Another Return

I always go MIA for long periods of time, then come back suddenly.  I guess you’re all used to that by now.  I guess a lot has happened, and I really do need to “restaple” my heart to Christ.  It’s been a hard year, but I’m ready to stop living in fear that I’m somehow beyond God’s reach.  Depression, eating disorder, anxiety, Dad leaving me—my God is greater than the sum of my fears.  Just a stream of consciousness prayer I wrote to God today:

 

Lord,

I ask You constantly for things I can’t even comprehend, so I’m going to humble my prayers to layman’s terms.  I’m looking for Your peace, Lord, first and foremost.  I pray that You will help me to quiet the intrusive, fear-stricken voices in my head so that I may listen to You instead and come to hear the quiet words You whisper into my heart.  I trust that You’ll bring me back to Your arms, Jesus, and I promise You that I will, by the help of Your grace, let Your gentle, loving voice lead me back home.  I’m a little lost right now, Jesus, but I will not give up.  I love You more than I can understand, and, if nothing else, I will always stretch my arms toward You as You pull me back to shore.  Again, I’ll say it, Jesus: I love You.  I’ll give You my nothing if it’s all I have.

Amen.

 

Out of context, I’m sure this prayer is pretty incoherent, but in light of my faith life as of late, I feel like it says all that I’ve been wanting to say to God.

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.

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.

Vanity

I think I’m onto something.  You know that feeling you get when something you’ve heard countless times finally clicks?  That might be what this is.  Dear Jesus, please let it be that.  The realization is something so simple, something I’ve had to teach myself time and again because I always seem to forget: IT’S NOT ALL ABOUT ME.

I registered on WordPress about an hour ago believing that God was telling me to do it.  I had to pick a username, something that’s just second-nature to me.  I have accounts registered on more sites than I can count, and there are about three possible usernames I might choose.  They all have my name, like “katybliss”, “KaleidoKaty”, etc..  Well, maybe it was just the desire for anonymity (I don’t think that’s the case), but today I felt compelled to pick something less about me and more about Jesus, about my faith.  I decided on “thelightiswhite” (see last post).  I’m really glad.  Also, I have to choose a Gravatar, or whatever you call it.  I could just use the pretty selfie I use on every site, but no, I think that when the Gravatar picker thing actually works for me, I’m going to follow suit and choose a photo of my dear patron saint, Maria Goretti.  Or something like that.  

Yeah, these are little things, just a username and a profile photo, but for me, that’s a big deal.  What I’m thinking about right now, as I type these words, is how much stock I put into myself, how damn much I care what everyone else thinks about me.  That’s the problem with my Facebook, my Tumblr, my Wanelo.  My online profiles are “Katy domain,” places where it’s all about me, what I think, what I like.  I do my best to reblog Catholic stuff when I can, but it’s always outweighed by the bobdylanopinionsclotheshumorartmovieshorrorpsychologymusicfandom content blob that seems to take up most of my self-identity, online and in real life.  Oh, and when I do post stuff about prayer, chastity, saints, Catholicism and the like, it’s more to remind my online audience, “See, guys, I’m a Catholic.”  It’s pride more than anything.

I’m really insecure and overwhelmed, you guys.  I’m dealing with severe anxiety disorder, the recent death of my grandma, the aftermath of my parents’ divorce and the huge strain it’s had on my relationship with both parents, this incredible burden of guilt and inadequacy…and most recently, a secret eating disorder.  I’m not listing these issues to gain sympathy.  I’m listing them because I’ve been neglecting them for so long, and it’s occurring to me just now that instead of going to Jesus for help, I’ve shoved them inward and masked them with narcissism.

Lord, I’m done with being two different people.  I’m done with pushing aside my problems and silencing them with self-destruction.  I’m ready to instead lay them at Your feet.  I know that You told me to create this blog for a reason.  When I feel tempted to make myself throw up, when I want to hurt myself, please, Jesus, give me the strength to post it here instead, to pray about it and trust that You, my Savior, will carry me in my weakness.  Amen.