A Late Breakfast

Abate

Meliorate

Mitigate (I already knew that one)

Palliate

            The words I studied while watching “A White Christmas” today—the first movie I have watched in months. Which was incredibly long and boring and un-captivating but I told my friend, who loves it, that I liked it very much. I didn’t want to hurt her feelings. But I find myself doing that ALL THE TIME. Protecting people’s feelings (or what I suppose would hurt them).  Hmmm…I wonder why I feel conflict in myself or get insane nervousness about developing close relationships. (Duh). I have manipulated myself for so long. How can I have healthy connection/intimacy if I am not comfortable with me? That was learned—emotional self-mutilation/manipulation—I understand that. I have compassion on myself. My little girl self who didn’t know any better but just wanted to keep herself safe. I get it. I’m still unlearning though. And Healing. Obviously. That’s why I am writing. I wonder if I’ll get back to watching movies and doing normal stuff. Maybe. I know for now though that escaping of any kind isn’t healthy for me. So I write. And hope. I just smiled.  It reached my eyes. “Hope.” I love that word.

            Its’ eight o’clock right now. At night. Yep. Darkness has fallen. And yet here I am writing on my laptop. I told myself I would only keep to pen and paper after dark. Screens and writing on screens into the night make me feel crazy. So like any normal, crazy person not wanting to feel crazy, I have taken a fast from night computer writing. But now, I guess, it’s break fast time. Breakfast time. At night? Hmm. Where are the pancakes? Blast. I should probably learn how to make those. I should probably learn how to do a lot of things. I’ve been unlearning for so long. My learning time has come!—its dawn anyway. And it’s exciting! Really. It is. My favorite thing I am learning: words. I think to myself:  “If I have words maybe I won’t feel like I am choking all the time.” Or the invisible, weird, goblin thing that has its demonic little fingers around my throat will be burst into a gazillion pieces and I will be able to express what I think and feel and have no shame. There are still feelings of guilt and shame in me, just for being me. Which stinks. But it’s okay. Only when I am around other people (not all people) those feelings surface. When I am alone in my apartment I speak. And dance. And am safe. Often I close my eyes and pretend Jesus is my partner. Some may laugh at that. But I don’t care. For a long time He was the only One who listened. Who I actually talked to. So I love Him best. And I never feel bad being me around Him. And He’s the most beautiful of all! So I consider myself pretty lucky to spend so much time with Him. My emptiness, silence, and pain has brought me to Him.

            I recognize how empty I felt tonight. Wanting to find something exciting or secular to make me feel happy. Find some semblance of the Spirit of Christ—the source of all peace and happiness. Why? When I have access to the real thing? That I can literally switch my thoughts to Christ and all my sadness, angst, feelings that I need to explode and implode, or gasp for air because I’m suffocating and scream because the emotion and EVERYTHING trying to escape, all of that gets swallowed up in His love. I can turn my thoughts to Him, His words, His life…Him in the Garden of Gethsemane feeling what I’m feeling “NO NO, I’M SO SORRY TO MAKE YOU FEEL THIS WAY. It’s terrible that me, just one person has to feel this way, I don’t want Thee to feel it as well. But I do want Thee to suffer. Please suffer. So I don’t have to suffer alone. So I have hope. Please, I’m so sorry to make Thee die, but please die. So I have hope. So I don’t have to feel dead. Thank Thee. I love Thee. I love Thee...Stay with me. Please.” A prayer something like what I just typed. That was what I just said to Him. Then I feel better. Now I feel better. Lighter. 1,000 pounds lighter. Then I think of all the people with no hope. Who live swimming in numbing distraction so they don’t even feel that there is anything wrong. Or a need for a Savior or healing.

            Is something wrong with me? Am I the only one? Surely not. But I do feel awful alone in my faith sometimes. When I say to myself so fiercely so it carries to Heaven so I KNOW THAT HE KNOWS THAT I KNOW I trust Him, “I have faith that God can heal me emotionally. I have faith that God can heal me socially. I have faith that He can take away my panic and my fear.” Fear about one certain department I really struggle with that I will choose not to mention right now but BOY oh BOY (crap, the emphasis on BOY might have just given it away…) when I start writing about it….watch out. THERELL BE A LOT. Note: Therell is the conjunction between there and will. There is no apostrophe because it takes from the dramatic effect when the letters are all in caps.

            I feel peace now. And lookie! It only took 23 minutes! Wow! Ladies and gents look at the wonders of writing!! Less than a half hour ago I felt in a total funk, bursting and itching and sad and slipping under the ground I stood. And now, peace. Presense. Heart. Rachael. Refocused. Now I care. About myself. Life. The people around me. The Savior (gosh, I love Him). I care. Maybe I should break fast more. Breakfast more. Bacon.

Yum.

From Dead to Living? Write.

            

            So I have some issues. Big deal. As my freshman algebra teacher said, “You’ve got issues, we’ve got tissues.” I’m out of tissues though. Annoying. Sometimes I’ll blow snot in my hair though. Easy, accessible (though not name-brand) tissue. That’s only when I’m praying and talking to God. I don’t want to interrupt the conversation and grab Kleenex to wipe my nose. He wouldn’t mind, I’m sure, but I want to stay present and not lose that special connection once my heart opens and my words and emotions flow freely. Which is often. To be honest, God is the only one I feel I can open completely to. Which is good, but difficult. Good because the most wonderful, powerful, love-filled Being who knows and loves me perfectly is on my side, in my mind, and heart. Bad because then I feel I am only known to Him, by Him. And no one else. Maybe this is my own fault. Maybe I learned fear early on, to protect myself early on. From people. From men. From speaking. From showing anyone who I really am. From trusting. Yes, yes that is probably the case. But its time now to be okay being me. Its time to not be ashamed anymore. Or care what others think anymore. I’ve lived that way for too long. It’s bondage. Bondage. There is no other word.

            According to my experience, there are two types of hell living in this world. The first, and I’m not sure which category more people fall—the former or latter—not having any idea who I am. Seeing through my physical eyes, watching TV, absorbed on social media, music loud so I tune out the numbness inside me. Disconnected with others (though I may laugh loudly), disconnected with myself. To believe that this—what I see—is all there is. My body. My face. His body. His face. Her body. Her face. The screens. The noise. Cold concrete. Weights. Trophies that rust. Acceptance and praise from man (who will one day die). Garish headlights that block the stars. The next episode of the next show. The next outfit so I feel really sexy. The next meal. The next funny post. Mindless mundane, where’s-my-next-fix-to-feel-alive routine. To eat and never be full. To sleep and always tire. And to fully, fully accept that that is all there is. That is hell.

            The second hell. (Gosh, acknowledging and reliving this suffuses my body with ice) to live and see and breathe like the group above BUT KNOW and FEEL that who I am being is not who I am. To feel so intensely that I am more. And there is more. That there is power and beauty beyond description that dwells inside of me but I am trapped. Trapped. I don’t know how to access it…her…ME. That conflict, dissonance, of who I see and what I see is not who I know and feel lives inside of me. How do I get there? How does this box covered in locks which daily mocks the divinity that shines inside of me, be crushed? Broken down like the frail cardboard I collapse with my bare hands at work and bail like the garbage it is. How? How do I do it? There is life in me. But why do I feel dead? Sometimes I see her. There are moments that how could I NOT?? She is sooo splendid and glorious and radiant! I see her clearly when I am in the temple—the temples of the Church of Jesus Christ of Latter Day Saints. I see her clearly when I am helping someone. I see her when I am talking to my friends that I dearly love. I see her clearly when I give and when I hug. I see her when I don’t look in the mirror but in the sky. The beauty of nature. When I am brave. I see her. 

            This is why I am writing. That I may hear my own voice in my head. That I may read my own words. And know I am known by myself. Not just by God. To be so grounded in Jesus Christ—who already has saved me from the unspeakable—and to be so grounded in ME. So *I* know I have words to say. And ideas to share. Testimony to bear. Life that lives within me that gives life. Christ is the Life and Light of the world. If His light is inside of me then that is how, to whom I must turn, if I wish to be truly, wholly, alive. It is hard. The world is dark. But I am not afraid. I know what I must do. Write. Write.

Right.