A Pack of Cigarettes

I bought a pack of cigarettes the other night. I promised God that I wouldn't smoke after He brought me from Virginia to State College on one tank of gas. And then last Saturday happened. Sometimes a night like that needs to happen in order to remind me that God is sovereign and I'm in charge of less than I think.

Waitressing was horrible - my first table left me $5 on a $75 bill, I missed a snooty table and was chastised for it, then didn't follow specific instructions and was chastised again. I wanted a drink badly, and I wanted the perfect excuse to take one. Working and living in a town where getting drunk is part of the norm is difficult as an alcoholic. Trying to maintain sobriety while not surrounding myself with people who are sober themselves is hard as well. I learned my lesson the hard way, but not quite as hard as I could have learned it. I almost relapsed, and then an angel stepped in. I would like to take all of the credit, but I know that it was the Lord's doing that neither Wegman's nor Weis were open for alcohol sales. I stopped at a bottle shop on my way home that was open, and then I got there and walked in and looked at the choices. I could have slid that door open and gotten some Corona or Bud Light Lime. Instead, an angel stepped in and kept me from opening the door. I had suddenly lost the desire to drink. Maybe it was hearing the loud conversations and drunken speech of those in the bar or maybe it was just that finally getting there made me realize I didn't want what I thought I did.

But I was mad at God. I sat in my car and cried and screamed and cursed at Him for a while. I mocked Him and kicked him with my words because of how horrible my life had been up to this point. Why did I have to be an alcoholic? Why did I have to be different? Why did my mother marry such an awful man who I inherited this gene from?

I told God that if He couldn't keep His promises, I wasn't gonna keep mine either. I decided that if I wasn't going to drink, I would buy a pack of cigarettes. And so I drove to the UniMart with a snotty nose and tear-stained cheeks. It was completely obvious that I had been crying. I got out of the car and started coughing to make it seem like I was sick. I fooled the guy behind the counter, and he told me that smoking probably wasn't good for a cold. I was excited for that first cigarette, though I remembered that I hadn't liked it the last time I had one. It clings to my clothes and makes my breath weird, and then I feel like I have to take a shower immediately afterward.

I walked on the path behind my house. It was silent and cold and perfect. There was no one around. I could sit with my cigarettes and talk with God. I smoked three cigarettes and talked to Him. It was like I was talking to a friend again. I heard Him again. He was in pain because I was in pain. He pointed out that I don't trust who He's put in my life. He pointed out that I put myself first in everything by not allowing people into my pain. He reminded me that I need Him. I need people. I need to let people see me in the midst of struggle, not just afterward. I felt deadened and alive at the same time. It was painful.

I took a shower then got out and realized I need to go back to AA meetings. I can't do this thing alone. I can't stay sober without community, without people who are struggling with the same issues. I can't do this alone. I desperately need people to be with me in this. I can't shoulder the burdens of the world all by myself. I can't be responsible for my pain and her pain and his pain. I can sit with people in it, but I am not God, I am not a Savior for myself or for other people. God showed me how I was putting myself in His place.

I texted my boyfriend, and he took me to a meeting the next day. I smoked my pack of cigarettes again that night - 3 of them. This time, I told Him I would talk and smoke, and then listen. And I heard Him say that He's opening up a new chapter in my life. I was aware of Him in a different way again. I told Him that I just needed those cigarettes until the pack was done. I accidentally lit one from the wrong end in the dark, so that limited how many were left by one. I told Him I just needed this crutch. I couldn't do it without something to help me talk to Him.

I had two cigarettes last night. God asked me why I always have to have something outside of myself to connect and have intimacy with Him or with others. "You have the Holy Spirit within you," He said. "Why can't you connect with that?" I realized He was right, and I didn't feel shame about it like I normally would. My friend Lo always says that shame is not from God. I saw that God wanted me to move towards something greater. I told Him that it wasn't that big of deal, it helped me connect with Him. He told me that wasn't the way to connect with Him. He told me to put those cigarettes in the garbage. I said fine and put them in my garbage, then went to sleep.

I have only been smoking at night. Today, I kept thinking about those cigarettes, and how I could have one when I got home.  God gently reminded me that they are in the garbage. Last week, I started throwing things away from my past, negative things that made me think I was one way, when God says I am another. Looking at who I used to be was upsetting - it was literally staring me in the face. So I started purging things I never look at. I haven't emptied my trash can of those things. My cigarettes are in the garbage with those items. God told me that if I pick my cigarettes out of the garbage, I will have to take out everything that is in there. I don't want to do that. I have thought about strategically causing my garbage can to tip so that I don't have to take it out of the garbage - it will have "accidentally" gotten out, and then I can have another cigarette. I still want a cigarette. I shouldn't have one, but I still want one, and so I am trying to figure out tricky ways to get it out of there, ways to convince myself that it's okay for me to have another one.

I know that God had me put those in the garbage can for a reason - He wanted to teach me a lesson about what is garbage. He has been showing me that it's important to have a place for things in our physical lives so that we can find a place for things in our minds and spirits. What garbage are you holding onto? Are you thinking God won't notice that you've taken some of your garbage out and brought it back into your reality? Galatians 5:1 says  "Those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires."
  I pray that God would help all of us sort out what is garbage so that we may notice what is garbage and what is clean.

New England

As usual, through spending a large quantity of time with people, I learned a lot about myself. The last time I experienced anything similar without a period of rest was on the trip to Rwanda. That was challenging and made me realize that I still believed a lot of lies about myself. And then the whole Joe thing happened to solidify that...anyway.

 Some women and I went up to New England this weekend - I was born up there in Portsmouth, New Hampshire and had never been back, so it was quite exciting to see the hip, historical town in which I was born. New England is not like other parts of the U.S. There is a rich history there that is evidenced in the colonial-style buildings and the almost reverent quality apparent in those who are lucky enough to call it home. It's no wonder that the first settlers decided to stay.

 Of course, I have a strong desire to move to Maine and work a couple restaurant jobs while writing an autobiography. This weekend made me realize that I truly am an introvert with extroverted tendencies (my first therapist labeled me in this way). I love performing and meeting new people, but I also start to decay after too much stimulation. I desire inner peace more than anything, and it is interesting that I find more peace in nature than in anywhere else and am also able to cultivate it in myself when other people around me are chattering away. Perhaps it is a form of protection, but truly I think that it's good to learn how to nurture myself in this way.

 I wrote several poems to communicate my new love for nature, but I will only share a haiku and one of the poems:
 Silent reflection
More important than idle,
 Meaningless chatter.

 My soul longs for silence,
Solitude and reflection.
 Submerging recollections
 In colored leaves and calm that deadens
All but purest of the senses,
Trampling futile recognition,
Burping, braying through conviction,
Slicing through vapid conceptions.

 I am attempting to find a balance in this new season of reflection - it is important to stay involved with my community and speak up when it's called for. I find it much easier to just ride the waves and get lost in writing and deep thoughts. However, I mustn't neglect other things that are necessary to maintain my life - working so that I may eat and eating so that I may remain alive. If I only did things that were spiritually important, I would die. I must find a balance between what is spiritually important and what is physically important and realize that these things often intertwine. I can't wait to go to the Messianic church this Saturday! Shalom, Kristin

Drunk Dreaming and Dads

I remember the first time I felt embarrassed about not having a father. I was in second grade, and Ms. King had everyone go around the room and say what our parents did for a living. My face got red when I told everyone in my class that my parents were divorced. I don't remember if I used the word "divorce" or if I even knew what that meant. I just knew that I didn't have a dad like the rest of the kids. One time I told a kid I didn't have a dad, and he reminded me that everyone has a dad, so that would be impossible. I guess what I meant was that I didn't have a father that anyone would like or who was worthy of the title. I have forgiven him after many years of hating him with a passion. But I still don't want contact with him. He guilt trips me by sending me pictures of Jesus and reminding me that Jesus would want me to forgive him, implying that I haven't already and that forgiveness somehow means that you have to be in contact with the person. On the contrary. It is not necessary to have ongoing contact with someone in order to forgive them. I have done just fine without him.

 I had a drunk dream last night. I can't remember the last time I had one of those. It was so easy in the dream. I wasn't repulsed by the taste, and I felt no effects of the alcohol coursing through my veins. It was simply an act of rebellion without any consequences. I know that reality would not produce the same results. I hate the taste of vodka (we did shots of it in my dream), and I become even more caught in my head than I am while sober.

 At the age of 24, I am attempting to create standards and boundaries for myself. I am still young, and I still have a lot of learning to do in this area. I am working on it. I am trying to tell myself what I am allowed to have control over and what I am not. I do not have control over other people - what they think, what they say, how they behave. I have control over who is in my life and who isn't. Sometimes I purposely don't reach out to people perhaps to prove to myself that I am in control over who I talk to. I always feel physically ill after I spend prolonged time reading about Sandusky. I did not take time to process until late in the day yesterday, and I remembered that writing is my favorite kind of escape. Writing was my tool and my stream of cool water even before I got sucked up into the party lifestyle. It is my favorite way of communicating with God, and the best way I know how to reflect on my pain and the overanalyzing torture I put myself through at times. It's the way I confront my fears and my doubts and discover my strengths and inner processes. There was a time when my brain kept going over the same fears and insecurities over and over again. I looked back in my journal and found that I was having the same struggles years apart. That is exactly what addiction does - it keeps you stuck in your same patterns. I changed my behavior a couple of years ago, and then again last December. My brain is taking a little while to catch up, but I am trying to have patience with myself, and trust that God is working on me and bundling me up into a more manageable form of human that can trust people more and allows herself to speak and have a voice. And I must also remember that my life is more than about me.

Cyclothymia

I don't know what's wrong. I should be happy. I have a great job, a great boyfriend, and a great group of friends. But I get into this place where I think about how much more I could have done, and then I remember that I'm only 24 even though my overanalyzing brain makes me believe that I'm much older. It's my dream to be on Broadway one day, and I have no idea how to make that a reality. There's this idea that if you go for your dreams and fight for them no matter what, you will get what you have always wanted. I heard that, but to be honest, I always just assumed that things would be handed to me. I am more spoiled than I thought I was, and not because we had a lot of money or anything but because I am entitled and always wanting more. There are days when I do just want to get wasted and blot out my fears and anxieties, though I know that has proven to only make it worse. I think that I have Cyclothymia, but I don't know how to ask for help. Should I ask my medical doctor? My counselor can't prescribe medications, and I don't even know if I would want them if they're going to have negative side effects. I have already gained a lot of weight because of my unhealthy eating habits and lack of exercise. Is it possible to be depressed, because I don't have a lot of free time? It just sucks that I don't have time to exercise anyway, and then it's the last thing I want to do when I have free time, though I know it's necessary. And I am just aching for a release from this constant overanalyzing. I wish that there was a way to just step out of my brain for a little bit. That's what music does for me, and then I start thinking about Broadway and performing and I get stuck in this rut of "what-if"s and regret. And then it's like my brain doesn't want me to experience being happy. It is used to the crap, and so it gets stuck there and won't let me leave. I had a plan to move to New York at the end of the summer, and that was my plan for a while. I told my Bible study and my friends. I emailed everyone I know there to see how it would be possible. And I think I would love it. I would thrive there for the most part. Then the other part of me, the depressed part of me I guess, would not thrive and would isolate and scream and hate myself and want to move back where I would be surrounded by friends. I am afraid of the cost of an apartment. I am afraid of picking up and starting a new life. I am afraid because I don't have much savings, and I don't know how I would afford living in a place that is my dream. It has always been my dream to live there, if I'm going to be completely honest. I've only just started verbalizing it. I've only just started talking about it. I'm young, but I feel much older than I am. I've slept with a lot of people, drank a lot, and turned my brain into a pleasure-seeking machine. I'm out of that stage now, and it's interesting to feel older, when really I guess my brain was stuck in autopilot negativity for so long, so shouldn't it be the opposite? I feel like I have done enough thinking for 10 lifetimes, so maybe that's why I feel older. I ruminate on things and overanalyze things and start getting anxious about lots of things and panic and get upset for not being in New York City. It is my dream to live there, and I think I will make that a reality next year once I get put on some medication to manage my symptoms and my distractedness and irritability. It's to the point where I don't think I can manage it anymore. I haven't been doing that well. I haven't been eating well. I haven't been exercising. I don't think that a medication will magically change that, but it may give me some motivation and change my brain chemistry. I do well for a while and then sink back into the mess that my brain is used to. Maybe blogging regularly again will help me.

We Keep Going

I have Matt Nathanson's song, "To the Beat of Our Noisy Hearts" stuck in my head. I'm gonna have to start bringing headphones to work. It completely evades me how people can be organized and get things done promptly. My brain is swarming with thousands of things. I keep expecting to wake up one day and just have my shit together. Apparently it doesn't work that way. I get chills every time I make up a song. I know God has called me to be a songwriter. I'm just scared. I don't want to mess up. I don't want to give up. I think I'm more afraid of giving up than anything. When I was in middle and high school, writing was my way of getting everything out, my way of coping. Until I learn to accept myself at that age and not judge who I was, maybe I won't be able to fully engage myself in writing. I'm too afraid that it won't be good. Addiction stole that from me. It was the best release ever. I wrote incredible poetry, buried in journals and notebooks from way back then. Then I found alcohol and sex and forgot what it was like to have a healthy release. Alcohol can't steal any more from me now. I can't be looking back all the time, but my future is unknown. It's hard to put one foot in front of the other when I feel like I'm walking in the dark. And I love music. I always have a song in my head. It takes a huge risk to number myself among the songwriters and musicians I have so much respect for. I want to hole myself up in my room and write. I just want a break from responsibility. How free life was when I was just a kid. It never felt that way, though. I always felt trapped, like I had to follow rules that these adults made. I wanted to grow up and be independent. Now that I am, I don't like it very much. I guess I just have to suck it up and keep living. I felt the wind tonight and saw the stars. They reminded me that life is such a gift. That's what music does for me. It opens up my soul to receive beauty in a way that I can't when I'm sitting in silence. I have this standard of perfection in myself that I don't know how to fix. I REALLY need to go back to therapy. I can feel the pressure of everything weighing on me, and it is threatening to erupt at any point. I know the things that are healthy for me but don't do them.

Sobriety

There's a song I absolutely love by Kevin Devine called "It's Only Your Life." It talks about addiction and how this life is ours "to fix or ruin 'cause no one else is gonna do it."

I've "[gotten] back with [my] black hole": sex addiction. I would say that the alcoholism is secondary only to my preoccupation with sex. Many people have misconceptions about what that looks like. For me, I use it as an escape. I don't masturbate on the bus, and I would never harm a child. My addiction involves hooking up with men in an attempt to run away from real life. I am not nearly as promiscuous as I was in college. Right now, I am involved with only one man, someone who I definitely should not be involved with as we are both in recovery. I know it's wrong. People in ThirdPlace have pointed that out to me. I feel pretty lucky to have people who care about me more than I care about myself. It's really hard to be motivated to change when I don't really think that I'm worth the effort. It hurts to say that. Maybe if I come up with some goals instead of floating along with whatever comes my way, I will feel more like my life matters. When is it gonna start to matter to me? I'm waiting for some huge thing to happen in my life to wake me up and jolt me alive. This is my life right now. I had a rough go in college, and I have the opportunity to turn my life around. I am free from restrictions - I always felt like I was in a sort of prison when I was growing up, because I was bound by rules and regulations. Now, I am creating my own prison. It is not so easy to be sober from everything. I don't like exercising, and I don't want to smoke again. I suppose I could replace my addictions with performing music or painting. I haven't given myself the chance. I have been running away from myself in every way possible. More importantly, I have been running away from God. I get into this cycle of behavior that is very hard to just jump out of. My feelings become overwhelming and I look to what I know as a sort of escape. I wonder if God will ever be that escape for me, if it will ever feel comfortable to look towards Him.

For much of my childhood, I dreamed of growing up and being with someone who thought I was incredibly beautiful, smart, etc. Turns out that there are a bunch of men who think this, and I took full advantage of this in college. When I was gang raped at the age of 4, I thought that there was something wrong with me, that I was somehow bad or dirty and that's why they decided to do that to me. Not much has changed in my thinking. I still think of myself this way. I would never tempt a man of God unless I wanted to tear his ego down for some reason. There is a lot of power in sex, and I became very good at wielding it over men. I know this isn't fair. I know a large part of me hates men for what happened to me. I have this book called the Purity Myth, about how this idea that women are supposed to be pure virgins has done a lot to destroy our concepts of ourselves when we don't remain pure. I have so many books on my list to read, and this is one I would like to pick up again.

Growing up, they always told us that having sex before marriage was wrong, but I never understood why. It destroyed me when I was in college. It's destroying me now. My goal is to one day start a ministry for female survivors of sexual abuse within the church. It's not enough to tell us that sex before marriage is bad. For those of us who had our virginity stolen from us, we need to know that there's a way out, that there's forgiveness. At 23, I haven't worked through a lot of these issues, and that's largely because I didn't talk about it. It was a taboo subject. I am finding so much freedom in sharing it more and more. My sharing it doesn't change how I view myself. I used to be obsessed with guys noticing me and telling me I was beautiful. I was so focused on my external appearance (and still have trouble with this), that I couldn't accept any compliments about my inner beauty. I feel broken and worn out on the inside. I know there is a solution in Christ. I don't feel ready to accept His love at this point, but maybe soon I will be ready.

Oppression

I'm in a much better mood than when I last wrote, though I am a bit concerned about finding a sublet for my apartment. My lovely roommate has 3 people staying with her this weekend, thereby preventing me from showing potential subleasers a clean apartment. Oh well.

I just discovered a recap of Daniel Tosh's January episode where he had a guest appearance by Antonio Dodson, aka the brother of a girl who was the victim of a break-in and was almost raped. The whole episode was dedicated to making fun of rape, it seemed. I am thoroughly disgusted with our media and our society. I want to escape, and I want to stand up for victims even more. Sometimes it seems like a losing battle when people in power and in the spotlight are sending messages that rape is okay. It's not okay. It will never be okay. It's existed basically since the beginning of time and is probably not going to go away, but I envision a world that recognizes that women need to be respected in the media. It's hard for me to wrap my mind around this concept, because I haven't seen much that would make me feel hopeful for the future of media. It's going downhill. And why? Because people with money, people in power have the privilege of saying and doing anything they want to do.

This show was aired in January. It should have been taken off of the air after this episode. I think the saddest part about living in a society that is based on and attached to oppression of those who are less privileged is that I have come to expect it. I'm not surprised they didn't take the show off of the air. And this makes me very sad. Oppression works very slowly - the enemy is sneaky. It slips into humor and then becomes acceptable to joke about it. Then it becomes acceptable to perpetrate. Oppression is never justified. That the jokes are acceptable is the problem. That people laugh at the expense of others is a problem. I feel lucky to be surrounded by friends who don't think that's funny, but staying in a bubble is not going to address the problem. I need to find a way to act instead of escaping from reality, as is my tendency.