What to do with myself?

I’m having a day, you guys.  All seventeen-year-old girls want approval, right?  Do most of them need it the way that I do?  I mean, are there other girls who would react the way I did to my mother’s comments about my hair?  I feel a little ridiculous being this upset.  The conversation went like this:

Mom: [looking through my senior pictures] I mean, these are nice. [pause] I think you need to do something with your hair.  It’s not very feminine.

Me: Mom, I’m not straightening it or cutting it short.  I like it the way it is, and you know that.

Mom: [sigh] Katy… You know Ms. Dineyli from church?  You’ve seen her and her sister side by side.  Now, her sister’s obviously the prettier of the two by far.  The thing is, Dineyli actually isn’t unattractive.  It’s just that she has that frizzy hair that makes her look tacky, not very well put together.  I look at her, then I look you and your hair. [grimace]

Me: MOM.  My hair is absolutely fine.  It doesn’t even look like hers.

Mom: Katy, it’s not that much better.

~~~~

Yes, I’m sorry, I get really sensitive about things like this.  She always, always, ALWAYS has something to say about me, the way I look, my personality, my friends…  Literally, I get daily compliments on my hair.  “Your curls are GORGEOUS!” “People pay serious money for hair like that.  Don’t ever cut or straighten it.”  But then there’s my mom!  Other people can say the nicest things about me, that I’m smart, pretty, interesting, funny…she’ll say I’m lazy, stubborn, insensitive, antisocial, and that I need to take my antidepressants/ADD meds before she’ll be willing to talk to me.  She constantly talks about how I’ll never make it in the “real world.”

So, yeah… 😦 I’m crying right now, and I really can’t help it.  I don’t mean to be dramatic, I really don’t!  I’m just not happy with myself, and nobody else sees it.  Here I am, struggling with bulimia and anxiety disorder and depression, and I have to keep quiet about it.  Nobody thinks I’m trying my hardest.  When I have my “days,” everyone in my family thinks I’m fishing for attention.  Just now, my younger sister Lauren said, “Katy, you know you’re fine.  You’re being rude and dramatic, and you’re making a big deal out of nothing, like you always do.”  Lauren’s so no-nonsense.  She doesn’t cry or have panic attacks the way that I do.  I can’t tell her that I’ve been making myself throw up.  I’m afraid she won’t believe me.  Nobody in my house will, and they won’t take me to a therapist.  I don’t know what to do.

Stream of Consciousness Prayer

Lord, 
You taught the sun to shine so bright,
to hide beneath the hills and trees at night.
You made all things with a purpose,
You gave us each a soul,
and, Jesus, only You can make me whole.

I spent a long time struggling in vain
to make sense of existence based on chance,
a universe without a God to tell the skies to rain,
where chromosomes and DNA declare us all the same,
and love is the effect of raw endorphins to the brain,
and I am no creation of God’s hands.

Those hands that hold and love and give,
hands that curled in pain
as He, by His children, was tortured and slain,
so that sinners like me could live,
and choose to misuse and hate and abuse
and refuse His very name.
We hurt Him and aggrieve Him,
but He loves us all the same.

Jesus, I’ll know You’ll be with me
for whatever comes.
Like sentinels,
my soul waits for the day You’ll call me Home.

Amen.

Claudia

Claudia,
I’m writing you a letter from the front pew.
The people around me are crying.
I look at them,
and I wonder whether I should be crying, too.

Everyone expects me to be the one girl
monopolizing the Kleenex box
as she tries to write a coherent, cohesive letter
to a friend who changed her life,
a tear-stained, tell-all, pour-your-heart-out letter
saying everything I never told you.
But mostly, just to say “Thank you.”

I think my dry eyes are a product
of my belief that,
at any given moment,
we’ll all turn to see your smiling face,
hear your every-bit-as-smiling voice,
and dry our eyes.
That’s just the effect you’ve always had on people,
Claudia.

And now I’ve joined the weeping bunch,
because I’m remembering.
I know that voice, I’ve seen that smile,
I remember your scent
and the exact tightness of your hugs.

I was thirteen when I met you.
You were sitting in a canvas chair,
you wore a bandana
because you didn’t have hair.
I was skinny and pale and depressed,
I’d barely left my room in months.
But when I talked to you,
I somehow knew
that at least one person cared.

Claudia, you said
how amazed you were
to see the changes in me.
I saw them, too,
and I saw that you had hair now.
Dark, thick curls like mine.
I thanked God—
—something I had started doing more often lately.
I really was different.

I never saw you lose your hair again.

I don’t even remember the last time I saw you.

I never told you that you saved me,
but you didn’t care whose handiwork it was:
you were just happy to see me happy,
and that made me happy to know you.

I think that’s why,
right now,
at your Mass,
I’m more grateful for you
than sad about missing you.

Religious Flame Wars for Christ?

Image

Gahhhhhhhhhhhh.

How on earth can I keep myself from getting angry and spiteful and fired up when I come across blogs like this?  It’s really, really difficult.  Like, really.  I think Catholic hate from other self-professed Christians upsets me even more than hardcore atheists attacking religion as a whole.  I just can’t help but feel like, just maybe, running a “Christian” hate blog about Catholicism and Islam isn’t all that Christlike.  Correct me if I’m wrong.

I don’t think Jesus cries tears of joy in heaven every time one of His disciples verbally attacks another.  I just can’t really see that happening.  I mean, I know that we Catholics have done our share of casting stones, but even the one true Church—especially the one true Church—has to realize that we are first and foremost the hands and feet of Christ.  People who don’t know Christ can only come to know Him through His Body on earth.

Getting into a religious flame war with the Christian Spook guy might feel satisfying, but in the end, it’s not about what I want.  This is not about me.  This is about the God I serve.  If I’m truly His hands and feet, I have to swallow my pride, the part of me that wants to lash out.  I have to act like Christ, not like Katy.  That’s what I’m trying to do these days.

Why It’s Hard to Believe Abortion is Wrong

This is excellent.

Catholic Cravings

I used to not think about abortion – at all. It just wasn’t on my radar.

Then I started considering the Catholic Church and one of my real objections is that I didn’t want to believe abortion was that wrong. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I thought it was wrong but I wanted to think it was a legitimate, if regrettable, personal decision which I had no business interfering in. I didn’t want to believe that abortion killed a living human being. I definitely didn’t want to change my beliefs.

It’s such a massive issue. If every tiny embryo and fetus is actually a human person, albeit still growing (but then who isn’t?), then what is happening all over the world is nothing less than infanticide on an industrial scale. It would be the sort of wholesale slaughter of the most vulnerable and innocent. At a conservative estimate, there…

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On Metanoia & Conversion

I didn’t really find God until my freshman year of high school.  At my school, all freshmen take Doctrinal Foundations as an introductory course to the Catholic faith.  As you can imagine, that class involved memorizing a lot of Greek- and Latin-based vocabulary that only Catholics use.  That’s how I learned the word metanoiaGreek for “change of heart.”  I’ve never forgotten that word.  It was just so applicable to everything I was going through at the time, and everything I still go through on a regular basis.

Right now, though, metanoia is applicable to the theme of conversion, one of the most wonderful things I can name.  Just recently, I came across this article about Leah Libresco, a former atheist blogger who experienced a beautiful conversion to Catholicism.  In popular culture, actor Mark Wahlberg speaks openly of the personal experiences that led him to become a devout Catholic who attends daily Mass with his wife.  Do we all see how incredible metanoia is?

One of my favorite Scripture verses is Psalm 130:6: “My soul waits for the Lord more than watchmen for morning.”  Every soul thirsts for Christ and His love.  Often, we just don’t realize it, so we end up searching elsewhere for something or someone to take the edge off our longing.  I tried too damn long to drown out that emptiness before I found God.  Nothing worked.  God came to me in the peak of my depression and self-loath, and He blessed me with metanoia.  That change of heart has made all the difference in my life.

Goodnight, you guys!  I hope you all sleep well, remembering that Jesus knows your lowest lows and loves you all the same.  Turn your heart towards Him, and He’ll never let you fall. ♥

~ katy, thelightiswhite

Mourning & Poetry

So, today was kind of hard.  I went to my grandma’s house for the first time since she died of ALS, or Lou Gehrig’s Disease.  It happened about a month ago, and in a lot of ways, it still hasn’t sunken in for me.  My family hasn’t really talked about it too much since the funeral.  I mean, I understand that we’re trying to move on, but I haven’t really had time to grieve.  There’s just been so much going on, and I’ve been doing my best to comfort my mom and younger sister.  They’re both so strong usually, and seeing them so broken up, I’ve just wanted to be the crying shoulder.  I never shed a tear until a few weeks later, when I went away for a week to High-LI.  I broke down completely.

Anyway, I wrote this short poem today.  It’s not my best, but I think it pretty well describes the pain of dealing with goodbyes.  For me, at least.

If heaven wasn’t far away,
I’d tell you, “I’ll come visit.”
If goodbyes weren’t so bittersweet,
we’d say it with a smile.
If love could always find a way,
death wouldn’t be the limit.
If forever wasn’t so damn far,
I’d just close my eyes.
I’d be with you in a little while.

Catholic Blog Suggestions?

So, I’m really, really hoping that this blog of mine will be a long-term thing, not a flighty fancy I’ll just drop as soon as school starts back up at the end of the month.  If I’m going to stick with this, though, I really want to find my little Catholic niche on here, you know?  I’ve already followed a number of Catholic blogs, and I hope to find that we have a sort of tight-knit community, the way that the Tumblr Catholics do.  If anyone has any good recommendations for blogs to follow, I’d love to hear them. (: