I really do like it when people tell me about themselves. It doesn’t matter what, it can be about their day, what they did that they found amazing, what their hobbies are, etc. I like knowing about people, in a way, it makes me feel like they trust me. You’re not bothering me with your rambling, I actually prefer to listen.
Struggling so much on the inside
Not a voice strong enough to scream
Don’t you wish you were as fine as you looked on the outside?
It’s as though I’ll never get there
Only time will tell
When my seams will tear
I’ve always wanted to be an early bird - but I have learned that I love late nights too much to give them up just yet. The time will come when I am a motivated morning person, ready to seize the day at 6am. That time will hopefully come this year, since it was one of my only two concrete goals I made for 2013.
Usually I procrastinate and leave my important school projects for late at night - when the house is quiet and I can concentrate (somewhat) on what has to get done. I actually enjoy this process - I guess that’s the real artistic side of me coming out.
But more than anything I am really loving meeting God in my bedroom at 12 or 1am, with no expectations or hindrances, but only confessions and hurts and a lot of tears and His grace.
I love waking up the next morning knowing that God was with me the night before, when my heart was at war with itself and I hardly knew what to do or think. I have learned that joy does come in the morning - but first comes the night. And I have actually learned to treasure the nights more than anything these days.
He shows me so much of His glorious, big, soft heart when I am solely focused on Him during the quiet aloneness of the night - once all the worries of the day have passed (or piled up, hence all the crying and stress). I am my most honest, dreadful, selfish self in these moments. And yet He still loves me, knowing and seeing all of this.
I am terribly nostalgic. I am forever remembering. I like music where the singer’s voice sounds like their heart is breaking. I cry, readily at moments that I succumb to the greater beauty, or fear or just the overwhelming circumstance. I would rather be in rural Ireland staring out across the landscape. Sometimes, I imagine that I am. I abhor when people say my full name incorrectly, even though it’s just the difference between rushing the name out of their mouth or taking their time.
I enjoy intimate spaces. My apartment is welcoming, with a distinct feeling that is is not just a room, it is a home. I give myself and my possessions to the people I love. I have been hurt more often than not because of this. I always sample the food I make before I let anyone else taste it. I cook emotionally. Because of what a wonderful mother my mother is, I cannot wait to have that same affect on my future children. I am overly sensitive. I am extremely romantic. I get scared of things, and usually decline politely if I am uncomfortable with situations. If a polite decline doesn’t work, I am able to stand up. I have been bullied, I have let it affect me. Then, I move forward.
I love the softness of dog’s ears, and the swish of a cat’s tail against hardwood floors. I love flowers arranged to look chaotically beautiful. I like the way basil leaves leave their scent on your fingers. I prefer to be photographed in black and white. I wore braces for 2 years, and now I don’t wear my retainer and my front teeth have shifted. I worry at times that this bothers my mother. I know it bothers my sister.
After 30 years my dad is clean shaven and it is a shock, and it worries me that he sees the shock each time I see him. I am very much like my father, as I share my adult fears and problems with him, and he shares his worries with me, I see how similar we are.
I enjoy pressing paper fresh from the copier against my cheek. I enjoy bending back the first pages of a new book, and running my finger down the page to settle into a read. I despise ball point pens. I enjoy felt tipped black pens instead.
I purge with my writing. If the day has been long, or short. If my heart is heavy, if it is light. I work out my words, to find out how I feel.
“Sin is what you do when your heart is not satisfied with God. No one sins out of duty. We sin because it holds out some promise of happiness. That promise enslaves us until we believe God is more to be desired than life itself.”
I’m starting over. My life needs to be refreshed.
It’s all boiled down to resentment, and I can’t live this way any longer. I used to set my mind to something, a specific goal, and I followed through one day at a time. I reached that goal, and my life would transform.
But it’s as if my will power has disintegrated. And I’m ashamed.
For almost a year now I’ve kept everything bottled up. Now look where I am… where my feelings are… where my heart rests. Recently, everything has been bubbling to the surface and I think I’ve reached my limit. I don’t wanna be looked upon as the girl who can’t get her shit together. I’m a mess inside and I realize that.
However, I won’t accept this undesirable change that transpired out of inimical decisions.
Like I said, I’m starting over.