on purpose with purpose. Deal with it.

I can't control everything, and I really need to learn to let go of some things, but other things... I really don't think I should let go of them. I think that would be a very bad idea. I don't know. Sometimes you have to be the bad guy. I'm going to be a great parent someday, because I already know all about the tough love and setting boundaries. Sweet. You know what? I've spent far too long parenting my parents. I wonder what it would have been like to have been a kid for as long as most people.

I know I had it better than many, but I don't know any of the people who had it worse, so it's hard sometimes to keep things in perspective. That's why I write, I suppose. That way I don't sound heartless and self involved in reality. I get it all out in rants and written whispers. Throw myself a literary pity party... it helps, it really does. It doesn't necessarily solve any problems or make anything better, but it does help. It helps me breathe.

*sigh*

I hate it when people cancel plans. I hope their reasons are better than mine. When I cancel, its usually because I'm too busy hiding from the world. Hmmm...

I am in the worst kind of mood. The kind of mindset that in no time has you believing that you are someone to nobody, and nobody to everyone. The only people who want to be around me are the people I can't be around. Make sense? Hardly.

I feel like I did what I was supposed to. I became honest and open, and I asked for help when I needed it. It didn't work. At least it doesn't feel like it did. I feel like I had a really strong network for a tiny little second there, and it quickly dissipated the second I wasn't sunshine and happiness.

I hold hands and give hugs and encouragement. I offer endless streams of wisdom and advice, whether it's coming from my own head, or what others have told me in the past. I NEVER run away from people when they need me. I ALWAYS drop everything and exist in whatever way they need me. A friend of mind told me today it's because I have caregiver syndrome. That makes sense. Not everyone lived their teen years with a Mom who had a two toned bell hooked up in the living room. One tone was for Dad, the other for me. I will always spring to action when someone sounds my bell tone...or something like that.

When they were going through the bad times, I was there constantly. When I withdrew to handle my issues on my own like I ALWAYS have, they were concerned. They wanted me to be open and honest, and I was. Now that closeness is gone. That contact is gone. I'm sure I could initiate it, and I'm sure I could force them to talk to me. The whole point though... I'm NOT initiating it. I'm NOT talking. That means something is wrong.

There is a lot wrong. A lot... this isn't how it's supposed to be. You told me it was okay to go there. It was okay to feel it. But I don't think you meant it. You have your own lives and issues, and I knew that. I know this.

Someday it will be my turn. I told you I needed you. You don't have time. But... I told you. You can't say I didn't. Someday. One day!!

I tried to make things work that can't. It's all over now. Now we move forward, and we grow. We become who we were always meant to be. We take our sorrows and our mistakes, and we dig through them until we find the blessings within the ashes, and then we praise. Oh yes, we praise! I had such a huge mountain of JOY take me over. But I can't hide forever. It's nice and warm in the sunlight, but eventually night has to come back. You have to get through the dark to see the light again. It's just the truth... it's so much easier to find kindred in the sunshine, isn't it? It is. It truly is.

The following is nothing other than a rant. A tribute to the 'woe is me' moments that swallow me every once in awhile. These things are so trivial, but still... they exist.

I've previously lamented the fact that I will never be included in another person's wedding. I was in Sunnie's, and I was in my cousin Melissa's. I look at pictures of all of the friends who have gotten married, and they tell me it isn't a very big deal, but that's because they've never been without it. I've never had a friend close enough to want to include me in their biggest day. Yes... that's a big deal to me. Helping with a wedding, yes. I am put to work. This too is an honor. It's just different. You know what I mean. I want to stand with them in their wedding photos that they will have for the rest of their life. I want to wear the dress and hold the flowers. I just want to be a part of it. I don't care if it's stupid to admit that. It's just true.

To be fair, when everyone was of the age where they were forming those long lasting bonds of friendship, I was dealing with things that were well beyond their level of comprehension. What would I want to say to the people who tell me it doesn't matter? You have no idea how great it feels to be something to someone, when you've spent far too long being nothing to everyone. True, the "nothing" is a mere feeling, but it's a feeling not without a substantial amount of circumstance to back it up. I want so badly to be declared that important to someone. I know I'll never be a maid of honor, because... I'm just not that person to anyone. I didn't even make the cut for Sunnie's wedding. People who have had that honor view it as almost nothing. They just don't get it. To have that validation of importance to someone you really love...that would be remarkable.

It's a very loose comparison, but take for example God's desire to have us declare our love for Him proudly and openly. Praising in private comes across as being ashamed. Like I said, loose comparison, because I'm not God. Not even close. But I can understand wanting to be loved out loud.

It feels good... I would imagine :)

You know what I love about blogging? I never have to explain myself...

My next complaint. I see people who have gone through hard times who have been adopted into other families. They had nowhere to go, and were welcomed with open arms, and still maintain a family like relationship with all involved. Why didn't that happen for me? Why didn't anyone recognize my need for that and take me in? People who call me their best friend? I am a stranger to their families. That makes zero sense. Boo. It's because I was too strong. Crap.

I remember when my Aunt Ruthie told me that. Everyone had been taking care of everyone else, but when it came to me, I was on my own. When I asked her why, she said "Corrie, you have always been so strong. You took care of everyone. I never in a million years thought that you would need me." Well, shoot. That just plain sucks.

And why do people tell me to tell them things, and then when I tell them things, they say "I don't know what to say." Well, then! Just be like everyone else and live in the fantasy world where absolutely nothing is wrong with me and stop asking questions. Please and thank you.

I'm sure there are other things I can needlessly complain about, but... seeing as how I am at work and have to start closing, I can be done with my ridiculous ramble. For now.

While walking to work today, I let my mind go there. I let my mind wander to where I never let it visit, and it was all still right there. It was still waiting. I always think that I have processed through all of it, but that never seems to be the case. The truth is, I've barely touched it. It's too overwhelming to even think about. The very second I let my brain travel to that place, I can feel panic bubble up inside of me, and my breathing immediately becomes erratic, my eyes darting everywhere looking for something to hold onto. I squelch it as quickly as possible, take a deep breath, slam that door shut and run.

From where I am now, I know God is there completely and he and I should be able to handle this. God has told me repeatedly that I need to feel the pain so that I can process the pain. You can't handle what you ignore, and things like this need to be handled.

The ultimate downside, is that since I have put it off for so long, to most people it all seems to have lost its relevance. It was years ago, right? Yes, it was years ago. I have found great joy in so many things lately, and so my irrational fear is that actually dealing with the past will eliminate that joy.

My Mom loved to talk. She had a warning about everything. Some things made more sense than others. She cautioned me about buying anything full price, she made sure I knew the value of housework, she limited my food intake...but then there were some very good lessons, the biggest of these was to constantly be mindful of whether or not you are giving the devil a foothold.

For awhile I thought that God was the one who was preventing me from revisiting those dangerous memories. I got the impression that no good could come from it,  and in order to experience true healing, I would have to adopt the mentality that it had never happened. That way, I could move on. I could forgive. I could let go of all of the hurt, anger and resentment. That belief has changed recently. I have been spending so much time with Jesus lately, and I am feeling a stronger and stronger push to open that door. It's terrifying.

I talked to my Dad about it one time several weeks ago. It's such a daunting idea to go back there. There are so many things crammed behind that door. I wanted to open it and talk to my Dad, but he was too ready to agree that it should remain closed. I began trying to share a memory or two, and Dad cut me off, stating simply "I know what you mean. If I were to ever open that door, I would start screaming and I would never stop." It's moments like those when I feel like I can't talk to anyone. There's always something else going on that they need to concentrate on. Everyone has pain, and who am I to think that my pain merits their attention? I'm so much better at caring for others and helping them. I'll just keep helping them. So, instead of opening up to Dad, I let him talk. "Why do you say that? How are you now? I love you so much. I'll be here for you." he cries, he thanks me, I remain the steadfast, the strong, the dependable. I don't cry. Not anymore.

I know the ultimate comforter is God. I know Jesus is holding me constantly. But God wouldn't have instilled a need for human love and companionship if he didn't desire those connections for us. He wants us to love, lean on, and fellowship with each other. This is why there are friendships and marriages. Yes, God is with us ALL the time, but he also wants us to be with each other. Where two or more are gathered...

The other day, Nikki came to my house in tears. Her fiance had just departed for Nepal, and they don't know when they will be able to speak again. He will be gone until next year. I held her, and my immediate thoughts were how honored I was that she had picked me to cry to. She had trusted me enough to fall apart in my arms, and she knew that I would comfort her and do whatever I could to make her feel better. I would read her scripture and crack jokes and hold her. She knew I would do that for her. She knows I love her. The best part, is that I have the honor of fulfilling that role for all of the loves in my life. The problem, however, is that I have no one to go to when I need to be held, comforted and reassured.

There are several people who would start quite the argument after that statement. What they don't realize, of course, is that they would be contending with a multitude of evidence to the contrary. There were ten years of constant distance. The worst things in my life were happening when life was just starting out for everyone I cared about. The endless strings of conflicting thoughts and emotions took immediate control of my thoughts, my speech, my actions. I was barely a person.

I'm not ready to talk about everything that happened when she was dying. I'm not ready to go there. Even skimming the surface of those memories has my chest in pain. I was talking to BJ recently and made a reference to how certain memories have haunted me, and he immediately squashed that statement. He reminded me to focus on the good. When I told him about how my Mom's eyes opened for the first time in two days right before she died, and then my hand was over her heart when it stopped beating... I said that haunts me. I don't mean haunt in a bad way. I mean it's something that will stay with me forever. Yes, I got to look into her eyes one last time. Nobody else did. I was alone there. Yes, I got to feel her leave and go to Heaven. But I also had to feel my Mama's heart stop. How can you only focus on the good when it's so breathtakingly sad that she's not here with me?

I am given many platitudes about how my Mom is always with me. She's in my heart. She didn't leave me, etc etc etc. Regardless of whether or not those statements are true, we're not watching sitcom reruns in her room eating mashed potatoes at midnight. She's not stealing apples from the apple orchard trees and stuffing them in my purse. *I have to stop the memories. I'm at work and this is too hard*

There were two friends who came to the hospital. Christine Morrison, who adopted me as her own child, and Jessi Campbell. Several of Kelly and Sunnie's friends came. I know everyone was busy, I know grades and careers were on the line. But I also know that I was in more pain than I can even comprehend.

The funeral. Those same two friends were there. That was it. I kept looking at the door, and I couldn't figure it out. I had been an amazing friend to everyone I knew. At least I thought I had. There's a reason that so many people trusted me to hold them, comfort them, love them. Why weren't they there to hold me? Why was I alone? I found out later that my boss at Caribou had told the entire staff that if any of them (I was good friends with the entire staff) wanted to attend the funeral to support me, he would get coverage from other stores. None of them came. They didn't want to lose their hours or tips. One of my best friends, Ellie, two years later said "In retrospect, I probably should have been there for you." Yes. You probably should have.

Several weeks after the funeral, we had a bridal shower for Sunnie. Nikki was coming. Nikki has always been one of the busiest people I know. She hadn't been able to come to the funeral, as she was very busy in school. I don't mean to downplay this. I understand and embrace the situation she was in, but my heart can't let it go. She should have been there.

As we walked up the driveway to the friends house where the shower was being held, Sunnie's mother-in-law to be pulled me aside and lectured me. "You don't look happy, and I need you to get over it and be happy for your sister. She is getting married and her Mom just died. She is really going through a hard time and we need to make these next few weeks all about her, okay?" I'm not sure how, but everyone that I was seeing on a consistent basis had come to the conclusion that I was not the least bit upset over the fact that my Mom had died. They waved away the fact that I had been her solitary caretaker and companion for the past four years.

I was placing too much emphasis on the fact that Nikki was actually going to be there. I had been storing up all my tears to cry to her like she had always cried to me. I hadn't cried at the funeral, because I had to make sure that everyone else was okay. I hugged who needed hugging, I made jokes to those who looked too sad. I would fall apart later. She would come to town, she would hold me, and she would say "It's okay to cry Corrie."

We walked into the shower, and I plastered that fake smile on my face. I watched people hug Sunnie, ask her how she was doing. I would watch them hold her when she teared up, and tell her that they loved her. I knew all of those people. They were my friends. Why were they ignoring me? I knew it was her bridal shower, but couldn't they love and support me too?

Nikki arrived. We hugged. She hugged Sunnie, and they all congregated again and asked the same questions. They were standing in a circle, and I was outside of it. All I can remember after that is the panic. The panic brought on by Nikki announcing how busy she was that weekend and that she was so glad she had the time to come to the shower. She had a family gathering directly following the so-called festivities, and my heart broke and shattered into a million pieces. She forgot to remember me. I must have done something wrong. She knew what had happened. She couldn't be there, no. But she was here now. But she couldn't be there for me. She was there for her. It wasn't my time yet. I had to push it away. Relief was almost there, but I had to say no. I left. I started walking. I was shaking. I called my brother, he came and picked me up. He didn't ask me questions, and I didn't cry. I felt like throwing up. He took me home, and I stayed there alone.

Nikki and I exchanged emails, but instead of anything getting better, it turned into an argument that later transformed into walls and distance that would take almost three years to break down. I don't know if it's gone yet though, because I still can't tell her everything. I still can't get past the anger. I can't understand why she didn't think of my needing her. I had heard so many stories of all of her college friends who had gone through horrible things and she would take care of them. "I'll call you tomorrow, or next week sometime. My roommate is having a panic attack and she needs me..." Years later a lot of those misunderstandings would dissolve into complete irrelevance, but I was so confused then. I need you too, I would think.

Her friend's Dad died in Texas. She went to the funeral. I know I KNOW exactly why she couldn't be here for Mom's. She knew my Mom for ten years, and she should have been there, but realistically could not be. I get so mad at my brain when it dwells on things that neither of us had control over.

It's not just Nikki either. It's everyone. When my Mom first got sick, everyone scattered. I'm happy to say I think I'm over that time period. We were all so young. Fifteen and sixteen years old. I remember how my brain worked before she got sick, so I'm aware of their thought processes. I know that if anyone had a real problem, I would instantly transform my teenage angst into something that would be more worthy of attention. Drama creation, after all, is a skill that nearly every single female teenager thrives at.

This is the part that drives me nuts. Nikki had been a part of that group of kids who couldn't handle it. Why did I throw so much need and expectation onto her then? Why did I insist that she was the only person I could have talked to? Because she wasn't in this world with me, that's why. She was my link to the outside. She was traveling and meeting the best friends she would ever have, and I wanted her to take me with her. I wanted to matter so much to her, so that she would hold onto me, and not leave me at the bottom of the well. I was so jealous of her new friends. I viewed them as my replacements, and automatically assumed she was better off. They were so much better than me because they wouldn't be bringing her down with dying parents and depression. They would travel with her and post pictures of beautiful smiles. They would distract her from my melancholy and take her away forever. I would have given anything to have been a friend someone met at college.

Those years where people meet the friends they'll have for the rest of their lives, I was doing something no person my age should be doing. I saw and lived through one horrific thing after another. I didn't know how to handle it. I ended relationships that I never should have ended. Why? To spare them. Sounded poetic, I suppose. Sacrifice myself for the sake of others. Then what did I do? Complain that they left me? Right. Makes sense.

Recently I have been "off". This has happened more times than I can count. When sadness grabs me, I usually withdraw for several days, regroup and deal with it, then reappear. I'm not used to people noticing. I've been blessed with a close knit network just within the last two months. How amazing is that? People I touch base with nearly every day, and they actually notice when something is wrong. I'm not used to this at all. I'm not used to people worrying about me. I'm not used to it, because when I was really obvious about things being wrong and needing people, nothing happened. So backwards.

There wasn't one specific thing that made me sad. I've been sick for a long time, so I think being over tired has made me over emotional. It's when you're weak when it happens. It's what my Mom had always warned me about, giving the devil a foothold. He has grabbed the loophole and ran with it, and it's taken a lot out of me. I'm exhausted.

Nikki's fiance left, and she is beside herself about it. She cries, and I find myself thinking... you almost know what it feels like to miss someone that deeply. You're feeling it. I want to cry with her, but then I think... he's coming back. You will get him back. She's not coming back to me. Then I feel resentful. Then I get angry. Not with Nikki, no...with myself. That's not fair, Corrie. This is different. That's not fair.

Jerry is gone, and so I tell her I have all the time in the world to be there for her. My Mom died and nobody had that time. I get upset over the facts, then upset that I'm upset. So, I hide until I can rationalize myself into understanding that I'm being ridiculous. But am I? I am honored that people tell me about their problems. It's just too hard to not draw the comparisons sometimes.

I don't want to be my sister. I don't know how to tell people what's bothering me without sounding like my sister. Whenever a friend would come to her with a problem, she turned it into something about herself instead. "Well, at least your Mom didn't die of cancer..." Really??? That's terrible. But how can I relate to people when my worst thing is so much worse than their worst thing? There's always somebody else who has had a worse thing. That's what I always tell myself. I don't want to sound like somebody who doesn't think your worst thing is awful. "Corrie, I am so down. I can't pass this test, and I feel like the world is falling down around me, and my apartment floor is cracking, and I stubbed my toe." What are my options? People seek common souls. "I know how you feel. My world fell apart when my Mom died..." Boom. I win. But I'm not competing, I swear. They didn't offer to make ME feel better, they wanted comfort. Oops, oops. Don't talk about it, don't talk about it, don't talk about it. Okay. So I don't. I never do. But I need to.

I never have talked about it, really. When I do, I stick with the surfacy basics. It's when I start talking about how I felt during all of the different moments when I lose it. I talk really fast if I ever talk about any of those moments. That breakdown I was saving for Nikki? It's not just for Nikki. I just need a witness. A person to sit with me, pray with me, and help me express every emotion I have hidden so that it doesn't leak out in grocery stores. Or the mall at Christmas time. What is it about a shopping mall at Christmas time now? UGH! Gets me every time. Christmas is hard.

I have expressed my inability to feel and process emotion like a normal person. I guess I was never normal when it comes to emotions. I have actually attempted to schedule a breakdown. "Let me know when you have time..." that's insane. Who does that? I do. Because, like my Dad... I'm so scared that if I open that door alone, I'll start screaming and never stop.

There were wonderful moments when my Mom went to Heaven. She told me about the colors and the angels. But there was horror too. There was a lot of blood, gasping for air... badness all around. It can't all be good. Even Jesus cried. The Bible says so. Jesus wept. There is pain, there is sorrow, there is healing. I'm needing the healing part.

I have amazing support, but I don't know how to accept it now. Nikki and I have discussed recently that I'm "back". It's true for the most part. Joy is no longer eluding me, and I can hear God in so many things loud and clear. Those friends of hers that I had always felt threatened by? Turns out one in particular wasn't my replacement, she was my soul mate. We're so very similar, so in a way I'm flattered that Nikki chose someone so much like me to be her best friend. The three of us have more fun together than any three people should.

I think that were I to ever tell ANYONE everything, they wouldn't be able to handle it. It's so sad. I would undoubtedly sob, and they would instinctively feel guilty for not having been able to be there when it all happened. Nikki says I'm back now. Talking about the past would make me go away for a bit. Would they go away too? It's almost worth keeping it all to myself if it means keeping them. When I lived in Alabama, I was so low that no one wanted to be around me. I don't want to be there again. BJ mentioned that I need to give it ALL to God. Makes sense... if it ALL goes to God, does that mean I don't give any to my friends and loved ones? That's what I've been trying to do, but I must be doing something wrong, because...it's all still there. I thought I gave it all to Him, but...ta-da! Boomerang grief. That's not fair. Comes back and hits you right in the face when you least expect it.

It's so strange to me that sadness and joy can exist at the same time in the same person. BJ pointed out that I went from needing a lot of support to giving ALL of the support, and that those are two very different extremes. Yes. I agree. I may have needed a lot of support, but I didn't exactly get what I needed, so I stopped needing it. Or at least that's what I convinced myself of.

To sum up this novel... I got sick, I got weak, I got sad. I was bombarded with all sorts of memories. I couldn't share them without over-sharing, which in the past has led to discomfort and distance. So, I withdrew, but not without people noticing. I told them I was fine. For the most part, it wasn't a lie. I want to tell them everything, but how can I do that, when I can't even think it to myself?

*sigh*

LONGEST. RAMBLE. EVER.

Today has been an amazing day. Amazing in spite of the fact that it is my third day in a row of working open to close. Amazing because amazing things happened, and I just haven't felt this happy in a long time.

I suppose the amazing part began last night. I wrote and wrote enough to actually send out a chapter update to my test readers, of book two in my trilogy. "Haunted" is well on its way!

I woke up this morning to a great review from one of my readers, instant good mood. Then I bounced a few emails back and forth, played with some puppies, went to work. THEN!

I spent three hours doing something I have been wanting to do for sooooooo long. I had been craving it for so long, it felt like I was starving. I can't even begin to describe how amazing it was.

It's funny, but I think I'm actually too happy to write anything in here right now. Weird, huh??? Bye for now!!

"Who Am I Living For?"

I can feel a phoenix inside of me

As I march alone to a different beat

Slowly swallowing down my fear

I am ready for the road less traveled

Suiting up for my crowning battle

This test is my own cross to bear

But I will get there

It's never easy to be chosen, never easy to be called

Standing on the front line when the bombs start to fall

I can see the heavens but I still hear the flames

Calling out my name

I can see the writing on the wall

I can't ignore this war

At the end of it all

Who am I living for?

I can feel this light that's inside of me

Growing fast into a bolt of lightning

I know one spark will shock the world

So I pray for a favor like Esther

I need Your strength to handle the pressure

I know there will be sacrifice

But that's the price

Heavy is the head that wears the crown

Don't let the greatness get you down

I can see the writing on the wall

I can't ignore this war

At the end of it all

Who am I living for?

There's that word again. FEAR. It's ruining me! There is very good possibility that I am being presented with the opportunity to re-establish things I thought were long gone. It's highly probable that something I thought I had misinterpreted was actually reality. What's really getting to me, is the possibility that I might be wrong. It's fear.

I'm still as wordy as ever. I can write it all down and tell you the truth and it will be written exactly how I want it to be written. But what if it isn't read the way I want it to be read? I don't know how to explain myself.

Faith and trust aren't as easy as I would like them to be. It's an easy enough concept. Trust in the Lord your God with all your heart. Faith is not believing that God can, it is knowing that he will. All these things I've heard, I've memorized, but I've not yet succeeded in banishing the fear.

All of the things I have experienced, all of the roads I have taken have lead me here. There are moments that I can say without a doubt that I am completely accurate. I know what God has shown me, what he wants for me. But then Satan sneaks in with his doubt poisons. The devil is good at that.

I've changed. I've changed a lot. That's no secret. There's a core of a person that still very much exists, and she hasn't changed much. She's still there. It's the outer layers. They've changed drastically. When I think back just a few years ago, I feel like I am an entirely different person. In most ways, I am.

Faith and trust were very hard to hold onto when my Mom was sick. Everything I thought was permanent was becoming very temporary, and I was frantically searching wherever I could for something/someone to hold onto. Not anymore.

I was raised to strive for purity, and to uphold the many promises that purity entailed. I did not succeed. While I may have many regrets, I know that I was with the right person, just not in the right way. We have been forgiven, and I have adopted my original vows wholeheartedly. I will only ever belong to my husband, and God knows exactly who that will be :)

I'm finding patience to be challenging these days. "I am like a child who hath new robes and may not wear them." -Juliet

Seriously, I feel like I am on 'The Amazing Race'. I successfully completed a mission and found a map that will lead to the big prize at the end. I know what it is and how to get there, but my partner has fallen behind and I have to wait. I'm told repeatedly I have to let them complete the mission on their own, I can't give any hints. It's MADDENING!! He will get here. I know he will.

I was talking to Nikki the other night, and it's pretty amazing talking to someone who has known be throughout EVERYTHING. She has cried with me, fought with me, laughed with me, and really knows the real dirty nitty gritty of EVERYTHING. I was explaining how much things have changed over the last several months, and why, and she was nodding, and happily pumping her fists in the air before dramatically exclaiming how much she had been missing me. I was gone for so long. Now, I'm not only BACK, no... I'm better. New and improved!

I wish I could explain it all. I wish I could express it all! But I can't. I mean, yes...words, I can write them and I can explain. I just simply mean it isn't my job. Joseph didn't believe Mary when she told him. He didn't believe it until God spoke to him in a dream. I can talk and talk and talk but it won't make any difference. He has to see it, and it has to come from HIM. And it will. It will.

Enough babbling for now. For now....yes. Until next time, I pray. I will just pray!!

I used to be really great at recording the mundane day to day of my life. The random goings on that wouldn't particularly be of any interest to anyone other than myself. I don't know if it makes sense that I am lamenting the loss of that ability or not. Hmmm...

It's possible that my every day goings on don't stray too far from ordinary. Each day I get up, go to work, go home, go to bed. I suppose it's that may for the majority of the general public. I suppose what keeps it interesting is what goes on within the mind of the individual. Dreams and aspirations! I've so many of those, it's hard to keep track.

I have always been talented in the area of dreaming. I can disappear into my imagination whenever I want. I used to actually get giddy the prospect of taking a long walk and creating a new story in my head. Oh, the stories I've told myself! They're so great! I create fantastic beginnings. It's the endings that lose my interest. Maybe because there's no such thing as an ending. Life keeps on going. How do you stop telling someone's story? You just get to decide that it's over? Maybe that's why Nicholas Sparks always kills someone off. Otherwise the story would never be satisfied.

I've lived several different stories within my life, too. Some of those stories have endings. In some ways, some of those endings were either actual physical deaths, or deaths of another nature. Either way, they ended. Then there are the stories that haven't ended. Those are the ones that haunt me.

Haunt can sound so negative. I suppose it typically is. There are some things that I want to be haunted by. I don't want to lose them. I don't want to give them up. Haunt away!

Life feels good right now. I don't entirely know how to explain it. I've been receptive to the voice of God for the first time in a very long time, and now everything makes more sense. It's pretty disappointing when you realize that several of the struggles you have faced were your own fault because you weren't listening. You weren't receptive. It's enraging, to be honest.

You can't help but wonder how many things would have been different if I would have figured it all out sooner. As much as I would like to dwell in those thoughts, I've come to the conclusion that God is not the biggest fan of what-ifs and maybes. He's more about the here and now, and here and now he has shown me a few mind blowing things, that I am pretty excited to see come into fruition.

Everything I have ever wanted actually seems POSSIBLE now, which I'll admit has not been the case in years past. There was always something in the way, something hindering me. Some of those things I caused myself, but some I really didn't. God instilled in me a deep devotion to family, so that really isn't something I would have been able to banish from my head.

There's this intense giddy excitement about all of the possibilities that are ahead of me now. It's as if everything is finally falling into place. I've become the woman I need to be to fulfill the plan God has for me. It's pretty awesome! I'm completely me for the first time in...gosh. I don't know how long it's been. I'm not the same person I was, but I am EXACTLY who I need to be. It's comforting. I know who I am, I know what I want, I know what HE wants, and I'm ready. I'm ready for all of it, and I am ready to do whatever it takes.

Even my hair color is me. It's a good feeling. A GREAT feeling. So happy...and terrified...and interested...and curious...and scared...but TRUSTING. Yes. Trust in the Lord always.

I plan on it.

Okay, so maybe I lied a little bit. I've taken a break from the dream for a moment, but that's only because another dream has taken over my focus. It's not a new dream by any means. It's an old dream. It's very much a part of me, and even more terrifying than publication to pursue. I know, that doesn't seem possible. But it is.

There has been something I have been ignoring for far too long. A very large part of me that I somehow managed to successfully banish from my every day life, that I have been severely missing. I can't even begin to explain this... I just hope it all works out.

I was completely honest with myself and others for the first time in about five years, and now I wait. It was very reminiscent of jumping off a cliff, and the fall is taking a lot longer than I expected it to. I thought I would have hit the ground by now, but the ground is taking its time to meet me. Ideally I wouldn't meet the ground at all. I'm hoping for a parachute that I didn't know I had to deploy at the very last minute. Hey... a girl can dream.

I know this is cryptic, but it's not without reason. Hopefully ten years from now I remember what I was talking about. I've been cryptic in past memories, and unfortunately, when going back to re-read this entire blog, I was completely lost. I had no idea what I was talking about back then. I'm thinking this will be different though, because this is pretty much huge.

Here's a hint for my future self. A miracle that began with Scarlett. There you go. You know what that means. So do all the other people that have ever had any part in this miracle of mine. Well, maybe. We will see.

I hope I hope I hope I pray I pray I pray. You know my heart, dear Lord. You know my dreams. You know the plans you have for me, you've told me so. You've shown me what you want for me, and now it's all in your hands. It's completely up to you.

One final thing...

AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!!

That is all.

Sometimes I look back at all of these posts and want to start over. It would be really easy to just start completely over... but that's not how life works. That's not even close.

It is really tempting to erase everything too. Again, not a life possibility, so why try to pretend it can happen simply by erasing the things I've written down? Someday I will be happy that I recorded all of it. Someday.

I really need to be a writer. I really need to get that going. I need to make it happen. It's no longer a want, it's a need. I've done enough fantasizing and have incorporated enough mindless babble to last me an eternity. I need this. It will happen. My next entry will be the beginning of me chronicling this process. I will keep it up. I will make it happen. I will frame my pink slips, and keep on going. I will succeed. I will be great. I will be happy. She will be proud... THANK YOU MAMA. She read all of my stories :)

One of the best things to do when you are struggling with your future, is to take a good hard look at your past. Seems to make sense. Right? Right. Well, that's what I've been doing. Looking at my past. Staring at it, really. Looking at it so hard and for so long, I almost feel like the power of my gaze can make it change somehow. I know that isn't possible. Not even a little bit.

I have reevaluated all of my relationships, romantic and otherwise. I have analyzed the underlying motivations to pursue those relationships. I have looked at myself from every angle, and I still come up empty handed. Who am I?

One of the most enraging and yet constant questions I find myself consistently uttering while I lay in bed? Simple. Who would I have been had Mom never gotten sick? Who would I be now? How would things have been different? I suppose that one question of I would have been is so loaded, that it's filled to the brim with millions of other questions. They all stem from that one question though. If Mom never would have gotten sick... IF IF IF IF IF.

It seems so useless to delve into those possibilities, and yet it's what I am constantly consumed with. Every once in awhile, I feel like who I "really" am is sneaking back into my persona. It is finding its way back into my daily routines, fastening itself to my soul. Then in almost the same instant, it's completely vanished. I'm left with the leftovers yet again, trying to figure out if it's gone for good, or if I keep pushing it away.

I remember who I used to be. That's one thing that isn't all that hard to distinguish when I look back at the past. I remember what was important and what I wanted. I remember how I felt. I remember my morals and values. I remember the lessons my parents taught me. I remember how black and white everything appeared to be. There was only one way to live, and I was perfectly happy living that way. Was it because I didn't know any different? Or was it because that was the right way to live? That's where it gets a little hazy. That's when I get confused.

I remember hating myself. I remember being a teenager, staring really hard at the bathroom tiles, searching out their every imperfection, so I could put off looking at my own. I remember fiery arguments with my Mom, which typically served as the precursor for those bathroom staring sessions. I remember feeling worthless, sitting on the bathroom floor, hunched over as I stared at those tiles. I remember trying to cry as quietly as I could, so I wouldn't give her the satisfaction of knowing she had gotten to me.

I remember so vividly telling myself that someday it would be better. Someday I would be beautiful. Someday my sisters wouldn't hate me. Someday I wouldn't feel like the entire earth was exploding inside of my chest. I remember thinking that I was going crazy. I tired immediately of my Mom's condescending explanations about hormones and teenage emotions. I was convinced I was different. My hurt was real, my thoughts were real.

Everyone has the difficult teenage years, but I am also positive that some have it far worse than others. I refuse to believe that the beautiful girls who taunted me went home to stare at bathroom tiles as they cried. I know they weren't hiding in dark corners writing melancholy poetry. Part of me enjoys the idea that they weren't writing, because they couldn't. They were shallow and far too preoccupied with looks and popularity to ever crack the binding on a notebook.

I remember the good times too. I remember the church musicals, and 'See you at the Pole', and everything that completely enveloped who I was. I was Corrie, the good Christian girl. I was Corrie, the writer. I was Corrie, the theater geek. I was Corrie, the Hanson fan--- who didn't care how many snarky comments followed her down the hallway as she proudly displayed a different Hanson t-shirt for each day of the week. I was Corrie, the sister. I was Corrie, the daughter. I was Corrie, the scapegoat. This was most likely my least favorite title, and yet the most common.

My sisters recognized that I caught the brunt of all chores, verbal assaults, and accusations. I was left home to fend for myself and cover for everyone while they went off and did whatever. I had lists to accomplish. I met with the consequences if they weren't. I was the hermit, and that was a consequence in and of itself. It was almost as if I was being punished for my lack of social standing. I was a shadow, so naturally... I was left in the background.

That's probably what led me to the stage in the first place. It was a place to momentarily step out of the shadows. I found a voice on the stage, and I never let go of it. Sometimes that's a good thing, sometimes that's bad. I've adopted traits of certain characters throughout the years. Namely the humorous ones. I've become a talented story teller, a better writer. I have things to say, and to my complete astonishment, people actually want to listen.

The stage... once a solution, now the problem. How much of me is a character? A facade comprised of dozens of personalities that don't even belong to me? How much of my attitudes, opinions, and views are actually mine? It's maddening to try and figure it all out, it really is.

It does, however, provide an excellent explanation as to why I am experiencing such an identity crisis right now. I suppose I have been for quite some time now. Directly after my Mom died, I feel like I just became whoever I had to be to survive. I was all over the map, adopting a dozen different personalities.

I was different in every single relationship I have ever been in. So completely different. I feel like I am changing again. I just want to stop changing for awhile. I want to see me, I want to see the people around me, and I want to look at them through my own eyes, with my own brain and personality behind those eyes. I don't want to be tainted by influence. It's impossible though. Every person is the person they are, because of the influences they grew up with. I grew up with such great ones. At least for a little while.

I need to figure all of this out. I really really do.

I feel like I am floating. Things happen, and they don't really seem real. It's one big long dream, right?

I wrote two plays recently. I feel accomplished somehow. I'm not making any money off of it, and I'm not doing much else. But I wrote two plays.

I really want to pack up and leave. Sometimes I don't even care where.

I love Dodger. We're going through all this crap together. He's my little love. We're both miserable, but we know it will get better.

The end. For now.

I am so sad. Very, very sad. I don't understand what happened. I don't know how I could lose myself so completely, abandoning who I was and how I saw myself just so I could see myself how someone else saw me.

I didn't like what he saw, therefore I didn't like me. I still don't.

I am so sad.

This is really hard. There are so many things I have grown far too accustomed to. It's too hard to not do certain things. I lay in bed at night, just paging through my contacts list on my phone, trying to think of who to text and start a conversation with. It's really lonely here in my head.

I miss my Izzy bug. She's my little nugget and I miss her nuzzles and noises. I lost Cody and had to give up Izzy. I'm really not good at this.

There were things that weren't right. There are things that aren't right. There are things that can change, and there are things that can't.

I guess I will do what I was always taught. Just give it to God and stop the worry. Pray and stay.

*deep breath*

It should be easy to trust God. My excessive trust issues should not include my heavenly Lord and Savior, and yet... here I am.

I don't like feeling like this. I really don't. I went for a walk by the lake tonight and actually had to fight the urge to walk out onto the not nearly solid lake. It was a strange sensation. I actually wanted to slip through the ice and feel the intense cold. I wanted to be numb.

I find myself staring at the stars, wondering what they look like from Heaven. I always feel closer to my Mom when I am outside at night. I don't know what it is. Most of the time it makes me cry. Not a big fan of the emotional breakdowns these days. The need to talk to my Mom right now is suffocating. I can barely handle it.

I really have no idea where I am going or what I am doing. Just trying to make the right choices. It's terrifying.

I don't know why I am writing. Apparently I have nothing to say.

I am kind of freaking out. No, not kind of. I am really really freaking out.

I have this sick feeling in my stomach and I feel on the constant verge of tears. Growing up, my Mom wanted me to have friends. She wanted me to go out and be social. But she never once ever encouraged me to ever be anyone other than myself.

She escorted me to boy band concerts, bought me teeny bopper magazines, read my stories, watched my plays. She knew who I was, and she loved me for it, not in spite of it.

High School teaches you to change. That's when it first happens. That's when you start to really be influenced by the world around you. Suddenly who you were always content with being isn't good enough. There are the fortunate few who get to escape all of that, but that is incredibly rare.

My mom got sick when I was only 16 years old. That's the age when you just start figuring out who you are. You just start to realize who you want to be and what you want to do. I skipped all of that. I skipped it and went right into who my parents needed me to be. I was devoted. If she were still alive, I probably would still be by her side.

I met BJ when I was just turning 21 years old. He was my first everything. I never thought I would get out of my little world, but I did. For a minute, anyway. I loved him so much... I wanted to stay with him forever. She got sick again, and my purpose was clear again. It was like a magnetic pull. I didn't stand a chance. I thought it was turned into a later, not a never... I got so so lost.

When I met Andi everything was bad, and then it got worse. I thought it was the perfect time to fall into someone's arms, but it was the worst possible time to not stand on my own two feet. He said all the right words at all the right times. It was evil.

I met Conrad at my Mom's funeral. I don't even need to analyze why that wasn't healthy. Everyone tells you all about the different stages of grief. What they don't mention is that you become a different person within each of the different stages.

I was exactly who Conrad needed when we met. He became exactly what I needed when I fell apart. We were perfect for each other somewhere in there. And then something changed. Piece by piece it came together. My reflection. My true self. Me.

It's extremely difficult to make it all make sense. I was open, and honest. I was able to put words together and express who I really was. Who Corrie, the person IS. It was time to stop compromising her. It was time to let her exist. She hadn't existed for decades.

 The person I am meant to be does not belong with the person he is meant to be.
I am terrified that I am going to be alone forever. I know this is not an uncommon fear.

There have been some great quotes blessing me with their presence lately. None of which surpasses the great Jonathan Kent. (That's right... Clark Kent/Superman's Dad)

"It is better to risk everything than to hold onto nothing."

Conrad and i fight about the dumbest things, say things that should never be said, expect things from each other that we shouldn't. This isn't happiness. It just isn't.

I want him to get what he wants out of life. I want him to achieve all of his goals. I helped him with those goals for three years, because i believed in him.

Now, I need to believe in me. That is going to be beyond difficult...

Fear.

Why does it have so much control? How does it keep its grip so tight?

I remember having that conversation repeatedly wiht my Mom when she got sick again. She lived every day in fear. I told her that wasn't living. True, her fears were far more substantial than mine. Fear is fear.

She was terrified of dying, and cried her days away. The cancer took a stronger hold on her with every tear she cried.

The brain is unbelievably powerful. I have heard so many stories and testimonies illustrating the power the brain has over the body. Power over your entire life! Every once in awhile I allow my mind to wander to the magic that is "The Secret". It was a very successful book several years back, and then became a documentary.

The gist of it is simply that your brain is constantly putting forth waves. Versions of electricity that emits and pulls energy. It focuses around the principle that you are constantly attracting things from the universe. The thing you think about most in any given moment is what you are attracting to yourself.

If yous spend enough time thinking about wealth and power, eventually you will get there. If you spend all your time in fear of dying, it goes without saying that you will get sicker and sicker, or simply meet your unfortunate end in some tragic way.

Fear is little else than a constant thought, an energy, a wave you are sending out into the universe. The universe can't tell the difference between good thoughts and bad thoughts. So, if you're thinking of all the horrible things that could happen, that's what the universe thinks you want, and therefore....well you get the picture.

That brings me back to fear. I'm not terrified of dying or meeting some tragic accident. I am terrified of failure. I am so scared that the things I have been dreaming about since childhood will never be possible. So guess what? They aren't. At least not until I start believing they truly are.

The Secret instructs you to dream specifically. Picture your dream house every single day down to the tile and and grout. Why is this so difficult?

Fear is stronger than dreams. At least in my world. I need to change that. I need so badly to change that. This life I have right now is not the one I was meant to live. If my Mom had banished fear from her life, would she still be alive?

Long before she was sick, my mom would watch tear jerker movies and vocally admit that her biggest fear was dying of cancer and leaving her family behind. She was terrified of being away from the family she had been through so much to create. She never wanted to leave my Dad, so she focused instead on the fear of that actually happening.

How different would the world be without fear? That question haunts me. There is so much power just beneath the surface that we can all tap into.

It's time to dream specifically...

I will be a successfully published author within five years. I will have a lovely country house with a wrap around porch and swing. I will have at least two children within ten years. I will be happily married. I will write from home, all of the stories in my head finally making their way to paper. Published paper.

I will have a close network friends that include me in every aspect of their lives. I will have paid off all of my Dad's bills, restoring my childhood home and keeping it open for visiting friends and family.

I will have enough land to own horses. I will ride horses.

I will become an animal foster parent.

I will banish fear from my life once and for all, and start living the life I have always been meant to live. There is no time like the present, that's why it is a gift! (Thanks, Mom)

Cody died today. I put him down at 11am. He was 17 and a half years old. I will miss him every single day. He just kept on surviving. I guess part of me thought he always would. I know he lived exceptionally long for a dog, but... he was amazing. I hope doggies really do go to Heaven. Mom will be very happy to see him.