Wednesday. 28 April 2010.

So much time has passed since I last posted, and yet so little. The dates on my posts tell me that less then ten days have gone by. I feel at least a month older. Perhaps it's only my exhaustion, bone-deep from want of sleep, want of mental resources, want of emotional power. I feel myself giving out, but I can't bring myself to be concerned.

I got this message via Facebook from deacon Hurst, whom I contacted a little less than a week ago. We've been exchanging words at a relatively slow pace, but I appreciate the amount of thought he's putting into his thoughts and opinions.

"Sounds like you are getting to the root of some of the issues and I am glad for that. I am here to help however I can, although you won't always like what I have to say (noone ever does...haha). Just a couple of thoughts to chew on. Your Mom and Stepdad know you better than anyone else. I know we always believe the 'true love' of our life knows us best, but that is not true until many years of marriage/relationship build that knowledge. Your parents are concerned. You seem to be making some choices that are out of character then asking for advice and not necessarily listening to those who know you best. I think this might be part of the issue with not being able to talk things over with your Mom. She sees that something just is not sitting right-I think this is all related to the depression/psychological concerns you shared in the last email- and she is concerned that you are making choices when your 'choice barometer' may be of whack. Frankly, I share similar concerns. Please follow through with your thoughts and see a counselor-I'd suggest a Christian counsellor. I thnk this will help you step back a bit and view the situation from a distance. I do wish to continue this conversation as well, I will continue to write a little at a time, but would like to have some facetime as well."

Do mom and Pa really know me that well? They see my outside habits, but is it vain of me to say that they have proved to know less than they think about my internal workings? The fact that my parents think I don't listen to them, especially after I seek advice, proves that. Charles can attest to the amount of time I spend mulling over what they say, even if I don't go along and do what they suggest all the time. It's a gaping wound, one that's been growing, a small cut that's scabbed over and been pulled open again so many times that it grows larger instead of shrinking. And (this is something I've known for quite a while) mom gets very, very defensive if I say anything that comes within two miles of something that can be vaguely considered a personal attack. How do I confront that? How do I prompt healing of this wound?

I talked to Tiara earlier today about all of this. I was... upset, to say the least. About the fact that, out of the two options I've been given, I'm going to hurt someone I love. Because I do love mom. She's my mother; of course I love her. My family on one side, Charles on another, but from what Tiara told me, and from what I can tell, this choice is the best. When I have no sure-fire, obvious solution, it becomes a matter of me doing what's best for them, or me doing what's best for me.

One of mom and Pa's old arguments against Charles was from a mis-speaking on my part; I thought it unwise to tell them that I was up till 3 (a fact that I let slip) because he had told me his feelings for me were far more than friendship; instead I told them that I was helping him work through a few problems. Which, in a sense, was true. But they were saying "A thirty year old man shouldn't be asking for mental help from an eighteen year old girl! He's obviously got problems." I couldn't go back and fix what I said, later - the damage had already been done.

I find it ironic now, that Charles has helped me with so many problems in the last few months, the more recent ones things that mom and Pa have no clue about, or know very little. I doubt they know the full extent of how much this has effected me. I can imagine going home and just going into my room for quite a while, catching up on sleep and private time, and mom and Pa giving me strange, offended looks at the dinner table. If I try to explain how exhausted I am, mom will most likely say something along the lines of "You're younger than us and we do more in a day than you do, you're being a fool for whining," not realizing that I speak of mental and emotional exhaustion as well.

I have half a mind to just let a breakdown happen in the middle of the living room, including the still-existent, if not subtle, fears of Pa. Actually express myself, show the bit of temper that has only flashed all of twice in front of them. It would be unwise, and would probably accomplish nothing then making me go back to my room in embarrassment after I have been told in no uncertain terms that I'm only exaggerating, implying that I've been thinking way too much and digging too deeply into the simple fact that they only love me and want the best for me.

*sighs and removes glasses, rubbing at my eyes* I'm on my way to doubling my dosage of meds - my old counselor and my old psych doctor both told me that I'm introspective and self-knowledgeable (not in those words, of course) enough to be able to increase or decrease my dosage as I see fit. Night-terrors and terrors that come when my mind and hands aren't occupied; a strange fascination with daydreaming about incredibly violent and morbid things like having to deal with the fact that my house blew up while I was at a friends' and my entire family died and I saw the corpses - what's really bad about that is that I get some sort of strange pleasure from it... somehow I've never questioned that. I always assumed it was just a need for attention, so I made up scenarios where I'd have attention... but... it makes no sense, now that I think of it like that. And that points to some sort of weird desire to... punish myself? Throw myself into grief? I don't know.

I doubt myself and my decisions and my thoughts all the time; I don't trust myself, which I think is good, because... I'm not trustworthy? I can't tell if that's bad or good, healthy or unhealthy. Only today did I realize that it might not be as alright as I thought it was to be able to switch out of depressed moods very quickly if I was required in a social setting. Just because I didn't feel sad didn't mean that the emotion was gone. Does it? Again, I'm not sure. I can honestly say that once I've cried and released the swell of emotion, I can start laughing again within two seconds if I'm in a social setting. And the laugh turns genuine very quickly. Like... within ten seconds quickly. So, looking at it like that, I can go from crying sincerely to laughing sincerely in the space of about 15 or 20 seconds, depending on the mood.

Mom sees that and assumes I'm over the emotion. It's what I assume, too. But if the emotion is done and over with that quickly, when it was enough to make me cry... something doesn't seem to line up.

It's all assumptions. Those are just some of the thoughts. I got two reference books from the library today, one an encyclopedia of children/adolescent psychology, one on adult psychology. They're both kinda old, but... I just really want to look into this. Because if any of these are severe signs of something that only Charles has been able to pick out (not even a psych doc, not even myself)... I want to get it solved and be back on my feet as soon as possible.

Lord God, help me through this. You made me like this for a reason. But you have plans for me, too, plans for a future, plans for hope. Those words have gotten me through rough times in the past. Speak through them once more. Show me hope again. Show me faith again, give me the strength I need to get through this. I see your hand in it already, however faint the traces. You know my agony, just as you know my joy, just as you know my mind and heart. I have no words, only need, only thanks.

If it's your will, work another miracle tonight. Another one of those small miracles, a bit of healing where no prompt was given, a bit of hope in an otherwise bleak outlook. You gave me strength enough to keep fighting and to keep holding on with just a glimpse of light ahead; have asked you to light a candle-flame and seen you light a beacon.

Work miracles, Father, as you have done so many times before, for so many thousands of years. Amen.