She touched her hair and noted how frayed it had become through the years. The gray was coming out in ways she had never imagined. She looked in the mirror to see an 86-year-old woman who was nearing the end of her life and thrilled for what was to come. Her husband had died years earlier and she remembered when he called her beautiful and longed for another to say the same. She exuded a radiance that pleased her heavenly father.
Jesus calls us beautiful even when we are broken. He longs to show us our favor in His eyes and teach us that His beauty does not come from without but from within. "The unfading beauty of a gentle and quiet spirit" is pleasing to the Lord. How can we attain this beauty? I am learning that it is not the time that we spend with the Lord that matters but the amount of days. This is how we learn what beauty means, by taking it to our father regularly. It is in this pattern of time with Him that character develops.
He convicted me yesterday by telling me that He doesn't want me to define myself as a Christian, but as a follower of Jesus. My anxiety springs up when I believe that my inside beauty is horribly incongruent with my outside. Women love to tell other women how cute they look on the outside, but God sees what's underneath and longs to transform us into the women He wants us to be.
Check it out! http://lisajobaker.com/five-minute-friday/ Every Friday, Lisa Jo puts a prompt on her page for women to write about for five minutes.
Friday, July 5, 2013
Identity
God woke me up at 5:00 this morning to tell me that I need to be seeking my purpose and that this is not the season to get married even though everyone around me seems to be getting married. I hope He keeps waking me up early in the morning. The Holy Spirit speaks to me in statements like that sometimes, reminding me when I've gotten off track and need to be moving forward rather than backward. Replacing human approval and affirmation with God's is hard. There is a reason that we put idols in place of God - our sin makes it easier!
I drove by a house today and saw a mom carrying her son away from something. He was wailing and looked very upset. That's how I feel. It is easier to put humans in the place of God because they have lower standards. They can look the other way when we sin and it's easier for them to do so at times. God gets into the nitty gritty and pokes around in the stuff that we were previously unwilling to see or deal with. He has been pointing out my manipulative behavior and how I lead with my emotions and hardly ever think before speaking. Only He knows my heart, and so it's rough hearing that sort of conviction from Him. He points it out in a loving way, but sometimes I just want to lay on the floor and cry about how broken I am. I don't think I will ever understand why He chose to love us. I am working on accepting love rather than trying to prove God wrong. I don't know how I'm working on it. I just know that I'm supposed to be. Nights are the hardest. I become very anxious and wrapped up in my emotions. I hope God keeps waking me up at 5 am.
I drove by a house today and saw a mom carrying her son away from something. He was wailing and looked very upset. That's how I feel. It is easier to put humans in the place of God because they have lower standards. They can look the other way when we sin and it's easier for them to do so at times. God gets into the nitty gritty and pokes around in the stuff that we were previously unwilling to see or deal with. He has been pointing out my manipulative behavior and how I lead with my emotions and hardly ever think before speaking. Only He knows my heart, and so it's rough hearing that sort of conviction from Him. He points it out in a loving way, but sometimes I just want to lay on the floor and cry about how broken I am. I don't think I will ever understand why He chose to love us. I am working on accepting love rather than trying to prove God wrong. I don't know how I'm working on it. I just know that I'm supposed to be. Nights are the hardest. I become very anxious and wrapped up in my emotions. I hope God keeps waking me up at 5 am.
Friday, June 28, 2013
Five Minute Friday: In Between
Today's Prompt: In Between
GO
I'm in that awkward phase of life where marriage is terrifying and I am no longer a child but not yet an adult. Technically, I am an adult because I'm over 18, but it's scary to think about new responsibilities (like myself) at this phase. I was able to get by with acting like a child and then I turned 25 and realized I'm old and can't make excuses any more. And the in between phases are always weird. They say that puberty is the most awkward time and maybe that's true but this is definitely the most painfully aware I have ever been of my brokenness. My friend reminded me today that we have to go through the hard part before we get to the good part - it's kind of like eating an avocado or a pineapple. And I haven't been writing but have instead been expressing my frustrations to God in a sloppy sort of "I-can't-do-this-without-You-anymore" kind of way. The in-betweens are painful because I thrive on extremes and don't know what life would be without the drama. God is teaching me how to be present in each moment and remember Him throughout the day - He who gave me life and my thoughts and overwhelming emotions. It is easier to spend time with Him in the morning and at the end of the day - the middle part gets hard when I get caught up in things and myself and listen to the spoonfuls of lies that the enemy feeds me slowly and then all at once until I'm full of arrogance and uncertainty.
STOP
http://lisajobaker.com/
GO
I'm in that awkward phase of life where marriage is terrifying and I am no longer a child but not yet an adult. Technically, I am an adult because I'm over 18, but it's scary to think about new responsibilities (like myself) at this phase. I was able to get by with acting like a child and then I turned 25 and realized I'm old and can't make excuses any more. And the in between phases are always weird. They say that puberty is the most awkward time and maybe that's true but this is definitely the most painfully aware I have ever been of my brokenness. My friend reminded me today that we have to go through the hard part before we get to the good part - it's kind of like eating an avocado or a pineapple. And I haven't been writing but have instead been expressing my frustrations to God in a sloppy sort of "I-can't-do-this-without-You-anymore" kind of way. The in-betweens are painful because I thrive on extremes and don't know what life would be without the drama. God is teaching me how to be present in each moment and remember Him throughout the day - He who gave me life and my thoughts and overwhelming emotions. It is easier to spend time with Him in the morning and at the end of the day - the middle part gets hard when I get caught up in things and myself and listen to the spoonfuls of lies that the enemy feeds me slowly and then all at once until I'm full of arrogance and uncertainty.
STOP
http://lisajobaker.com/
Tuesday, November 13, 2012
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.
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.
Monday, October 15, 2012
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
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
Wednesday, October 10, 2012
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.
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.
Friday, June 29, 2012
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.
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