true confessions(not for the faint of heart) april 25,2005

ok.so today i'm blogging. this is so completely weird for me. i haven't written steadily and consistently for like a decade-although i'd always interject a poem or two when i was having a nervous breakdown.and then came the rapid ever approaching thirtieth birhday and that's when the whole complete hysteria and complete meltdown happened. ten years of bottled up crap came spewing out of my guts and my pores and it only seemed logical to jot it all down. double edged sword.part of me is completely excited at this new prospect-and the other half loathes everything i write. i really feel as though i completely suck,now,and i'm completely serious when i say that i truly believe that brain cells have died and that i have gotten less intelligent as the decade has rolled on. i mean,afterall, what do i have to pull from-sesame street episodes and the only reading i've really done are from books that have hard pages so that ethan can't readily eat them. i also think that perhaps things that i partook(is that even a word?) of in my days prior to being mrs.d and mother of three and an onward christian soldier-have taken their toll on me and made me more stupid-stupider? and that my memory is plagued by huge elderly grandma lapses. although i have heard that this could be caused by too much aluminum-and i do like to pile on the deodarant and eat alot of pickles-both of which are presumably high in metal. but i print out all of these poems from time to time and i have this crazy long manuscript and i realized that i use alot of "ands"lately,and i am completely afraid that i am turning into christina rossetti. if this is the case-then please just shoot me now. the one thing i do like is the amazing patterns that i write in. very vertical and it almost looks like an ekg with all of it's peaks and valleys. neat. but i write to noone.and as a writer(or someone who likes to pretend she is)-you are of course just thrilled to be writing again.afterall-it is who you are. but the secret of writers is(now bend in real close for this one....)they are narcissists.and they want their writing to be read and enjoyed and devoured and so this is the dichotomy of my life. i have noone. i am completely happily married and mike is beyond wonderful but i realized as i got closer and closer to march 6th-that i have absoloutely noone to invite over for birthday cake. or to read my silly blogs.or to give me somebody other then my creepy lonesome self to comment on how great the sales are at target. and so began the downward spiral. oh. and i got into a brutal fight with melissa,too. that was perhaps the first catapault into the depressing abyss.and my asthma returned full force.and came over me like a scary drunk 6 foot something man who covers my mouth with his calloused hands and crushes my lungs with his body and threatens to make me turn blue. asthma is scary. and i hate it.and it makes me feel powerless,again. and i'm here. and i am so powerless right now. and things are glass darkly and now it's all getting clear and i don't like what i see. i'm overgrown with insecurity. and hiding years of sad things,and scary moments are catching up with me.i have always battled the whole weight thing like a weight around my neck. i am now a size 4 and i am still a fat pig. i eat bread crust for breakfast.an egg white for lunch and bites of whatever i make mike and the kids for dinner. confession is good for the soul. the worst part is-the thinner i get -the uglier i become-my already ugly face looks more drawn the thinner i get and it accentuates the whole crooked nose-ugly chipped tooth junk that makes up my face.so i'm left with all of these pieces. i feel like a crappy mom and wife and i honestly feel sorry for mike for not marrying a beautiful girl.and i know i have to stop all of this drivel. this is worse. i never get depressed. i compartmentalize everything. i catalog all of the rainy days and pack up all of the sorrows and i'm usually very balanced. but since march-i have not been. i think it's the fact that i feel that i have no real place. i feel achingly alone on a human level. i truly love god with all of my heart-and believe me,for as ungrateful and as self centered as i totally sound right now,i am thoroughly thankful and eternally grateful for his gift of grace, i mean-how do you think i get through the day? the truth is this-i feel at peace in his presence. it's when i take my eyes off of him and look at this sad sack of a girl that i get lost. and i drown. and i scramble.or i am paralyzed.and i am fighting this. at first i felt entierly guilty-until i reread most of david's psalms-talk about depressed and hopeless. and like david it comes back -day after day-to surrender-to pressing my face hard and deep into god's nice wool coat.and he wraps his strong daddy arms around this broken spirit and he lifts my chin up in his hands and kisses my eyelids and tells me i am beautiful in his sight and that the angels are rejoicing that i have come home-and we weep together and all is well and i am infused with the strength i need to get through.and from the naked eye-from one who does not understand the whole salvation thing-i am probally a poor example of christianity.i fall. i stumble. i'm mean sometimes to the crappy cashier at target. i'm awkward and clumsy and if you peel the onion layers back from the sctv facade you see alot of icky little wounds that i keep picking the scabs off of and that won't heal until i can truly let go. and me and god are working on this. together and alone without distractions. my forty days in the desert. and i am tempted. tempted to throw in the towel and wring my hands and mad girl's love song.and i'm tempted to say that i am too screwed up and abused to be reached and that time has taken her toll,but then i feel his presence. i hear his still small voice.sing me to sleep.and cradle me.and insist on taking a look at my wounds. and somehow -in the demon possessed valley of the everday-i know that there are more mountain top experiences to come.and that it will be ok,and that the god of isreal neither slumbers nor sleeps.and i am not left nor forsaken. and i write now to him.an audience of god....