Where I verbally throw up all over and ask you to extend grace. On identity

I turn my phone off and sigh. That small device can be such an enormous peace-sucker. I have to leave it in another room; the pull to click it on and look at the screen is pulling on me, like the moon on the ocean tides. Relentless. Never ending. Soft and strong and powerful.

I have deleted every app on my phone. My mind was so full of beeps and rings and dings I wanted to take my phone and bash it into the ant-riddled sidewalk. But it's expensive, so I'll make due with turning it off and losing it. For now, there is space around my mind to do the heavy thinking. The deep, cavernous thinking I must do.

I'm sitting here, in my family room, coffee cup perched a mere inches away, the filter from our turtles aquarium gurgle burbling loudly, and I feel like Gumby. Do you know who Gumby is? That stretchy, silly, green thing of a cartoon? I feel my heart and my soul and my mind being stretched....miles and light-years beyond what they are capable of.

I have tapped in "identity crisis" into good ol' Google, and was left feeling even more lost. I had thought I was going through some sort of identity crisis, and yet everything I researched read something like, "if you lost a boyfriend or a job or a spouse, and you feel as if part of you is missing...." No. There is no loss right now. There is no "part" of me missing. I am missing. I feel like I am an island without land. A planet with no mass.

Psycho-analyze myself. Ok. So you've always felt like hiding, your true, youer than you self. If you stood out, you'd get hit. If you spoke up, you'd get hit. If you stood up, you'd get hit. And that meant no love. And your heart, it broke for love. It yearned and it cried and it wept for love. You crawled back to those who beat you, for love. It was you, they said. You're the reason I'm doing this. You are the one who's broken. You are the one who is incomplete and incapable of being normal.

When you live 25 years looking the other way of yourself, trying to forget you exist, praying hard you fit in and look like every other good little Christian, and you wake up one day and say, "Fuck this, who the hell am I anyways?" and people gasp and say, "Did she just say the 'F' WORD?! She must be strayin' from the LAWD! Someone send her a bible verse! Quick! Message her and let her know we are prayin' for her dear soul!" It MESSES with your mind. Am I in danger of eternal damnation because I dare to speak a word that holds absolutely no meaning to me, and yet is written down in someone's book as sin? Am I in danger of eternal damnation because I want to dye my hair pink and get a tattoo and dance a little and scream and do crazy stuff I've never dared do for fear of standing out?

All these questions I've felt trapped inside of me. for so many years. And with the death of my step-dad, my grandmother, the two who kicked me to the ground and held a foot on top of me for 25 years and made sure I never got up...when they died, it was like an invisible cord was cut free. All these questions came screaming back into daylight. I grabbed them, before they could hide away in the corner of my heart labeled "sinful and bad." I held them and I felt them and I tasted them and you know what? I'm different.

I'm not the same person I was 6 months ago. I woke up that morning and said, "Fuck this, I don't want to be fat anymore. I don't want to be brunette. I don't want to be silent because I'm afraid. I don't want to be a lesser version of myself because they judge. I don't want to miss out on the extremity of life because they are afraid of taking chances. Screw THAT." And so it's been this wild ride. This feeling pulled in a million directions because I'm not sure which way to go yet.

And God? Oh God. He's pursuing me. I feel it. I feel Him hot on my heels. I feel His breath on my neck, His eyes on my back, hear His heart beating wild so closely. I feel Him closer than He's ever been. How can He be so patient with us awful, wretched souls? Even those of you who are living a "pure and straight" path, damnit,  you still fall short every single day, and it HURTS Him. And He doesn't give up on any of us. The endlessness of His love, it just breaks me wide open and all I want to do is run to Him, and not away from Him, because I know....THAT'S where I'll find my true identity. He is where I'll find myself. Not in bars or cursing or pink hair or whatever it is I feel like trying.

Why do we get so offended when someone else sins? Why does it bother us so much? Why are we not so much more bothered by our own sin? Does it even really affect you? Really? Can you not just trust that God is sovereign and I love Him and I'm trying and together God and I will get there, but in the mean time I'm trying?

This has been cathartic. Writing it all out. It's long, and if you read it all I'm your new best friend and you should message me and we'll talk and possibly go out for coffee. If the "F word" makes you uncomfortable then good. I like to make people uncomfortable lately. I want to shake people up and say "For the love of GOD wake up! there's more to life than this!" I want to rip apart rules and "do this" and "you MUST do that because I say so" and ask God, "screw that, what do YOU want me to do?"

Love you.



Slipping away

When I walk the dusty road and inhale the heavy smell of summer wild flowers and dirt and I hear the love songs of robins- I think of you. I see your face. So young, so hopeful. So precious to me my eyes sting with love. It's not the smells and the unadulterated scenery specifically- it's the feeling of it all. This refreshment. These wide open spaces in my heart. The deep breaths of my soul. That is you. That was you. You could make my heart feel things no one else could. You were joyful life. You were innocence bottled up and prized.
It was a slow, agonizing, heart-wrenching, grief-heavy path to your destruction. The fields have been burned down to the dry and brittle dirt. The birds have flown off, in search of greener sanctuary. The wind no longer caresses this land. There is death in these abandoned trees, there is sickness in the water.
I bring myself, I drag myself to the edge of you. I break open my heart and pour myself out, tears and life and blood and hope and love always more love. And it barely reaches the ground before its burned up and evaporated into the searing blood-red sky. I scream, I beg, I cry, I pray, I lie. All for you. All to save you. Save you from the self-fulfilling prophecy you spoke over your own life.
Do i walk away? My feet never could physically walk away. But my heart, this tiny flame of hope that refuses to be extinguished by the lies you throw and the selfishness that you cannot see through- my heart wants to snuff that tiny flame out and spit on it and grind it into the ground. I hate you. I hate what you do to yourself. I hate what you can't see you're doing to us. I hate what you're doing to her. I want to push away from the beach of your life- it's not a very big beach, and the tide is coming in. Do I drop my anchor and sit with you and take the beatings? Do I stare into your eyes and never look away, begging with every inch of who you know me as, please, please, PLEASE, for the love of God, see how much I love you. See how much we all love you. Love yourself even half as much and come back to us.
I look into the future and it's not as bright without you. The field has become a sinkhole. A rolling, rotting mass of death. But i can't leave. I can't leave you. Even your shadow. I sit vigil, hating you, not being able to leave you. 


Let go...

I still have to live normal. Normal laugh. Normal routines. Day in day out.
I act like the moon didn't lose ten shades of light and the stars didn't start shining ten times brighter. 
I feel an ocean inside, fish and reef and current, and I am an island. Alone. 
My eyes still have to hold joy, and in the background there runs the ever playing reel of you. 
My voice carries words around and around the world, lost in jungle.mountain.plain.forest.
This ache. This pain. This sharpness. This drifting. This mess.
Alone. Completely alone. 
Questions. No answers. No exclamation points. No periods. Only the endlessness of question after frustrating question. 
The bonfire burns, higher to the night sky, illuminating my path, searing my face, warming my clenched fingers. 
Breath. Let go. Breath. Let go. Feel and feel and let go.