Self-Love Isn't Selfish

I have all sorts of funny stories (at least to me) of different men who have found me attractive that I will not share with the public. I am not that cruel. And going the other direction, I know that there are at least a few guys who have some pretty funny stories (at least to them) of me making a fool of myself over them. Truth is, every time I ever really liked a guy, I was too afraid to open up and act like myself around them, to the point where I’d start hyperventilating when I saw them. Even if I was friends with them to begin with, the minute I started to entertain thoughts of there maybe being more than just friendship, I started to freeze up, incapable of showing my true, real self around them anymore. I’m sure it appeared like I wasn’t interested as I probably acted similarly to men who I didn’t find attractive at all. Needless to say, these men never wanted me.

The last guy I liked, no loved, didn’t want me either. To me, he surpassed any man I had ever met in terms of desirability. Hence, my fear of him was greater than I’d ever felt of anyone. My social anxiety just flared up massively with him. I guess I just unconsciously gave him too much power in my head in the sense that I knew his rejection of me would really, really hurt me, so I was afraid to show him my real self in case he’d reject me. So I didn’t show him, and he did reject me. No matter how much I prayed to God to lessen my anxiety, it didn’t occur. And the guy started dating someone else.

Before knowing he was dating her, I finally got up the guts to really pour out my heart to him in a letter. That’s when I heard that he had a girlfriend in his short response. By this point, the fact that he knew and the desperation of the situation shoved me at him. All the things I had wanted to say I tried to say, but at this point it was too late. He didn’t want to hear it. At this point, I could have been way more compatible with him than his girlfriend, and he wouldn’t have listened. He had made up his mind.

Right now, I’m going to assume that this guy wasn’t just making up silly excuses to leave him alone. I guess I’ll never have proof that he wasn’t. But when I asked him why he didn’t find me attractive, he said that we just didn’t have similar interests. We did. I just hadn’t told him or showed him. And he said I was just too shy around him. Oh the IRONY. The most tragic irony ever. That he rejected me for my anxiety. For the thing of which I was a victim. For my curse, the cause of so much suffering and isolation for me already. My anxiety refused to let me show him my real, true self in fear of rejection. And it was my anxiety itself that he ended up rejecting. And the agony to come with that realization has caused greater regrets than I’ve ever had before, and has not exactly helped much in overcoming my anxiety. To this day, I have felt incapable of moving past it all. So many what-ifs…

But it is in thinking about this now, that it has FINALLY occurred to me just how much self-love is underrated. Especially within the Christian community where self-love should spread to everyone. At least, from my experience it has seemed to be lacking. I lack it. I hate myself more than anyone else on Earth hates me (that I’m aware of anyway). I have no grace toward myself. I blame myself for everything.

While visiting my family, my little sister and I watched a few home videos. I love watching home videos for the memories. It’s also interesting to view yourself from a third person perspective. I’ve never liked most of what I’ve seen on camera. I noticed all the things about myself that I thought others must hate—all the negative things. I noticed my horrid hair and clothing at age fourteen. I despised my lack of attention to my own appearance. I hated my big ears, frizzy hair, big nose, little mouth, etc. I hated my abrupt way of impulsively speaking out for truth without regard for others’ feelings, but when I was quiet, I hated that too. I hated how my family was paying attention to my dad opening gifts and I was stuck on one gift he had gotten that showed pictures and historical things that had happened in the year my dad was born. I hated how I found that fascinating, and my family wasn’t as interested. I hated my nerdiness. I hated my nervous smile and giggle. I hated my self-conscious posture. I hated how at about age three, I was too intimidated to hit a piñata by myself. Why couldn’t I just be that tough kid who didn’t give a crap like my brothers and cousin? I hated watching myself at about age three when my mom was recording my dad wrestling with me and my brothers and I crawled away to my mom and tried to get her to focus on me by telling her that the “daddy monster is scary” and yelled the word “butt” repeatedly, but she didn’t seem to notice. I knew as I watched these videos that I was just being negative toward myself. I was being hateful and judgemental. Completely self-loathing. But when I tried to see myself through the eyes of others, like they’d like me, I couldn’t see anything beautiful. Could anyone actually see me, who I was, and like it?

When I took a step back and another step closer again, blinked a few times, and cleared my head, I started to see myself as myself. Sure, I have always struggled with choosing the correct time and the right way to express the truth I stood for, but the point is, I was standing for truth even if it was “petty” little details. When I was afraid to hit that piñata, sure I was timid, but I admired the beauty of the piñata, and I was being gentle. I even tried to make sure that all the candy that my brother knocked out went to my brother just to make it all fair while other kids might have just tried to grab it all for themselves. Just because my aggression and my gentleness did not come out in the times that others thought they should does not make me virtue-less. It makes me an individual. I saw my horrid hair and my horridly unflattering clothing at age fourteen as detestable. But I was still growing into my body. I hadn’t exactly figured out how to care for myself in that way yet. I may have not known how to care for my physical appearance, but when you read my journal from that age, you can read of a heart longing to be loved, daring to be different, seeking maturity and godliness, and that is incredibly beautiful. And when I see that situation when I nagged my mom and repeatedly laughed at the word “butt”, I was just being a kid, and I was just trying to seek security when the situation felt too rough for me.

In attempting to see myself now with love, sure I’ve got a heck of a lot of faults and am very insecure and currently “failing” in life, but when I dig deeper, I can see a person who, like when I was a child, finds it hard to conform to the mold I’m forced within. I find someone struggling to stay true to all their values at one time while still making other people happy and failing again and again. I see genuineness, strength and growing maturity.

I’ve heard people say that when you lack confidence and present yourself as you see yourself—as unlikable—then it becomes a self-fulfilling prophesy and people aren’t going to like you, so you should just be confident. But loving yourself so that others will love you is still making a decision based on what others will think of you. What if they don’t  end up liking you anyway?

Even in this experience with that guy, I tell myself, if I had just had more confidence, if I had just loved myself more, if I had just not been scared, maybe then that guy would have loved me. Maybe then I would be worthy of his love. It wasn’t until I recently told myself that I am never getting married that my eyes were opened. How freeing to let go of my dream for marriage (I haven’t nearly completely done it, folks. It will take time.). I had to see myself as a whole single person and really dig into what that would look like. I had to feel whole now, not like I was going to be a whole person once I found a husband! I would still be the same person either way. What if no man in the world ever found me desirable? I’ve always tried to convince myself that I’d still be desirable despite any humanly opinion of me. Apparently, according to God, I am still worth it all. So I asked myself, what if I had nothing to offer anyone around me? Would I still be worth it? What if I really had nothing to offer the guy who rejected me? Would I still be worth it? I always told myself yes, but I’m still trying to believe it, though I think I’m starting to gain some peace in this. But this peace doesn’t make me want to live this life any more than I did before. It makes me want to leave this world and just be with God forever. I want to be away from the cruel, imperfect, unmerciful injustice of this world. I’m tired of trying. I don’t want to have to change the world. I don’t want to have change myself anymore. I don’t want the world to be restored in a very slow painful process that hurts me and others. I want it to be destroyed and done with. But I guess I just have to wait for whatever comes. Lord, carry me home, please?

But back to self-love. The thing is, self-love can’t rely on what you think you deserve or what you think others think you deserve. When you truly love someone, you love them regardless of how much they deserve it. You have to love yourself in the same way just because you exist. That’s it. You exist, and that’s amazing. If you hurt someone, that action would not be amazing. Your decision would not be amazing. Self-love does not condone the evil that is done, but it grants grace and a second chance and third chance and fourth, and so on.

If you respond to your own bad decision with criticism and shame, then how will you ever change? Seeing as you’re the only one who can make you change, if you don’t believe you can, then how will it happen? I have often taken the Christian perspective “love your neighbor as yourself” and warped it to “love other people more than you love yourself”. I thought that loving myself to the same extent as others would make me selfish. But you have to treat yourself with the same respect and the same love that you would treat others, assuming you are trying to treat them well. You can’t wait for someone else to show you grace. You can’t wait for someone to look past your first impression or physical appearance and seek your heart, because it’s not guaranteed that others will make the choice to do so. That guy I wanted never did. There really is nothing you can do to guarantee that others will always love you even if they claim to love you now. Ultimately, love is a choice that you can’t make for someone else. And that’s not your fault!!

 I think the following poem that I found in various places online called “After a While” by Veronica A. Shoffstall sums it all up quite well:

After a while you learn

the subtle difference between

holding a hand and chaining a soul

and you learn

that love doesn't mean leaning

and company doesn't always mean security.

And you begin to learn

that kisses aren't contracts

and presents aren't promises

and you begin to accept your defeats

with your head up and your eyes ahead

with the grace of a woman, not the grief of a child

and you learn to build all your roads on today

because tomorrow's ground is

too uncertain for plans

and futures have a way of falling down

in mid-flight.

After a while you learn

that even sunshine burns

if you get too much

so you plant your own garden

and decorate your own soul

instead of waiting for someone

to bring you flowers.

And you learn that you really can endure

you really are strong

you really do have worth

and you learn

and you learn

with every goodbye, you learn...

I Wanna Get Better

Tomorrow, I start counseling for the first time in a couple years with a new counselor…

I think everyone reaches a point (or many points) in their life where they feel like they’ve been dealt way more than they could handle. Maybe it’s a life-time of misfortune. I’ve felt like I’ve reached “that point” many times. But I don’t think I ever so strongly reached that point until about a year and four months ago. It doesn’t matter what caused it. Everyone compares the amount of pain they’ve experienced to others like there’s a scale. There’s that saying that you should be grateful for the life you have no matter what it is you’ve experienced, because there’s someone out there who’s experienced worse. And often, people are quick to jump in and say, “I’ve been there,” but the fact that they just expect you to “let it go and get over it” seems to suggest otherwise. All I know is I’ve experienced utter agony no matter how many times others try to belittle the situation.

Unfortunately, it’s really hard to take yourself seriously when others don’t. I can pinpoint a single moment at the aforementioned time a year and four months ago when my heart just died. I literally felt it sink away from me, and I have yet to get it back. It just shut down. Despite any will I had, it just reached a point where it could take no more. It had reached its limit. The careless, selfish animals that mauled it to shreds all came away unscathed, but I didn’t. I was left to somehow put a bloody, frayed mess back together, which has resulted in a patched up, sloppy job. Each time, it’s patched up wrong, it just explodes open again to be patched up again.

           

Even now, successful healing is not imminent. Though I have been tempted many a time to give up, I will not. I have decided. I will not give up. I. Will. Not. The unfortunate thing about mourning and healing, is that it can take so long. I’ve started to wonder, though, if blaming myself for the pain, as if I should be stronger than that, is hindering me from healing. People just say to get over it. But just because they wouldn’t have responded with so much intense emotion doesn’t make my pain any less. Just because they don’t understand doesn’t mean it’s any less real. They aren’t me.

In the past year, I have experienced pain that has driven me literally mad, praying for death, screaming, bawling, and continuously digging my fingernails into my skin. Yes, utterly crazy. And the pain doesn’t decrease. But is all the pain self-inflicted unconsciously? I don’t know, though those are the kinds of thoughts I have. I feel like it’s all my fault. But it’s still pain right? No matter how it occurred. And I’m still facing it.

It’s hard to mourn. And to allow yourself to truly recognize the hurt for what it is and where it came from. It’s hard to let go of things that you wanted that you won’t have, things that you wish happened that never did and never will, things that might have happened had you only done this or that, thing that never should have happened, things that might happen that you don’t want to happen, things that you hope will happen, and things that you currently just can’t believe are happening to you. Not to you…as a kid I dreamed of perfect happy endings for myself. Tragic endings were for other people. But not for me. I believed in perfection for myself one day.

But the truth is, crap happens in life. It shouldn’t happen. It is not something that we should just accept as the way of life. It really shouldn’t be the way of life. You didn’t deserve it. I didn’t either. A lot of Christians will say otherwise. But not everything that happens is payback or Karma. Not everything is deserved. And God doesn’t necessarily just let it happen to you to teach you something. I was told He did and I tried to believe it. But I found I can’t. I just can’t accept that. He could use any situation to teach me any lesson. I don’t think He had to hurt me this way to get a point across if He had one. I refuse to believe this is His perfect will for me. Right now, I would rather go to Hell than believe that. I’m in it already.

Regardless of all that, these tragic things happened. And now we can’t pretend it didn’t. It did. And it freaking sucks. I know I’ve written of tragedy before, but this moment is big for me. I have a habit of facing the pain head on then falling weak, and tricking my brain to not believe the truth of my situation. I live in denial; run from reality. Because of this, I am dealing with pain that has gone on for years and years and years, and I’ve just tried to cover it again and again prematurely rather than to just let the original wound heal. Now it’s not just one wound, it’s a collection of wounds that I have to deal with all at once.

 I’m learning that you can’t “put a helmet on a helmet” as it says in the song “I Wanna Get Better” by Bleachers. No amount of helmets can protect my already bullet-loaded head. The wounds just fester and rot, while I pretend the pain does not exist. I have just let the same wound fester, while other wounds just piled on top until my whole heart and mind became one entire mass of wound that I could no longer control, and I just shut down…and then woke up again insane. Now I wanna get better. Truly, get better. God help me, I might. One has to hope one can. 

My Divergent Personality

People like to generalize and say that the idea of “different” is not real. We’re all different, hence, in that way, we’re really not different at all since we’re similar in that, well, we’re all different. The idea of unique differences scares people; alienates them. People want to be different, but not too different, right? It scares me too. Technically on a fine-tuned level, yes there are going to be little details that are different. No one is 100% the same. But some people just don’t seem to fit into a group. People like to generalize about themselves and everyone else, but some people just don’t fit in the box.

I watched the movie Divergent and my heart became full. This was a movie where the heroine did not fit in (not a new concept in movies, I know that), overthrew the government (this is also nothing new), AND got the hot guy! Despite the fact that this is a very trendy theme to use in teenage movies these days, I will confess to relating to it so, so much…minus the hot guy. I tried to fit myself into one of the specific categories made up in the movie, but honestly and proudly, I will declare DIVERGENCE!! This actually makes me feel really good. But despite the fact that we glorify this “Divergent” type on the screen, in real life, it’s not as accepted. I guess that’s why this movie is relatable to me. It was representing our real world.

           

I feel like Tris. Tris, like everyone in the world in which she lived, was forced to take a test that told her who she was, and what life she should choose to live in. Unfortunately for Tris, her results were different than the majority. She scored equally on everything, therefore, she was seen as a threat to the governmental system under which she lived. She had to hide her difference from everyone or be killed. She did not fit into a box. Despite my huge fascination with personality tests and loads of attempts to label myself so that I can tell people in simpler terms what type of person I am, if asked, I find that, similar to the test in Divergent, labeling myself and others is not so easy.

During my last year of high school, one of my classes required me to take the Keirsey Temperament Sorter and write about what type I was. As the teacher was explaining the assignment, someone in class asked what to do if you got more than one type. I seconded the question. She said to look up the two types you got and decide which fit you better. I then asked, “What if I got four?”  Did she really expect me to look up ALL of them? The numbers were even so close that I almost scored 8 of the 16 types. Already there seemed to be “punishment” for those who didn’t fit in a box. I had to do more work. She sighed and asked me a few questions:

“Are you good at science?”

“Nope.”

“Are you good at math?”

“Nope.”

“Are you a good writer?”

“Uh…I guess. But I don’t really like it…”

“But are you good at it?”

“I dunno, I’m pretty good, I guess.”

“You’re an INFP.”

When I read the INFP description, I didn’t really relate to it. The description just seemed to describe some nice, sweet, sensitive person, which didn’t at all fit how I saw myself at the time, or even now, really. In fact, my skepticism led me to read the description of every type, and I didn’t relate completely with any of them. I finally just chose a type that I didn’t even score on the test, hoping it fit me best. Even my family members didn’t think I fit the description my teacher said I was or the one I chose. But I had to choose something. It bothered me that I couldn’t label myself so simply. I wanted to be able to choose an identity that others would understand and that I could brag about. To this day, I keep trying to label myself through different personality theories, but I really just don’t fit, much to my own frustration!

One funny thing about the Myers-Briggs theory and others like it (like the Keirsey one) is that when you go to an online discussion forum about the theory, you’ll find people almost idolizing the types that are supposedly more rare and for which the descriptions are very nice, like the INFJ type, for example. If at any moment I thought I might not be the INFJ type, I would feel jealous that someone else had a rarer type than I had. Fortunately for me, I could claim that type if I wanted. I scored that one. I could also claim INTJ if I wanted, another rare type. Or INFP or INTP. Not that I ever really did, but I was in a good position where I could feel quite glorified. The funny thing is, this test cannot both be accurate, and this type also be rare. I’ve met far too many supposed INFJs. I was once in a room of about 15 people, 4 of whom claimed to be INFJs. Most of them were just acquaintances to each other, and all of them had very, very different personalities. Maybe the type of situation (theological discussion) was more attractive to these intuitive types, but that seems a little fishy to me.

Anyway, I took a “cognitive function” test on one of these forums that was supposed to be able to determine my type based on my function strengths, according to the theory. My functions, in order, did not match that of any type under the theory. I found this quite frustrating. I asked what the heck it meant on the forum, and the person who had created the quiz said that it could potentially not be accurate as it was a new test and was still in progress. Okay, cool. But is it possible that perhaps my “type” is not really a type described in the theory yet? Considering my confusion from the start, that seemed a little more likely to me.

Cognitive function tests on other sites did not generate the exact same results, but the results were all fairly similar. Some consistencies included a high Introverted Intuition score and “Your Extroverted Thinking is poorly developed.” Jerks. Thanks so much for reminding me. Apparently Extroverted Thinking is the function that helps you to be productive and efficient, neither of which I am. Funny stuff, huh? The cognitive test itself seemed fairly accurate, actually. But no, because I didn’t fit a type, it must be that the test was inaccurate. Apparently I can’t be unique. I wanted the test to be inaccurate, but I think I knew it wasn’t. I wanted confirmation that I was the rarest of acknowledged types that was looked up to. Instead, I was, as of yet, undefined and consequently unaccepted as such. I was unknown.

And after years of trying to define myself, I’m finally asking the question, “What exactly am I looking for?” I guess what I want is to be unique. But is that really what I want? Or do I not only want to be unique, but also set apart and somehow considered “the best”? I think what I want is to be the only unique one and for everyone to look at me and wish they were me. I want everyone else to be the same, and for me to be different, but adored. So basically, the way that God is supposed to be, right? But even God isn’t adored by everyone. And I hold myself to this standard. I hold myself to the standard of a god, which, of course, I’ve never and will never fulfill. I want to be worshiped, and people just aren’t worshiping me. At least that’s what all of this came to.

But you know what I think I want even more than that? I want to be known. I've looked to personality theories to be known, because I’ve always felt so misunderstood by everyone. Yet the more I tried to label myself, the more unknown I felt. These theories were trying to box me in, when I knew I was different than that. I was looking for an easy way to make people understand me and pay attention to me. But really, by claiming a personality type as my own that I know I am not, I was just making it so much easier for everyone to totally misunderstand me.

The personality type I chose to write about in high school was the ISFP type. Again, it wasn’t one of the four types I had “scored”, though I had almost scored it. I chose it, not because the description said it was rare (supposedly ISFP types are fairly common), but because one site labeled it as “The Artist”. And out of all the labels that I could have chosen at the time, I chose that. I knew I was good at art. To be honest, I think that was a good reason to choose that type. The type may not describe me well, but in a sense, by choosing based on that reason, I was defining myself. Or rather, acknowledging the part of myself that I knew I was, instead of letting a theory define me. I knew I was an artist. Now, I know that I’m a whole host of other things as well, personality theory certified or not.

           

I’m not saying that personality theories have no benefit whatsoever. Studying personality theories has opened my mind to a whole new realm of thought. It has helped me to go deep within myself and discover parts of my mind and heart that I had never seen before. It brought me to a place where I actually attempted to be self-aware and pay attention to how I responded in different situations. All that aside, it’s all just very interesting.

I would say that Jungian typology is onto something. I’ve noticed each of the different types within my own personality. I didn’t even think about the existence of Introverted Intuition before researching it, and supposedly, it’s my most dominant function. One time, my friend asked me how something made me feel and I responded that worms were crawling around in my vagina!—directly translated “I’m SOOOO upset!!” Sometimes I understand why I’m lonely. As a kid, I would get frustrated sometimes because all these weird images that didn’t make sense would go rushing through my mind and I didn’t know how to explain it to anyone. Now I know I’m not the only one with weird thoughts like that. In this way, knowledge of the theory was useful to me.

Personality theories could potentially be useful, but they need to not generalize too much and leave room for individuality. The fact that people change over time is something that also needs to be taken into consideration. Maybe cognitive function tests could be used as more of a strength and weakness test to determine what that individual does well, and what they could benefit from working on. Apparently, Introverted Intuition is fairly strong for me. But it would probably help if I developed my Extroverted Thinking and Extroverted Sensing functions just a little more…okay a lot…my time management just SUCKS. Like, I don’t understand how anyone could be that bad at it! But I’m trying.

Basically, there’s something to be said about acknowledging and accepting differences in people. I think the fact that people go about trying to label different types is that different types actually do exist and it can be overwhelming. You’re gonna meet people who are really different from you and it’s helpful to know a little bit about how they work so you can understand them and communicate with them better. Personality theories might be helpful to an extent. They have been for me. But why not just break out your accepting side (hopefully you have one, if you don’t, you need to get one; you can’t just claim unacceptance as a personality trait), and take the time to get to know how people click on an individual level? That could just help you even more.

Picking Some Intense Christian Boogers

To begin, this post is for people who know a decent amount about Christianity already. If you don’t, please look into it, then come back here. This should not be your knowledge source. I’m a person who feels the need to express myself, and I am expressing myself about a religion that I have been within my whole life. This post is mainly for expression as is my entire blog really. I don’t know if what I think and feel is right. I know Christians would say it isn’t. My whole life, I have called myself a Christian, but right now, I am allowing everything that doesn’t sit right and that keeps me from being fully devoted to merge to the surface. I am Christian, but I don’t want to be. And I haven’t wanted to be for quite some time. Yet, here I still am.

You can disagree with everything that I’ll say here. That’s alright. Maybe I even disagree and don’t know it yet. Please don’t tell me that all these questions are things that many people have, but we just have to have faith. That is forever tiring. These problems are huge. When you say that, it’s like a booger that can’t get out. The mucus covers the dirt that needs get out, but it’s still just stuck to each person’s nose hairs for the world to see anyway while no one says anything to each other. I’m tired of hearing it, and I’m tired of looking at your boogers. I, for one, find it hard to ignore. You’re trying to save face, and failing. Your nose has boogers. My nose has boogers too, but at least I’m not living in denial about it. This is not just about “having doubts”. I don’t think “doubt” is a strong enough word to express the inner turmoil of everything or the treachery of an un-picked booger. There’s no way I could cover everything in one blog post. Heck, my blog posts are long enough as it is. But I’ll do my best to explain the main issues.

Basically, I’m not one to be submissive. I never have been, and at the moment, I am doubtful that I ever will be. Christians believe that we should submit to God in everything. Many believe that wives should submit to their husbands, children to their parents, and anyone in “authority” over you. If you know me well, you’ll know my stance on marriage and that I don’t believe that a husband should be in authority over his wife. This is not something I would ever enforce as a rule. It is very unlikely that this will be put into practice in my own marriage. Anyway, submission and obedience seem to be big aspects of Christianity that I have never been able to follow, and never agreed with. My parents tried to force obedience from me, but the heart wasn’t there. The funny thing about me when I was growing up was that I obeyed my parents’ wishes behind their back because I felt like it would be dishonest if I didn’t. But in front of their face? Heck, no. I wasn’t going to follow a direct order. Especially if their only explanation was “Because I said so.” That is probably the most exasperating thing you can tell a curious person who doesn’t believe in the value of obedience for the sake of obedience.

 Just because I was unfortunate enough to be born into a world where the problem of authority has always seemed to exist does not mean that I have ever really had respect for authority for authority’s sake. I have followed the rules often enough either because I actually agreed with them, or simply because I didn’t want to go to jail, get an F on my paper, get a spanking, or lose someone’s trust in me. But I don’t think I have ever followed an order simply because whoever gave it was in authority and I should respect their position. Last time I checked, I had no control over whether or not I was born. I didn’t choose to be born into a world where I would be told what to do by other humans who do not have any higher intrinsic value than I. And I also did not choose to be born into a world where there would be a God who would rule over me either.

I would love to live in a world where no one was in authority over anyone else. People would just be loving, selfless, giving, helpful, and listen to others who clearly knew what they were talking about and not worry about official positions. In a perfect world, there would be no authority figures and no rules. People would just be nice to each other. So you’re the president? Doesn’t mean you know what’s best for your country. So you’re a parent? Doesn’t mean you know what’s best for your kids. So you’re God? Do you know what’s best for your children? Your supposed artistic masterpieces that you love oh so much and that you let starve to death or get raped, or tortured, or from whom you simply withhold that one thing that each of them wants above all else whatever it may be? Here I am, having a hard enough time submitting to imperfect humans, and then there’s God. The One who I should be able to trust above anyone, but I can’t. And I don’t. I try, believe me, I do, but I just can’t. Supposedly, this is where faith comes in. But honestly, you could have faith in anything. Where does faith become insanity? Faith in this does not make me feel better about now, or the future. So why should I believe it? It would make sense that there would be a God to say what is “good” so that we could feel like there is order and not chaos, and actually know what is good. But I cannot accept things as they are. As they are, they are not good, even according to the Christian God’s definition. Still, He does nothing.

Many Christians hold many opposing views at one time without any concern as to the illogicalness of it. Apparently “God has a plan for your life and everything that happens is His will”, yet, I’m still responsible for my actions? “You are made in the image of God,” yet I supposedly still manage to do things that are evil? Supposedly “God is letting this bad thing happen to you to teach you something”, yet I thought He was a merciful compassionate God. “Trust God. He loves you and will protect you,” is not a comforting phrase when many people who love God are being hurt every day. You cannot trust that an earthquake will not shatter your home cause, God knows, He doesn’t always come through. Why in the world do Christians walk around saying, “God did this for me today, He helped me with this today,” etc, and give God the credit for all of the good things that happen, but then when something bad happens, they say don’t blame God? And when they do actually blame him, they get a spiel from someone about how God definitely had the best of intentions. Did He? Because when bad things happen, it’s not like God’s going out of His way to reassure me that everything will be okay. In fact, I don’t feel like He even pursues me at all. What a loyal God to always have your back and flee when the worst things happen, right? But I’m supposed to believe that He must’ve had a good reason. “God is a jealous God”, yet isn’t jealousy a sin? Isn’t God supposed to be setting the best example?

I’m gonna pretend that I’m God for a moment. This might be a piece of God’s journal from a Christian perspective as it appears to me:

I love my humans that I created, but they’re just so evil. They won’t do what I say. How come they won’t listen to me? They’re all idiots. Oh look, I wanna give this good thing to this bad person, because I still love them. Oh, that good person who is following my will is suffering, but I don’t think I’m going to do anything because it’s my will that they suffer, I am sovereign, and I can do what I want, and if anyone questions my intentions they better think twice because I am God and I have authority just because I do. Everything I do is for their benefit. I created them and am not destroying them because I love them. They are sad that they are hungry? They should be thankful that they got that little piece of bread that I gave them yesterday. Be thankful you’re surviving! Stop thinking about the fact that I let the devil hurt you by killing your family, Job, and be thankful that I will bring you another family. That should satisfy you. You’re human and can be easily consoled by anything I give you because everything that I give is good. If you don’t like it, you must be evil. Just rejoice and worship me for my sake and for your own. I just want you to love me, that’s all, and I’ll love you. I’ve always loved you. Why can’t you see it even though I let you hurt all the time? I let you hurt because I love you. I’m doing it for your own good, you better believe it! Oh, I’m not going to let you have that thing that you want because you love it too much, and you’re just supposed to love me the most. You should just be satisfied with me and me only. I’m all you need. I should be enough. These little humans all think they know best, but their brains can’t even comprehend me. Ha! I don’t exist? Ha! I am evil? What do they know? They know nothing. They’re evil. I’m going to plan it all out so they do some bad things, create the illusion that they had a choice, tell them it’s all their fault, then act like I’m sacrificing myself for them in the way that humans sacrifice each other sometimes (when really such an act is nothing because I’m God and so I’m above all this anyway) and use that for manipulation so that they will worship me and think I am awesome! It’s such a good plan. Oh! And if they don’t accept my made-up sacrifice, I’m going to torture them forever in hell, even though they had no choice about whether or not they existed in the first place. It’s the just and loving thing to do. Worship me my children, worship me!

Am I crazy, or does this seem like a tyrant to someone besides me? You can say I’m blaspheming, go right ahead. But if this is the God I must submit to and worship, I’d rather die. I feel trapped because I don’t want to humble myself and act like I’m as worthless as crap without God. I don’t want to have absolutely no intrinsic value outside of God, yet I sense my imperfect helplessness within myself. But submit I will not, so yes, at times like right now, I would rather just have never existed at all. But as the Bible says, there is a Hell. And apparently, God controls me completely, and doesn’t even have the decency to just let me die. I have to choose Him or suffer for eternity. That’s just love and justice and mercy at their best, isn’t it?

I know, I know. I’m just an arrogant, ignorant, prideful human. I can just imagine Jesus looking at me with sadness. But I did not choose this. This is not what I would have wanted. This is not what I would have wanted at all. Something extremely strong within me fights against the idea that I have to change my natural inclinations to be God’s, and that supposedly, my will is flawed and God’s is perfect, even when the things I want are not evil at all. If I have to change myself for God, and He doesn’t have to change at all for me, then no thank you. That is not a give and take. I do not like the idea that I was made to be ignorant like Adam and Eve. Their sin was a thirst for knowledge and reason. Oh, such a crime. If they couldn’t have knowledge, why would God create them with the desire for it? How stupid.

If I have to constantly pursue God to have a relationship and don’t get to feel pursued by Him, then no thank you. It should not be that much of a struggle to know someone that is supposedly so eager to know me. If it is true, and God has called certain people according to his purpose, I guess I am not called. And to be honest, right now, I think I could accept it if I could just know that when I die, I will be dead and not tortured to death by a God who can’t stand the fact that I won’t bow to his tyranny.

This is how I feel. This is what has tormented me for way too long. This is what I try to look past. I feel like I cannot look past it anymore. I want love to be real. I want a loving God to exist, but they don’t seem to fit with reality. I get it, I don’t get to make the calls in another being’s universe, but if I have a problem with it, then maybe it’s not my universe. Or maybe there’s something wrong with the way a certain mental framework is explaining it. Sure, the world is “fallen”. It is not as God has intended it to be. But if the intention was for me to be ignorant, and if the idea of being ignorant is not pleasant to me and thus makes me evil, then I’d like no part of it.

This Girl Wrote a Blog Post. What Happens Next is Really...

...really anticlimactic.

Unjustified Mercy

The other day at work, a couple of my coworkers and I were talking about first impressions. We exchanged our first judgments of each other. Both of them told me that their first impression of me was that I was quiet and very shy, but their opinion changed as they got to know me better. I rolled my eyes, because it wasn’t a surprise. I knew they were going to say that. Part of me hoped for a different answer, but I basically knew that’s the one I would get. And, you know, it’s true. I’m shy (and have come a long way in overcoming it! See my June post “A Newfound Confidence”.) But the fact that I’m shy has always really confused me.

For some reason unknown to me, I tend to give off this impression that I am a sweet, gentle creature who wouldn’t hurt a fly. Really, I don’t like pain, or hurting people, and at heart I am gentle and caring. Unfortunately for me, sometimes I can be quite the people-pleaser. But honestly, when it comes to standing up for truth or fighting against a perceived injustice against me, I’m literally a crusader. I will fight to the death! Well, I’ve never actually killed anyone. And I don’t remember ever dying. I only broke my right hand punching my brother when I was 14. Yeah…that taught me a dang good lesson. Especially since the fight was about whose turn it was to play the piano (nerdiness runs in the family), and that one punch I threw left me with the inability to play piano for a while (my world at the time). Oh, the irony. The only positive to that experience, besides helping to teach me not to lash out physically at people, was that my left handed piano playing improved quite a bit. And no, I do not recommend this as a piano teaching tactic. I was gonna say that my parents should’ve put me in a boxing class so I would learn to punch properly, but that might’ve been a bad idea.

Most people seem surprised if I mention that I have somewhat of a bad temper and am a raging bull in certain conflict situations. It confuses me every time that they would never have known. It makes me feel like a faker or something. But I guess I’m not mad all the time. Anyways, this post is for all those little old ladies from back in the day who took a look at my big brown eyes, short little frame, and shy smile and declared, “Oh she’s a little sweetheart.” Try not to judge a book by its cover. I’d like to show you the home video my parents have of me when I was a toddler, laying on the couch, sucking my thumb nonchalantly. My brother was standing next to me, trying to learn how to walk, and I kicked him over a couple times and laughed. And all because he was stealing my attention. That’s a sweetheart for ya. It might have been a bit cute at the time, but wait until someone like that gets older…ugh.

Ya, my parents had their patience tried a time or two, to say the least. As an adult, I laughed when I was looking for a good book in my parents’ library and found their decently-sized stash of parenting books. I remember at least one of them was called “The Strong-Willed Child” or something to that effect. Clearly my poor parents were seeking some help. I don’t know how much of it they tried to put into practice, but unfortunately, I remember reading that book and feeling like a lot of what it said didn’t really apply to me personality-wise, so of course it wouldn’t have helped them. I don’t exactly know everything that was in those books, but I don’t think any of that advice would really have helped them much seeing as I saw through the tactics and would rather dig in my heels stubbornly and take the consequences than submit to what I perceived as power manipulation.

 Ya, life is intense with me and I’ve never really learned to pick and choose my battles. Cause if it’s right, it’s right no matter how small anyone else claims it is. To me, it’s a big deal. I’ve been told many a time to be a lawyer. When I was a kid, if you told my mom that I said something and you were one word off of what was actually said, I made sure she knew the truth, even if what I actually said was worse. I was an honest child, if nothing else. Not really sure why they thought I should be a lawyer. 

           

There is a guy I know who I grew up with, basically as brother and sister since our parents were so close. The poor kid was in my class at school, which meant I’d tattle on him if he did something wrong. When he told the teacher he had two sisters (actually just family friends he felt were close, but he didn’t clarify that), I blurted out in class that he definitely didn’t have any sisters and he was lying! I guess I didn’t understand the whole “we’re related in my heart” idea or whatever. You were either related or not. And they weren’t. Poor kid. I actually feel bad in retrospect.

 The details mattered to me, and I remembered them all. And if you told me I liked arguing, I’d argue you about how much I hated it until it ended in a spanking. And you know, I really did hate it. I still do. I always have. So why do I do it? Why do I fight and argue and as some have put it, “bitch all the time”? Because truth matters that much to me. And justice matters that much to me. I get stressed about conflict. I hate it. But I will bare my teeth and growl until it’s over if I think, I mean know that I’m right. I’m not afraid to make waves. Oceans would be endlessly murky if it weren’t for the waves cleaning themselves along the shore. People are afraid of waves. I’m more afraid of gunk that lurks beneath them. I think this is what a lot of people don’t quite understand. I walk with my head in the clouds, blowing the air, rustling the water. Everyone else is just kissing the ground, and clinging for dear life. As long as they can ignore the murky water, they feel the murk doesn’t exist. Unfortunately, whether it’s me or another unfortunate person or circumstance, something’s going to eventually wash that dirty gunk to shore right on top of those ground-kissing people. In my opinion, it’s better to deal with the conflict now so we don’t have to deal with it later, and the knowledge that the gunk exists when someone is unwilling to deal with it is enough to drive me literally crazy. I go crazy. I mean really crazy! I don’t believe in brushing things under the rug…unless I feel quite guilty that I’ve actually done something wrong and the other person hasn’t.

Like when I showed up late to work and my boss very kindly chastised me. The tiny bit of criticism made me want to curl up in a corner and sob. So I kind of did for a moment. In this sense, I feel like a coward. Even if I had a good excuse for being late, (like sobbing uncontrollably before work and then hitting every single red light on the way there) I don’t think I would have been able to say it. I’m not an excuses maker like that. It didn’t matter what kind of obstacles I faced, I felt I should’ve been on time, and I felt like the worst human being alive! I guess, the truth is out, folks. I have time management problems, and really a terrible concept of time in general. As I said, my head’s in the clouds. But you all knew that already.

So yeah, I’ve never made excuses to my boss at work. In general, I’m not an excuses maker. A while back, when I was still taking courses at a university, my counselor there sent an email to one of my profs giving him a heads up that I struggled with anxiety and it was hindering me in my schoolwork, and that it would be nice if I could get an extension on a due date. I didn't ask for my counselor to do that, but she offered. I felt guilt surge through me. No excuses. No excuses for me. I should be able to do my work. I was sure there were other people in the class struggling with things worse than me. Why should I get special treatment? Maybe it’s partially the way I was brought up. Maybe it was pride. Yeah, pride which leads to a lack of self-empathy and mercy.

I am totally unforgiving to myself. And likewise, I think I am unforgiving of others. I’ve been awakened to this recently. I am holding something against almost every single person that I know. I have judged them for something. Anything. How dare they not be perfect. Then when they seem pretty awesome, my jealousy comes out and I search for something bad about them.

It’s funny how when I was a kid and I tattled in an attempt to deal out justice, I sometimes at first felt satisfied, then I felt remorse and a desire for the person I had gotten in trouble to be forgiven and granted mercy. And even now, my value for both justice and mercy leave me at a loss for what to really ask for in prayer. Is there a good balance between justice and mercy? What is the right formula? I love the idea of grace, mainly because if I do something wrong like I know I will, I’d like to be given a little grace myself. But does it have to be at the expense of justice? What is the right course of action? I don’t like the idea of sacrificing the truth and a sense of “rightness” for mercy.

I have realized that my lack of forgiveness toward myself as well as others is directly linked to my need to fight for justice. Things need to be fair. Things need to be made right. And if no one else will stand for it, I will. Don’t get me wrong, this can be a great quality. My dad recently gave me a surprising compliment that I will remember forever. During one of his rants about a TED talk he had watched, he told me I was one of few people who will stand for what is right regardless of the opposition. He told me I was a hero. Even if his original intent wasn't really to compliment me, he did. It was the best compliment I’ve ever been given. It made me tear up, though I don’t think he noticed it because he was so busy rambling (which is kind of funny when I think about it). This is a perspective of myself I would love to live up to. To be that someone who will stand up for people and do what’s right even when no one else does.

Then when I think about this concept of heroes, I’m really nothing compared to Jesus. And Jesus didn’t generally fight in an aggressive manner. He had His moments, but He led by example, and He chose His words wisely. He didn’t bother trying to convince fools of things they weren’t willing to accept or hear. He didn’t worry about defending His own name. Jesus didn’t play a pride game. He let his actions speak for themselves and allowed people to do what they would with it. Jesus knew justice would prevail eventually. He left justice to His Father. He played a part in it through His example, but He chose His battles wisely. He forgave those who asked for forgiveness, and asked us to extend the same grace to others as it has been given to us.

My lack of forgiveness leaves no room for mercy. If I am always trying to deal out justice, when will I have time for grace? Who am I to judge, and who am I to be the judge? God knows of the injustices that I face in my life, and that we all face. He knows when others have done wrong, and it’s really not up to me, not up to us to be constantly pointing it out, trying to make someone else see it. We have to trust God that all will be made right in the end. How he deals with it is up to Him. Regardless of what people say, even the little details--the molehills that really are mountains--are important to God, and we have to trust that He will deal with them in His own way. Maybe justice doesn’t mean payback in every circumstance. Maybe God defines justice, and a lot of the time, that means grace. For me, grace is something that is hard to completely understand or accept, but I think it’s something that’s also hard to totally refuse. You have to admit, it’s a nice concept. And it feels good to be unconditionally loved and forgiven. So good, that's it's really a hard concept to understand.

Oh, Dreams Shmeams

My biggest dream as a young kid was to be a cashier, or as I called it, “a storekeeper”. So I guess you could say I’ve fulfilled my dream. And I have to admit, at first it was really fun making the “beepy” noise when scanning items like I always loved, and talking super nice to customers like I always pretended, and seeing all the random items people bring to the counter. It’s starting to get a little boring now, though. I guess being a cashier wasn’t as satisfying as I thought it would be when I was a child.

At around age ten or twelve, I said that I wanted to be an artist and a musical composer. I also remember stating that if I could be famous for anything, I would want to be famous for writing a book. My friend Trinity and I decided we’d open a store together where we’d sell our art, musical compositions and books. We’d have a stage where we held our musical performances. We’d give art lessons. I’d teach piano and singing and she’d teach violin and dancing. The arts were my passion at the time.

Clearly none of the above has happened. Trinity is off taking courses about rocks or something at a university cause she’s all smart and stuff! (Sorry, Trinity, I can’t remember what your program is called. You do study rocks right? I’m not meaning to unromanticize your dream.) And I’m here, still a cashier. I do have a blog as you can see, so I write a little. I hardly ever create works of art anymore. And I hardly ever play piano. I sing in the shower or in the car, on my way to work. I guess that store dream never happened, and I’m trying to decide if I want it to. It still sounds cool, but having a store requires devotion to a long-term routine, and that would suck. 

By High School (maybe even Jr. High), I became really depressed and started to lose my interest in the things I loved. I loved drawing, but usually only did it in class at school. My favorite drawing from that time in my life was the following oil pastel cheeseburger.

It was so weirdly good that it earned my teacher’s deep approval, and I framed it and hung it on my wall. It’s the only piece of art I couldn’t bear to leave behind when I came to Canada. I wouldn’t part with this baby for a million dollars...maybe. See, this is a problem. I get emotionally attached to the things I create, so I don’t want to be an professional artist and actually sell my stuff.

Though I was good at writing, I often just found myself drawing in English class. I don’t think I’ve ever taken an English class where I’ve learned very much. I tend to like using my own punctuation and style. I have problems with people grading and critiquing me based on their subjective opinions about what sounds better style-wise. At least that’s what it has always seemed like to me. I loved piano, but around age sixteen, after about eleven years of playing, I quit taking lessons. I went from practicing several hours a day to feeling pained every time I sat down to practice. This was all around the time I discovered that boys were attractive. And that’s basically all I thought about. I obsessed over specific dudes who I swore I would marry one day. “I will make him love me”  was my motto. Ya…that never happened. This was the dawn of a new dream for me: marriage and kids. Up until then, I swore that would never happen. And from the looks of things so far, maybe it won’t.

By mid high school, I was claiming that I was gonna get married and have kids, but I would never ever have sex. “Good luck with that” was all I ever heard in response to that idea. I always said I’d make it work somehow. There had to be some other way to get pregnant without having sex. I mean, until I was 17, I thought there were drugs that people messed around with that made them pregnant. I guess I could just be artificially inseminated, but I didn’t know about that option at the time. Plus, how many husbands would agree to that without attempting conception in the normal, easy way first? Reality and I have always had a rocky friendship. Eventually, I decided that sex would have to be part of the deal, and began to get over being disgusted by the thought.

Somehow, I knew I was going to have a degree and be married by age twenty-two. And by twenty-six, I knew I’d have at least a couple kids. I had something against an even number of kids, and I didn’t want just one in case the kid would be lonely, so I decided I had to have at least three at minimum. And if I ended up having another, I would have to have five. And if another, then seven. And if I ended up with eight, it was time to stop being compulsive. Or adopt. I always liked that idea too. I hoped for two boys and a girl. I even had the names all picked out: Cassidy Octavius, Samantha Alison, and Kennedy Satchel. I still had my man all picked out, he just had to start noticing me and get on the pursuing. Ya…that never happened. And none of the men I obsessed over after that liked me either. Since high school, I've thought more practically about how much effort kids are and so I've gone back and forth between saying that I want kids and that I don't want kids. Either way, I probably wouldn't call any poor child Satchel...well, maybe. Ugh, it really just does sound cool, even if it means "bag".  

On the first day of summer this year, I turned twenty-two. Since then, I’ve felt like my life has just been passing me by and I’ve gotten nowhere. I am a college dropout, nowhere near a degree, and I have yet to even date one guy. I’ve basically just hopped from obsessive crush to obsessive crush, each time saying that the current man was destined to love me. Each of them clearly didn’t think so. I guess you can’t force love, and avoiding the very person you’re trying to attract doesn’t help a whole lot either. Life just doesn’t pan out the way you want it to sometimes. Sometimes, a particular dream (in my case marriage) can be so all-consuming that you forget your other dreams and passions. And in my particular case, when the dream you’re fighting for is not really something you can fight to gain, it feels like you’re always losing, always a loser.

Several months ago, I remembered and read a list of goals I had for my life that I had written sometime between the ages of ten and thirteen. I had some high hopes for myself. Some of my goals included  “Run a mile in 5 minutes, become as good as a concert pianist, compose a beautiful piano work, learn to play at least twenty different instruments, write and publish a novel, create a CD of me singing and playing piano, never say a swearword, read the whole encyclopedia, never become fat and stay healthy until I die, learn to paint like Thomas Kinkaid, learn at least five languages fluently, learn to cook and bake as well as mom, act in a play, go one whole day without making one mistake, and (my personal favorite) learn to do the splits both ways (cause that’s incredibly important). Almost all the rest of the goals were travel related. I especially wanted to go to New Zealand to see the Shire they constructed and filmed for the Lord of the Rings films. And what happened to these goals? It seems like in the heat of my passionate love for those guys I wanted and my sad disappointment at their not returning that love, my other dreams just evaporated into the air in the form of a depressive cloud that has been raining on me for years, blocking the sunlight. I ended up giving it all up for a dream that I can’t even really work towards. It is not guaranteed that I will get married. I can’t force someone I love to love me.

I guess this is one instance where my persistent personality needs to let go. I’m the type of person who will fight to the death for something that I’m passionate about. If I love you to pieces, think you’re just the bees knees, if I’m pretty dang sure you’d love me too if you’d just get to know me better, and if you refuse the privilege of getting to know me, by golly I’ma harass you until you give in even if at a moment or two it’s just to feel even and not give you what you want, which is for me to go away. ‘Cept sometimes other people are just as stubborn as I am or moreso, so none of my efforts work. Then I go park my car in front of a railroad track when a train is going by, scream at the top of my lungs, bawl my eyes out, and legitimately mourn the loss. Literally. Because what I feel in my heart is all very true and genuine, even if my actions seemed to point to pure insanity.

And now what? Getting “nowhere’ in my life has, to a large degree, been my own fault as I haven’t really been aiming for much that I can work towards, and I haven’t been putting much effort into deciding what it is I want to do as a career. I haven’t even been paying attention to what I want to do just for fun. Everyone wants me to do something. The career test I took in high school said that there really wasn’t any career that fit my personality and that I should just try being a window painter since that was what a similar personality to mine should be. Despite that, everyone else still has their own idea about what I should do because I’m good at a lot of things. I’ve been told time and time again by all sorts of people that I should be a writer, an artist, an actress, or that I should go on American Idol. I was told by my previous math professor at a community college that I was gifted and should be a math teacher. (I know. I was like, “what?!”) I’ve been told to be an architect, a graphic designer, a model, a makeup artist, a fashion designer, a musician, a piano teacher, a speech pathologist, a philosophy professor, a language interpreter, a photographer, a lawyer, a landscape designer, a journalist, etc. I’ve been told I should do something with kids, or that I’d be a good business entrepreneur. (You know what I say to the entrepreneur one? Lies. Ha!) I complained to my Canadian history professor that I didn’t know what the heck I was doing. He disagreed. It was the same with basically every other subject I’ve ever taken. I can’t say that I’ve ever performed badly in any given subject when I’ve actually tried. I usually do fairly well, even when I don’t try all that hard. But it’s funny, no one ever told me to be psychologist. When I went to a university, however, that’s what I was studying to be. I like psychology. But no one’s ever told me I had any talent in that subject. That might be partially why I quit. People just tell me to stop analyzing things so much. I don’t have a lot of knowledge in psychology, but I would consider myself a natural psychologist in the sense that I’m always looking for explanations for human behavior and thought. Not that I’ve come to any brilliant conclusions…I don’t think? Anyway, it drives people crazy. Including me. I can’t turn it off. It sucks. Especially if I suck at it. Do I? I’ve always wondered.

Do you see where my problem lies? There are way too many options for me! My frustration has gotten to the point where I wish I was only good at one thing. Then I’d at least know what I should try making money doing and I could wash my hands of all this nonsense.

In theory, as I’ve been told many times, I could just choose something and go for it. But I’m too idealistic for that, and it’s frustrating. I’m just waiting for something to jump out at me and grab my attention, or a sign from Heaven to show me my purpose, my destiny. What am I made for?! Sure, people tell me I’m gifted and intelligent, but out of all those things, what will give me meaning and purpose? I just don’t want to spend a heck of a lot of time and money in school to become something that I will find out afterwards that I won’t like. Plus, I really hate routine! I’m like a slow-cooking dinner that everyone’s waiting on with high expectations, but I’m still waiting for someone to come turn on the oven. I don’t feel capable of turning it on myself and no one’s really helping all that much. I guess they can’t force me to be motivated. Especially when I feel that my only two options are to come out burnt or be eaten.

And through all of this, I always seem to come back to the whole missionary idea. I keep threatening to just run away and be a missionary. But I was told once that I either needed money or some sort of skill like nursing to do that. Sometimes I feel like I just want to drop everything, sell all my crap, and get the heck out of this society and its expectations. I just want to fight for some noble purpose. Somehow fight for other people. I want both justice and mercy for the world if that is possible, and I’d like to be the one to make it happen. I want adventure. Today I spent a bunch of birthday money on some new clothes, and I love them. Agh, I just LOVE clothing! Especially pants…I fear pants will always be my weakness. I especially love clothes when I’ve gone for about half a year without being able to buy any for lack of funds.  But I’m kind of sick of all this materialism and consumerism! I want out of here! That is my dream. To live selflessly and with integrity. Do I have to choose something that will make me rich and “successful” according to worldly standards? I feel pressured to. I wish there would be a world-wide pact where everyone would just

STOP

Drop and roll. Just kidding! Hehe.

We should all just

STOP

what we’re doing right now and not stop stopping until we’ve started really solving the big problems in the world like world hunger and prejudice, and violence and all that. I want peace for the world and happiness, and a whole lot of love. And I just want everyone else to want it too and be willing to drop everything for it. So yes, actually, we should stop, drop everything if needed, and roll along to a better future for everyone! But I feel like that’s my idealism talking. And it’s never going to happen.

Maybe the main reason why I’m so unmotivated to “succeed” in this society now is that I’ve been exposed to and recognized its corruption. Success here seems so irrelevant when there are greater things that could be done. I was thinking that maybe I should start thinking like that dude in the movie Robots who says “See a need, fill a need.” I need to choose a project and find some way to incorporate my talents to fight for whatever cause I choose. That might be the only way to motivate me. I just don’t know how. I tend to function in the realm of “why” rather than “how”. I like it when others help me with the “how” of things. It makes life so much easier. I just don’t know what to do. And that is why I’m sitting here paralyzed and getting nowhere. Now, how do I get moving? I just don't know where to start. Someone come carry me away!

Sorry...I'm Inebriated

Today I started work again after a four-day holiday visiting my family and friends in America. I had a great time there, but was sad to return now to the mind-numbing routine of work. I was also having one of those moments when I hated men—very, very much! I felt very unwanted and upset that no man I was ever attracted to wanted me (certain men in particular) and that the world was just full of boring men and I was doomed to either singleness or a boring life. Then, before I knew it, about an hour passed and an oddly endearing event took place that made my entire day so much brighter that I had to write about it. Not that my situation in life really changed, but it’s funny how weird events like this can help to change your attitude…

I was minding my own business by the cash register when the “door-ringer” rang and I looked to my right. An attractive-looking young man slowly walked in the door. His arm was in a cast and in one hand he held a can of carbonated juice.

“Hello,” I said in my cheeriest of voices.

He looked in my direction. “Do you guys have anything for newlyweds?” he asked.

“Uh…you mean as a gift?”

“Yeah, my roommate just got married. I gotta get them something.”

“Okay, well, most of our wedding gift stuff is right over here.” I walked over to our wedding display which happened to be about three feet in front of him though I wasn’t going to be sarcastic enough to point that out.

He didn’t budge. An awkward silence ensued.

“Do you have any ideas of what you might want to get?”

“Nope.”

Silence.

“Ya…so this is most of what we have right here…” I began.

“Sorry, the doctors gave me something so I’m kind of inebriated.”

I couldn’t help giggling a little bit, and he smiled at me.

“Ya, so I have no idea what to get. I went to Spencer’s earlier and the guy showed me the love section and I was like 'I can't give them that! They're Christian people!’” He held up his hand to hold an imaginary item that I probably didn’t want to know about. "So I came here," he concluded.

I awkwardly laughed. "Ya…well, we have what’s right here and then I can show you any other stuff we have. We have our personalized section where you can write your own message on something…”

“Ya, I don’t wanna write anything.”

I tried not to laugh again. Didn’t surprise me. He didn’t seem like that type. Especially while he was “inebriated”. We wandered over to the giftware section as I nervously showed him some random items, because to be honest, if I were in his shoes, I’d be just as clueless about what to get. I’m not always the greatest at giving socially appropriate solutions. He muttered some supposed-to-be-funny comments with a straight face and finally decided on a pair of “Mr.” and “Mrs.” mugs. The ones that are cute, but also make me want to barf. I gave an internal sigh of relief that we had found something he liked and brought them to the till upon his request.

“Is your phone number in our customer list?” I asked him.

“I don’t know, maybe.” He rattled off the number.

“(insert anonymous name)?”

“Ya. Well it’s (full version of anonymous name that wasn’t written in the computer). Get it right,” he commanded while smiling. “Just kidding.” He commenced to explain to me what his name meant while I continued with the sale transaction.

I smiled. “Cool.”

“And what does Jessica mean?” He said it in a manner that suggested he thought it was some sort of contest or something. By this point, I had been stifling my uncontrollable laughter too many times that it was about ready to burst at any point. This guy was ridiculous.

Tearing the receipt, I responded very coolly, “I’ve heard it means ‘God beholds’ or ‘wealthy’.”

“Oh, really? That’s so cool! That’s awesome! Is that a promise ring?” His sudden shift of focus drew my attention to the ring on my left ring finger. I tried hard to will my face not to blush like a nun or something.

“Ya.” I responded quickly as I focused much too intently on stapling the right receipts together. “Well, I mean…what do you mean? Like, some people, I mean…I’ve heard some people have promise rings as some sort of ‘pre-engagement’ ring or something or…”

“Oh. Well, I’ve heard that some people wear them as an abstinence…sorry, I didn’t”

“Yeah. Yeah that’s what it’s supposed…yeah.” I avoided looking at him. I waited for the other receipts to print. By this point, I couldn’t control my laughter anymore and it burst from me unwantedly like a maniac.

“What?,” he asked.

Still avoiding looking at him, I shook my head and responded, “nothing.” I grabbed the mugs and turned around to the counter behind me to put them in boxes for him. Self-conscious, I hoped he wouldn’t notice and critique my crappy wrapping abilities, and muttered “what the heck” when I couldn’t get the second mug to fit in its box.

Finally, I turned around and began putting the boxes in a bag while still avoiding eye contact.

“Could you put them in this?” he asked, holding out his own wrinkled plastic bag. “I don’t what them to see it. They don’t know I was here.” He said it so seriously like he was on a underground mission or something.

“Oh, sure!” I responded, back to my formal cheer. After placing them in his bag, he still stood there, so I made myself look at his face.

He gazed deeply into my eyes and said, “Thank you, Jessica. Have a nice day.” My heart fluttered annoyingly as I resented the fact that I was disgustingly attracted to this “inebriated” man. He left and I realized I hadn’t given him his receipt. I shoved our copy of it into the till, threw the other copy in the garbage, and hurried to the back of the store where I could laugh without reserve. I walked around the store with a cheesy smirk on my face for the whole rest of the day and stifled laughs every so often.

For whatever reason, this experience with this random guy totally made my day. And as I sit here analyzing all of this now, I realized that this guy gave me hope. He gave me hope that there are still other interesting men out there. They just have to be all drugged up first…this is a good life lesson…right? I also realized just how desperately, boringly pathetic my everyday life is that an event like the one above could inspire such a long blog post. Guess it was just another interesting day in the life of Jessica Cruz. 

A Newfound Confidence

A couple of months ago, when I heard that I had gotten the job at the bookstore that I had applied to, I was extremely afraid that I wouldn’t be able to do it. If you had asked me then if I would ever be approaching customers in the store, conversing with them, helping them find things, answering and making phone calls, etc., I would have said, “No way! I don’t talk to strangers. Especially not in a professional manner.”

But here I am two months later, and I actually like my job. Do I still get nervous every time I approach a customer or answer the phone or ring through their purchase? Yes. But it isn’t stopping me, and the more I do it, the easier it becomes. I recently realized that I hadn’t given myself a pat on the back for this. I beat myself up over little mistakes, but look at how far I’ve come! So far!! And this newfound confidence and practice in speaking with people has definitely made its way into the rest of my life as well. I find myself walking down the street saying “hello” to random strangers out of habit. Yes, there are other times when I have to force myself to smile at someone walking by because they’re a stranger and strangers can be scary, but I’ve begun to overcome my fears, and if feels so good!

As I was vacuuming a couple of days ago, I started thinking about how I let social anxiety define me. Earlier that day, I had tried out a new church with a co-worker/friend who introduced me to some people. Before church, I had prayed that God would break down my anxiety and not let it hinder me. When I was introduced to people, I was a little nervous, but I managed to talk to people and laugh and not be so stiff as I can be sometimes.

By the end, my friend looked at me and said, “You know, I had sort of pegged you for a shy person, but you’re really not!” At the time, this surprised me and I mentioned that I was actually really shy, but I decided today not to be. For some reason I felt afraid that she wouldn’t believe me when I said that, though I still don’t know why.

Later, as I vacuumed, I thought about a conversation I had had with a different friend about a week or so earlier as I mentioned how some guy who I like had explained to me that he wanted an outgoing girl who liked psychology and philosophy and stuff like that yet he had no interest in me. My friend and I kind of came to the conclusion that he must be totally blind. “You are outgoing!” she had said. “You can be kind of shy sometimes, but you’re definitely not quiet.” To this I laughed and understood, but didn’t fully believe her yet. My mind wandered to countless other times when people had mentioned to me that I was outgoing, and this at first confused me, but when the light bulb finally went off in my head, I vigorously cleaned that floor with my “thinking frown”, that makes me look like I’m disgusted when I’m not, and made my aunt laugh at me. In my mind, I was ecstatically putting my epiphany into English so I could share it.

I am introverted, and outgoing, and I act shy too! I see introversion and extroversion as opposites, being reserved and being outgoing as opposites, and being shy as something different altogether. The way I understand introversion and extroversion is that an extrovert gains energy when they are with people, and an introvert gains energy when they are alone. So as an introvert, I need a lot of alone time to recharge and reflect on things. I am very introspective. I am introverted, but I’m not necessarily reserved. I can be, but for a large portion of the time, I am not. If I’m being honest, I like getting a lot of attention! I am friendly and open and daring and express my opinions very loudly and passionately, sometimes way too much so. I am most definitely outgoing! This is my natural self!

And when I’m not that way, it’s often because I am what you might call very shy or socially anxious (or sometimes just really tired or some thought has just occurred to me and I freeze with a “disgusted look”). But what I realized is, shyness isn’t a part of my personality. I am not defined by this! Shyness is fear, and though I think a small amount of it might be healthy (correct me if I’m wrong) in that not everyone is to be trusted and you should be on guard for that, I think in general, it is a negative trait that most people would want to overcome.

I realized I hold myself back. That same day, a couple of days ago, I went to church again in the evening at the church I’m familiar with. There was a part or two in the sermon where a joke was made that I found funny, and I laughed when no one else did, then felt super embarrassed afterwards, because generally that never happens. I control my laughs. I don’t usually allow myself to laugh without control in those settings, because to me that feels vulnerable, and I don’t want people to think I have a stupid sense of humor. There are so many times when I find something funny and want to laugh, but fear holds me back. And sometimes, like the time mentioned above, it just slips out and I feel humiliated. But that’s so dumb! I mean, I realize maybe I should try to hold myself back from laughing at something serious, but if it clearly wasn’t meant to be, I feel like I shouldn’t be ashamed to laugh. I’m sure any speaker would appreciate a genuine laugh to a stupid joke of theirs, right? Laughing is good for you! There isn’t an 11^th commandment that states, “Though shalt not laugh unless others laugh.” There are scarier things like murder to avoid.

The above is just one way that fear has crippled my personality. And I am so incredibly grateful to those faithful people who I know that have been patient enough to get to know me and break through my walls. Not everyone will do that. Though it hurts, not everyone will attempt to look below the surface level force field that fear puts up sometimes. It’s really hard to accept that not everyone is caring enough to want to know you. You can’t make someone see what they don’t want to see. So again, I thank those friends who have stuck with me! You are the best! And I thank God for being there with me through it all. Maybe one day, I’ll completely overcome all of this fear! Right now, though, I am just proud of how far I’ve come.

Thighed and Prejudice

I find it funny how I didn’t hear about the current “thigh gap” fad until after it was already popular and people started to make a stink about how it’s so stupid. And here I was all along ignorantly frowning in the mirror at my own apparently very trendy legs, envying other women with lovely full thighs. Forget the term “thigh gap” and let’s call my own a full-on crotch-to-floor gap. Supposedly, many people (women at least) find this very desirable. I first heard this from my grandmother who had just watched something about it on the news. She mentioned it and talked about it as if it was some sort of crazy thing. I don’t think she stopped to think about whether or not I had one, but I love her, so I forgive her.

Now I’m not here to talk about trends and fashion and all that because clearly, that’s something (amongst many other things) for which I often miss the boat. I’m also not a fitness expert. Don’t ask me how much I exercise or what my diet consists of, ‘cause I’d be embarrassed to tell you. Vegetables? Vegetables are what you eat when you want to acquire jaw problems from the amount you have to chew them to swallow them. And I already have jaw problems.

…Excuse me a moment. My aunt just informed me that “the burgers are ready”. I wasn’t even aware that anyone was making burgers. But I’m down for one! Be right back…

So I just scarfed down that burger…and those potato chips…and those freshly made chocolate peanut butter cup cookies with the honkin’ 2 cup bar of butter in them that my aunt and I put in (the recipe wisely called for it! They were good!). I’m glad this happened just now, ‘cause now I can tie it into this blog post. Very convenient! Since we’re talking about food, let me just say that I really don’t watch what I eat. And I really don’t exercise. And when I say really I mean really. I don’t like that I’m so skinny and have such a fast metabolism, but that also comes with the good side of not having to watch what I eat or worry about gaining too many pounds.

“You’re so lucky!” say many. Ya, I guess I am. And for the most part, I agree. But, to be honest, I often wish people didn’t have to eat to survive. Eating can sometimes be such a hassle. I accidentally skip meals sometimes because I forget about them. Also, I passionately hate cooking! If I actually get around to cooking myself a real meal one day a week instead of eating sandwiches, canned soup, or frozen mini pizzas, I’m proud of myself. Nights like tonight where my grandpa made some extra burgers are a gift, because to me, cooking is so boring that I’d rather starve than cook. I guess food, to me, is still just a necessary part of life that can also be enjoyable, but in our society, it has become much more than that.

Anyway, I’m tired of reading all the comments online like “real women have curves”, “men don’t like skinny girls”, “thigh gaps are for flamingos”, and anything else that basically claims that if you wear a size zero you’re anorexic. Yes, most of my pants are a size 0, but no I’m not anorexic. Set food in front of me that I like and I’ll eat it if I’m hungry. The more sugar and carbs, the better. No, I’m not suffering from malnutrition—the doctor already sent me for tests after I came in for something entirely different. That was kinda annoying, but at least I know I’m healthy. Comments like the flamingo one, though meant to be funny and are a little funny when you think about them as poking fun at the whole thigh gap obsession, are actually kind of hurtful to people like myself who have looked at their legs in the mirror and thought that their ancestors must have been birds. Birds with cellulite. Yes, like myself, you can be thin and still have cellulite. People seem to think that it would be impossible for someone, whose ribs show and has a thigh gap, to have cellulite in their legs. Cellulite is less about how much fat you have than people think. And those comments like “real women have curves” and “men don’t like skinny girls”? Ouch. Just ouch. Don’t ever say that again, please! Ever!! I shouldn’t even have to explain why. “Just gain some weight.” Easier said than done, believe it or not. “Guys like big boobs.” Well that’s just great, mine are of the smaller variety. I guess I’ll be single my whole life. “Just gain weight if you want boobs.” Or want a larger butt. You can’t exactly choose where your body decides to store its fat. It just happens. And no, I’m not getting boob implants!

People, I am thin, and though others may not always help me feel like one, I am a woman. I often feel that as a skinny person, I can’t win. Thin is considered ideal, but when someone is actually thin, they’re told to gain some weight. I hope it isn’t true that men don’t like skinny girls, because I don’t think there’s really that much I can do about it. I’ve always been small and had more of an ectomorph body. I don’t like being made to feel that I am a little girl because I am not voluptuous.

I realize that a lot of comments, like the ones I quoted above, were stated out of the same frustration that I am feeling right now. They are often stated by women who want to be considered beautiful as they are. And they should be. And I’m sorry if they aren’t. Most people are not as naturally skinny as me it’s true, and so it would be stupid for them to try and be if they’re healthy as they are. So I understand the point people are trying to make. But I would appreciate it if they would not bash (unintentionally or not) others who have different bodies than their own because they want to feel better about themselves or because they want to feel less guilty about that extra brownie they ate earlier. Not that they shouldn’t eat brownies, but if they eat too many of them, don’t take it out on me.

It’s good to take care of ourselves and strive for ideals, but there has to be a point where we accept that we are beautiful. So beautiful that we don’t have to prove it to anyone! The people who don’t see our beauty for what it is are just not worth our time. Just as many women need to embrace their beautiful curvy legs of which I am insanely jealous, I need to take my own advice and embrace my stick-like flabby ones, though a little exercise probably wouldn’t hurt them. And that’s all I have to say about that!