Oceans

Pink wafer cookies, shaped like rectangles, why do you taste so good?

Let’s talk about impulse buying…

I almost bought a fish today…

That was cool.

I think I’ll ask my friend if I can have a pet therapy session later this week.

I ended my actual therapy back in December.

It was kind of weird.

We had green tea and played a game of Uno.

And then I left.

And now I’m here.

Under three blankets, not going to sleep. They say sleep is for the weak, although maybe there’s some truth in that.

The thing is, I took a nap in the car today. After a few hours at the windy beach–nearly two hours from the monastery. I should visit them someday.

Or is that also an impulse of mine?

Like my blogging, posting,

sharing,

liking,

following,

tweeting,

knitting,

buying,

breathing…

Poetry.

My honesty.

Who am I?

Today:

I altarserved.

I prayed a little.

Talked to a handful of people.

Beauty is the cure for boredom.

Saw a deer at the beach, near the entrance…

Threw a big rock in the water. Used the bathroom there. Saw the waves crash into the big rocks…

I read up on the Sorrowful Mysteries….

Found out that Walmart don’t sell fish anymore. And then I went to Petco.

On the way home, I closed my eyes (don’t worry I wasn’t driving) and I prayed.

A mere seconds later, my brother said something to the effect of What Was That?

Lightning had struck in front of the car.

I’m so glad my eyes were closed for that.

I wish I could remember what my prayer was before that moment.

Something about beauty, or food. I had a mango at the beach.

Thank you, God, for everything. I can’t believe I’m loved by you. Yet, everything points to your love. And I want to be loved by you.

Just you.

And nobody else but you.

9:04 pm

Dear God,

Thanks for everything.

Thanks for creating the universe…

and for loving me.

I know too little about myself

You surprise me sometimes.

You are always there, even when I don’t think of you…

Thank you for being there,

In the Eucharist.

In the humble silence.

In my heart.

Untitled (4 Now)

Perhaps 11:35 pm is not a good blogging time, but…..

I went to Adoration for a long time today.

It was great.

But then I went grocery shopping… and to be honest, I didn’t want to. But I got through it, and now I’m at home.

And I spent some time looking at my forum. It’s doing well. And then I looked at my other blog. It’s alright, too.

And then I ate a quesadilla, and some mac and cheese with bread. Drank some berry soda. Burped a bit.

Before all of that, I applied some numbing gel to this sore in my mouth–which I got from the store earlier.

Now, if only I could numb my feelings like that…

Nah, I’m just kidding: the mac and cheese already did that.

No, but seriously, I should probably find a way to sort through my feelings.

I almost cried earlier, when I nearly saw someone cry today. (It was a stressful day at school, and also insecurity on Val Day isn’t a good mix.)

And also nearing the end of adoration time, I got this sense of healing. Like, admittedly, I have a lot of issues to work through and sometimes I think about just a tiny portion of what’s wrong, or what has gone in the past–I pray through it and it’s really not much but man, today I got a sense of that.

Pretty cool.

It’s like this podcast I listened to: a therapist talking about his way of helping people. Basically, when the client talks it’s like getting near a fire, and the fire is this hot memory of the abuse. And the client is surrounded by the cold. If you get too close to the fire–which by the way, tears are a sign of–then you burn to death. However, if you don’t get close to the fire, you freeze to death.

Now, my time at adoration today wasn’t entirely focused on the whole abuse thing, but some parts surrounding it did come up. And I was able to see that in light of Christ.

It’s pretty exciting.

Now, future me, spend some time in prayer. Litany of Trust, maybe?

What?

In vain, I wake up early and go to sleep late. Anyone else?

I’m pretty sure I’m not alone in this.

Well, in any case, I’m blogging again: I figured it might be a good idea.

Lent is coming up. I want to give up my phone for Lent.  But I’m not sure how that would go…

Today I’ve been a little under the weather.

Something reminded me of my traumatic childhood, but I’ve forgotten what exactly it was.

Oh, nevermind I remember now.

Well, I guess I’ve never really talked about what happened on my blog. Right?

It’s a bit of a long story: my childhood.

Today I just remembered the first time I tried to tell someone about the abuse. (Emphasis on Tried to).

I was about 10 or 11 years old, and I had this idea to go talk to the school counselor.

So, I filled out the little paperform and dropped it in her mailbox. And Completely forgot about it.

Until I was in class, and the teacher told me to go to the counselors office.

I was very nervous, but I felt like I shouldn’t have been nervous. And I tried to hide that.

She sat across the table with a clipboard. Started asking questions.

In short, I didn’t tell her what had happened–instead I made it about how I didn’t have any friends. And she recommended that I talk to one of the boys in the neighborhood.

Now, today, his mom visited my mom–which triggered this memory. They are really nice people, and in truth I think they are pretty good friends with me.

It was just so weird to think about my early attempt.

I could be technical and say that that wasn’t the first time I tried to reach out, but let’s not go there now.

He’s in one of my classes, too, which makes the memory that much more vivid and real. He’s proof that I had a childhood.

And I do have friends.



To end this post, ummm, it’s okay not to be okay.

It’s okay to not be fine.

It’s okay to be sad.

It’s okay to cry. It’s okay to sit with the pain.

It’s okay to be filled with sorrow for awhile.

It will pass.

Anons Anonymous

Like Alcoholics Anonymous, but for people who like to stay anonymous…

Therefore, Anon-omites.

Yeah.

Hello world.

Or should I say…

I mean–write.

Hello, God.

Or…hello, adult friend, who may or may not be reading this post, because you don’t actually follow me on here– but somehow–somehow– you read my blog when I post them.

Well, whoever you are…and whatever you are doing right now. (Hopefully, you are well and are not doing anything bad right no

I just wanted to say that there is a reason for this mess.

Granted, maybe it’s not a good reason.

But at least there is a reason.

There is reason.

Well, I suppose I have more to write.

It’s 11:03pm.

I’m writing.

I should be sleeping.

What’s the likelihood of one of my friends or family members stumbling upon this post?

I just want to talk about life.

FBI? Can you read this?

Gmail? Send me an email, if you are stalking me. Okay, thanks.

Now that that’s over, I would like to open up the stage to my dear friend, Honesty.

I mean, how honest can you be, if you feel like you’re being watched all the time?

Which is not to say that I do feel that way. I’m just posing an honest question.

Something to think about…

February

It’s currently 3:32pm. I’m home.
I should be taking a shower, based on my minute-by-minute schedule that I wrote down at 12:27pm.

But, nevermind that.

It smells like bacon. It smells so good.

Well, I guess I’ll talk about myself now.

I’m wouldn’t define myself as a knitter. (Although, perhaps I never claimed to be a knitter in the first place.)

“A Knitter’s Perspective” sounded like a good name when I made this account.
But as time goes on it doesn’t seem to capture who I am.

Although, perhaps, I never meant to do that….

Perhaps, it just doesn’t matter.

Well, in any case, I’m not going to change my blog name.

And I certainly am not going to take up a knitting project today.

No, that wouldn’t be a good idea.

I have Calculus to do. I have to go to Youth Group.

I have to shower.

I have to take some time to pray.

What is Mercy?

The last song I listened to today is Miserere Mei Deus by Allegri.

It’s absolutely beautiful. If you don’t know Latin, those are the first words of Psalm 51: “Have mercy on me, God.”

Have mercy.

God, that’s my prayer.

Just have mercy.

I came down with a cold a couple days ago but I’m feeling better…

This song (Psalm 51) has helped me center myself spiritually. It’s easy to float along in my day to day life, so listening to music helps me “attach” myself to the present. But there’s a fine balance that must be kept, and I’m careful not to listen to music for longer than necessary.

But how am I doing today?

I’m feeling overwhelmed. It’s not a great feeling, and I’m trying to keep my heart in check: not feeling bitter about all the work. I know this feeling will pass, but for now this is what I have to do.

10/15/19

It’s a new day.

I started this post some time ago, and left it.

I was hoping I could talk about some deep part of myself but that’s how far I got.

I had a bit of mercy on myself, you could say–by sparing myself the pain of the past.

I can say that I don’t feel the pain, but in truth, it is always there, just masked by my many masks.

Maybe someday, I’ll take them off.

Is there truth in pain?

Is there pain in truth?

Monday Miracles

9:35pm, and I feel like writing.

“If you asked me how I’m doing, I would say I’m doing just fine.

I would lie and say that you’re not on my mind.”

“Sometimes I wake up by the door, that heart you caught must be waiting for you.

Even now, when we’re already over, I can’t help myself from looking for you.”

They say bad things happen for a reason
But no wise words gonna stop the bleeding
‘Cause she’s moved on while I’m still grieving
And when a heart breaks no it don’t breakeven even, no”

Some lyrics on my mind/heart/soul/whatever.

How was “my” day? Well, how was your day? How was the day? Your day, how was?

If by any chance, I read this next Monday, I want you to know that life goes on.

Monday Miracles

I guess the biggest miracle that happened today was my “first” breath.

Nevermind the sore legs, from Saturday’s hike. Nevermind the unfinished–unstarted–calculus homework, the college application, the fees, and messy room. Nevermind the cold. Or the warm period blood…

I guess that’s easy for me to write, now that I’m here, once again, in a more attentive state, before bed. Or rather, before bedtime prayers.

I didn’t start this post with a prayer. Can I really pray here? Must I choose between prayer and documenting? This must be art. An expressive expression of the self, the human made in God’s image. Child of God. I want to share my prayer. I want to show my wounds.

If you could see through my eyes, you would see some fingers–etched by hours of crochet, knot-tying, dish-washing–typing on a dim screen, some fragile words of resistance.

I can’t “nevermind” my heart.

9:56pm

Complacency. Humility. Forgiveness.

Forum. Talk. Pride.

Help. Stop. Love.

Lactose-free. Skinny cheese. Photography.

Adoration. Butterflies. new New Moon.

Well, I guess I should start my prayer, since I’m getting nowhere.

+

Remember how I took the long way home, just to pass by the church? So I could awkwardly cross myself while driving at 25mph?

Remember when I cried that night, after I–I don’t know what I did…

That other night as well…

How many nights were there?

When I felt so alone?

When my heart pounded in the dark, out of fear, or out of I never know.

I barely remember those nights now, but somehow the tears find their way back home. My heart keeps them there, waiting for a moment like this.

This moment that ends somehow.

I know you’re somewhere.

Is this grief?

When’s the last time I spent a minute in prayer?

I remember reaching the top of that mountain. A hike. Swollen fingers. Gas station. Someone stole a pack of gum. I bought a Cliff bar and 10 on 3.

Anger. Frustration. How could she forget me? I waited for half an hour! Not even the orange morning sky could snap me out of that. Nor the happy birds. The cold rock I sat on. Free wifi. Warm car. So, I left.

Driving. Grey skies. Mountain. Mile ten.

UGH. I’LL DO IT ANYWAY.

I reached the top. Out of breath. Cold. Sweaty. Blue jay. Ate the Cliff bar.

Happy hikers said hello as I passed by. Polite thank yous when the trail narrowed, and I waited for them to pass by.

How could I pray in such a place?

“Lord, give me strength (to climb to the top).

Lord, give me strength (to take one more step).

Lord, please, have mercy (I need to reach the bottom).”

And then…I went home.

I went to Mass.

I received communion. And I tried to be someone else. You see, some other day, I saw someone else look at the crucifix and sign themselves, after receiving communion. And I did that. (But I would never do that on my own.) But I did.

10:25pm

Have I written enough yet?

To end this, here are my top 5 ideas/prayers:

I would like to have the stigmata. (Big ask, but whatever.)

I would like to fear nothing.

I would like to finish reading at least one of my thrifted books.

I wish my best friend knew my God.

I pray my writing is not in vain–although it probably is.

Amen.

Not Alone

(There are some people who write the title first and then write the post, but I’m going to add the title in after I write. I think that’ll make this a bit easier.)

Okay, so I guess I just start typing?

It’s been a while since my last post. My last post, a poem: The Talking Cure. I talked about wanting to talk with someone, and that someone being there for me. So, that was interesting.

Right now, I feel like talking to you. Truely, this is more of a “prayer post”, where I lay out my thoughts. I think I’ve tried this out before. Starting with a prayer, here’s my prayer for tonight :

+ Merciful Theos, to you be all honor, goodness and glory. Only you can show me when I strayed from or stayed on the right path this day. I’m thankful for my friends and family, for good food and happy memories. I’m especially thankful for the grace of being alive, for waking up and saying “The Lord is my refuge” and making the sign of the cross. Tonight, I ask for the special grace of writing for your greater glory.

Amen.

Now, where to start?

I could list all of my sins. I could point fingers all day long.

But I know that that’s not how it started. I have to start with love. God is love, the beginning and the end.

So, before me, before I was born, my parents got married. Before I took my first breath, they were eating and drinking, working and sleeping. Living life.

And then it happened.

We all know what happened.

Yeah, it actually happened.

No one, except them and God, knew what had happened, like an inside joke.

And I was the joke!

And it’s like that for all of us. You, reading this right now, are part of the inside joke, but the joke isn’t a joke. It’s real life. It’s eating, drinking, sleeping, and working. Well, I guess it seems like a joke sometimes, when times are hard. And when aren’t they?

When we lose sight of our parents, we lose our love. We lose ourselves.

And I’ve lost myself too many times.

I’ve lost sight of love. Even now. It’s difficult to focus on why I started writing. And I started writing to show my love, to invite you into my past.

Where to start? What do we do when we’re lost?

I remember one winter night. I left church a bit too early. Unbeknownst to me, my family was still inside, and I lost track of my surroundings. And somehow I made it to the parking lot.

If you remember ever being lost as a child, you know the fear. You’re alone. No one knows who you are. You’re not understood. Where are your parents?

I had tears, and they made it hard to see anyone clearly.

Someone eventually talked to me. They told me to go back inside the church, and sure enough my parents were there.

I tell this story because it’s so interesting to me. It’s not a huge part of my story but that element of fear is so recurring.

So let me ask you, who do you run to when you’re afraid? When you’re alone? When you’re in the dark?

I bet the answers look like: strangers. People who don’t know us for who we truly are. They haven’t lived in your shoes. They don’t know your deepest identity. So why do you expect them to love you?

Lately, with the Internet being a thing, it’s easy to run in the dark, to run toward strangers. We have fears. We have tears. But the point of this post is for me to be that person that says “Go back inside.”

And I say this to myself as well! Not every post I write is as fruitful as this one. Some of them are definitely cries in the dark. But I like how this one turned out.

Have faith.

You are not alone.

The Talking Cure

I said We need to talk

And then we sat down

Tears fell

and hearts opened

You listened to my wounds

The storm passed.

You picked me up

and said Don’t you cry no more.

I am always here

You were like a father to me

working hard, and hardly working

but what do I know

I don’t know you

You never said I love you

like normal people say it

You never said Goodbye

You never even said I’ll miss you

Or I’ll always think of you

So now, again, I say We need to talk