He was sad. He didn’t see how bright he shone in my eyes. I wanted to help. I wanted to make him see.

I asked to borrow one of my mama’s best mason jars. I wrote out a dozen pieces of encouragement. I wrote out my favorite bible verses about hope and purpose. I wrote our inside jokes. I wrote out how I loved his body. I wrote whispers and love songs. I wrote my heart out on those pieces of paper, each a different color of the rainbow.

I put the papers in the jar, closed it, and wrapped a pretty bow around the top. I labeled it with his name.

I gave him the jar and told him whenever he has a sad thought he should open it and pull out a note. I wanted him to have a way to remember the truth of his beauty, and to smile knowing that I could see it even when he couldn’t.

A while later, I noticed the jar had never moved since I gave it to him.

Days passed. He had good days, and he had bad days. The bow was the same, never removed or untied.

Weeks passed. He was happy. He was sad. There was dust collecting on the top.

Months passed. Sometimes he started new plans with energy and excitement. Sometimes he spent a week in bed, too broken to even shower.

The jar was never opened.

I often wonder what happened to that jar of rainbow colored love. I wonder if it was thrown away, never opened. I wonder if he finally read the notes after they had turned gray and flat and hollow.

Sometimes I imagine the jar sits hidden away in a box in the bottom a closet because he was too weak to decide it’s fate. Someday he will go back and want to open that jar and want to read those words but it will have disappeared. It’s gone, along with the smiles and tears and pain and joy and memories. It’s gone. I’m gone.

I have no explanation for why I can’t breathe

My lungs work, there’s plenty of oxygen, and yet I hold my breath, sure that if I exhale the world will spiral out of control. If I can just hold this breath in, maybe everything will be fine.

There are so many things that are chaos

Traffic patterns and flat tires and road work and burnt toast and spilled coffee and lost love

I don’t know where I’m going or even where I want to go

How is it that I can feel so disappointed with where I am, if I don’t even know where I want to be?

I don’t answer my phone because I don’t want to talk about how I feel

I keep hoping that I will feel better in the morning

I hope this is just a pothole in the road, not a detour leading me back down into the valley

How many times do I have to go in this circle before I can just be allowed to stop driving?

I let the air out of my lungs and brace myself for whatever the road brings next

Why can’t I breathe?

I’m terrified to admit the feelings I feel. I don’t want to accept that I might even be feeling a hint of the despair. The fear. The hollow pain inside my chest. The cage closing in around me that makes me want to drive so far away or maybe just die instead.

Why do I feel this? I’m not supposed to feel this anymore. I’m supposed to be better. I’m supposed to be happy now. I can’t do this again. I can’t. I can’t. It’s not fair.

Why do I feel this way? Why me? What the fuck is wrong with me that I always end up right back here?

Please let it just be for the night...

I don’t even know what to do. I can’t pray, because I’m too painfully aware that I don’t know who I’m talking to, and afraid that I’m talking to no one. I have no friends to talk to. I’m too proud and I feel too guilty to talk to anyone back home. I have no right to tell them I have problems. I shut them all out. I have no right to burden them with my troubles. I can’t tell Lucas because that will once again make me the weak one. The broken one. The one not holding up my end of things. The one weighing him down. The one making him worry. The one making him fail his goals. I am his stumbling block. And the worst part is that I am whether or not I talk to him about it. But I can’t talk to him about it because I’m too ashamed. I just want to be alone for a while. I wanted so much to be better. To be healthier. To be happier. Some days I am. Other days I’m just cold. Maybe it’s this goddamn season. I need the WARM sun back. I feel like I can’t breathe. Like my chest is in a vise.

I lied to Lucas. I hate that I am hiding things from him. I messaged both Julie and Kyle on Facebook. I don’t know if I regret it or not. In some ways it might have been foolish or selfish to contact them. But at the same time I wanted to poke the sleeping animal. It’s probably immature.

Maybe I should just die. Then I wouldn’t have to worry about bills or job performance or maintaining my dwindling friendships or letting people down, or ruining the life of my favorite person in the world.

I don't even know where to start with this. Just thinking about addressing you fills me with so much rage and disgust and hurt. I can physically feel my emotions surrounding you. As I am writing this I feel my heart pounding, I feel my throat tightening, and I feel my stomach turning. I don't want to write to you. I don't want to give you the time of day. I want to be done with you, and never look back. But you keep popping up in my dreams, and the nightmares are exhausting. I would say I hate you but mama told me to never hate anyone but the devil so I try not to say that, if just out of respect for her. It infuriates me that I even feel such strong emotions towards you. I wish I could say that you have no hold on me. I don't want you to have power over me. But, because I haven't processed my emotions, you do.

I never got to tell you how I felt. I never got to yell at you. I never told you that I thought you're a slimy coward that doesn't deserve me or someone as awesome as Katrina seems to be. I didn't get to tell you that I wish I could take back all the unconditional love I gave you. I supported you endlessly. I put up with so much bullshit from you. And I was so gentle. I pushed you to finish epicodus when you were ready to quit. I got you to get into the shower when you hadn't left the house in a week. I convinced you to eat when you were so depressed that you didn't want to (and I paid for almost all of our food/groceries for like a year, by the way).

You never gave me presents. In two years you didn't get me a real birthday present. You didn't once buy me flowers. You never made me feel special, or worth an extra thought. You made me feel less interesting than video games. You lied to me repeatedly about what you were doing, and showed me that I wasn't worth the truth.
I think the thing that makes me most angry is the fact that I was mistreated throughout our relationship, and yet in the end you are the one who left me. I gave and gave and loved unconditionally, and you left me without a backwards glance. How humiliating. I hate myself for being so weak. I was your doormat.

I have so much self loathing for letting myself be used by you.

Your face fills me with fury. I hate your easy smile, like nothing matters because you are Kyle Fucking Boe and you will get away with it. You haven't faced a goddamn consequence in your life.

My only comfort is knowing that I am a stronger, more loyal, more loving, and more authentic person than you can ever dream of being. I am so glad I dodged the bullet of spending the rest of my life with you. Good riddance

For a while now I have told you that I love you. And, indeed, I have loved you. I have loved getting to know you and learning about you. I have loved experiencing your care and tenderness. I have loved laughing with you and talking with you and crying with you and making love to you. I have even loved the hard times when my anxiety has made me afraid. I have loved every part of it.

Now, I feel a new kind of love growing inside me. Some might describe it as familiarity, but that label is far to basic and doesn't begin to portray what I mean. I am beginning to experience the kind of deep love that comes from really knowing someone.
I am getting to the point where I can read your expressions and see on your eyes what you are feeling, even if you haven't spoken those feelings yet. I can anticipate how you might respond to the things that I say; what little Lucas saying might come out in reply to my ridiculous jokes. I think my favorite part of this new stage of our relationship is the fact that when I sleep alone in my bed I can close my eyes and know exactly how it would feel if you were next to me. I can see the shape of you in front of me. I can feel your skin under my lips as I kiss your back. I can feel your strong arm and the curve of your waist as I gently run my hand over you. I remember exactly where my head fits between your shoulder blades. I can smell you in front of me, and yet it doesn't torture me. It brings me comfort. It comforts me to know you. To be known by you. To be in relationship with you. To know that you aren't going anywhere, and I'm not either.

The beginning of a relationship is fun, don't get me wrong. It's passionate and emotional and exciting. But, if I'm being honest, this is my favorite part. The part where we get to be fully known by one another and be fully accepted, and just rest in that blissful place.

I love you, Lucas.

Echoes in the Darkness

I haven't wanted to write because I haven't known what to say. I feel like I have so much to say, but I am also out of words. I have so much feeling that I don't know what to do with.

It feels like rolling thunder in my chest, low and ominous and threatening. It feels like tigers roaring and threatening and protecting what they have left. It feels like a child silently crying in her closet where she cant be found. It feels like the goddess Nike letting out a cry of victory as she spreads her wings and soars. It feels like the steady drip drip drip of a neglected faucet.

I guess I am out of words, but I still have sounds.

I have the noises that I desperately want to release, but I have neither the audience nor the strength to do them justice.

So here I sit, and the only sound I make is the click click click of the keys as I put down these pathetic words. They aren't enough but they are all I have.

And yet maybe they are enough, because now I can breathe.

I want to be in love.  Real, true, deep, God-inspired love.  I want a man to love.  I want a man to cherish and hold and care for.  I want someone who will be vulnerable enough to let me love him, and honest enough to love me back.

When he is sick, I want to bring him soup and movies, and hold him close. I want to tend to his every need, and care for his every hurt. I want him to let his guard down and allow himself to be taken care of, because he knows I am his safe person.

When he has had a hard day at work, I want to run him a hot shower and make him his favorite meal. I want to give him a back massage to help him relieve the stress. I want to slowly and passionately make love to him to remind him of his value to me. Then I want to snuggle into his arms and let him protect me, just to remind him of his strength and help him feel powerful again.

I want a partner for adventures. I want someone that makes going grocery shopping feel like a date, simply because I get to spend time with him. I want to hold hands and giggle and try new things.

I want a best friend through the good and the bad. I want to celebrate the good times, and lean on each other during the struggles. I want to do my best to love him like Jesus, and I want a man who will gently remind me when I fall short of that goal.

I want honesty and transparency. I don't want to be left guessing. I want him to tell me when he is mad, hurt, or ready to give up. I want to be able to trust that every kiss he gives me is genuine. I want to know that when he tells me he loves, he is being true. I can only hope that he loves me enough to want to give me all these things, too.

I hope he wants to treasure me. I hope he thinks I am worth fighting for. I hope he wants to surprise me with flowers, for no reason other than love. I hope he will hold me close and tell me I am safe with him. I hope he really, truly, deeply loves me.

So, this past week a lot of people have asked me how I feel about you.  Am I going to wait for you?  Do I still want to be with you?  Are you really worth it?

I have struggled with those questions all week.  My answer has been here, there and everywhere.  To be honest I just couldn't figure out what exactly I was feeling.

One comment my dad made really stood out to me.  He suggested that maybe you aren't worthy of my love.  That rubbed me the wrong way.  It didn't make me angry or anything - it just didn't sit right.

The phrase "worthy of love" contradicts something inside of me.  In fact, it contradicts something foundational in my faith.  I fully know that I am not worthy of love. But Jesus Christ died for me.  My Father in heaven loves me so much that he sent his only Son to die for me.  He didn't do that because I am worthy.  His actions don't reflect anything about me.  They completely reflect Him.  Romans 5:8 is the verse that tells us that God shows his love for us in that he sent his Son while we were sinners.

Now, I told my Dad this thought of mine.  I pointed out that God doesn't love me because I am worthy.  So why should my love for Kyle be contingent upon his "worthiness"?  He replied that God is perfect, and he loves everyone.  I am not God.  Spending my life with you, Kyle, and marrying you, and staying by you - those are all choices I am free to make.  I have to determine if you are worthy of that choice.  At that point, I dropped the conversation because I had more thinking to do.

Here I am now, a few days later.  And here is the problem.  Even though we never got officially married, I chose you a long time ago.  For a long time now I have confidently planned on spending the rest of my life with you.  I gave everything to you - emotionally and physically.  I didn't do that out of reckless disregard for God's commands.  I did that because that was how committed I was to you.  I never got a ring, and I never wore a white dress, and we didn't have witnesses, but in my heart I was married to you.

In the Bible, we are given the metaphor of the Church being the bride of Christ.  Throughout scripture the imagery of a marriage is used to describe the love of Christ.  Therefore, from what I understand, it is the role of a wife to strive to love her husband the way Christ loves the Church.  That includes faithfully following and pursuing and loving despite all circumstances.  Jesus never gives up on us.  He doesn't give up when we turn away from Him.  He doesn't hold grudges when we leave Him.  He doesn't keep score of wrongs.  Even when we hurt him by abandoning Him, he doesn't stop loving us.  He is eternally committed to us.

So, here is where I am at.  I could choose to turn away.  You have deeply hurt me.  You made me feel abandoned and uncared for.  You broke my trust.  But thats not what I want.  And thats not how Jesus loves.  Keep in mind, none of this is meant to say that you aren't worthy.  In my opinion, you still are worthy.  I am just trying to say that the idea of being worthy of love isn't fair.

Maybe, in the end, I will have no choice.  If you truly don't love me anymore, then I will have to move on.  If you don't want to be committed to me, I will have to move on.  If you don't choose me back, I will have to move on.  But if there is any part of you that is still willing to fight for our relationship, I am on board.

I realize how vulnerable this makes me.  I am, one more time, holding my heart out to you.  I am bearing my soul to you and hoping you want to love me back.  I recognize that this could just cause me more pain.  But I read somewhere that the key to a lasting relationship is to never be afraid to be the one who loves more.  So that's what I am striving towards.

I feel so incredibly angry at you.  So angry.  I want to shake you and ask if you realize what you are doing.  Do you realize that you are actively losing me? Do you even care?

I'm sorry that you are sick.  But do you realize that every minute you lie there I am slipping through your fingers?  Where is your urgency?  Are you willing to fight for me?  Maybe not.  Maybe its not that I am slipping through your fingers; maybe you are just letting me go.

The other night I got drunk.  While Kyle and I had immense amounts of fun, perhaps the most noteworthy parts of the experience were the things I did, said, and thought that I wouldn't normally.  I sang for Kyle.  I sang him Tomorrow Will Be Kinder and Slow Dancing in a Burning Room and Heartbreak Warfare, and after he fell asleep I kept singing and sang Sober and Maybe and that one song of Ben's.  I would never sing like that for him if I wasn't drunk.  I didn't realize I am usually so inhibited.  Something about that is very sad.

I also told Kyle something that I keep thinking about.  I told him that deep down I feel like I have a story to tell or a song to sing or something to give the world.  I have a desire to express myself and lay it out there for everyone to experience.  I have this longing to create something to reflect how I feel inside- as if the external reflection of my feelings somehow momentarily relieves my internal burden.

I have this feeling like I am significant.  Its as though I expect to die young or to become someone noteworthy or do something extraordinary.  But then I wonder if that voice is just my self-absorbed youth clinging on, begging me not to abandon the immature idea that I am somehow more special than everyone else.  Maybe I am just plain Jane and I will live an insignificant life just like everyone else.  Or maybe everyone has some grand gift to the world, if only they are brave enough to seek it out.  Or maybe you don't have to do anything grand to be significant.

The best way I know to express myself right now is to write.  I don't have the time, money, or talent to pursue much else.  The problem is that I don't feel like I have anything exciting to write about.  I don't want to write about the past, because I feel like I am just finally ridding myself of its bonds.  I don't want to write about the future because the future is simply a mystery that will only disappoint you if you try to predict it.  By process of elimination, I am stuck with the present.  Considering that this post was inspired by an evening of drunkenness, I seriously doubt the present's ability to provide quality subject matter.  But I will commit myself to writing nonetheless.

I haven't felt this restless since I was in Tennessee.  I want to move.  I want to move to the coast or to a cheap Seattle suburb or something.  I looked it up and there are cheap apartments on the Coast and in Aberdeen.  I could afford to do it.  I don't want to be here anymore.  I want to push everything and everyone away.  What if I did?

What if I just ran away and got an apartment and worked at some little no name Starbucks and lived my life?  I could get a dog.  I could be happy.

Maybe I should move across seas.  I wonder if I could afford to live in Italy.  I could eat gelato and get a simple job and walk most places, and take the metro everywhere else.  I did it when I was in Rome.  People there speak English and are friendly.  I could get along just fine.

I would be just fine.

See the thing is that I know myself too well; my restlessness is a symptom of misery.  Its an expression of me feeling stuck in a situation that I hate.  I felt it when I was in Tennessee and couldn't leave, and I feel it now.  I feel pain and hurt and rejection and anger and most of all a deep, cutting, searing sadness.  I just don't understand.  I don't fucking understand.  And I am angry at you because I can't understand.  I feel like there is something you aren't telling me.  Thats the only explanation that makes sense to me.

I hate when I can't control my circumstances.  It makes me feel so trapped.  I am miserable and sad and frustrated and I have no power to change what is making me feel this way.  I can't change my situation and so my only options are to ignore and avoid my feelings or to change them.  I have yet to figure out how to change them and so I want to run away and ignore them.  Maybe God is the answer to changing them, but I don't want to ask Him for help.  I don't like Him right now.  I love Him and I am so thankful for my relationship with Him but I am so insanely tired of tough love.

I am tired of giving things up.  Actually, I am tired of having things taken away and being told to get on board with it.  I just want to run away and tell everyone to leave me alone, because people hurt.  You let them get close to you and then they have the power to hurt you.

If only I didn't love you so much.

I feel like I might explode.  I want to yell and scream at you and shake you until your realize that tearing us apart is crazy.  The worst thing is that doing any of those things would just reaffirm your decision to leave me here.  You think I am too dependent upon you, and my breaking heart just proves you right.  How is it fair that the reason I want to be with you so badly is the same reason you won't take me?  What is love if its not allowed to be a little passionate and crazy and wild and free?  I don't want a controlled love where I am completely independent and stable and perfectly fine without you.  I want to be somewhat dependent upon you.  I thought that's what a relationship is.  Does that make me so messed up?

I hate that I can't share these thoughts with you.  I can't be honest with you, because doing so would just be counterproductive to my desires.  But honestly, how are you going to feel when I am ready to share the thoughts you think you want to hear?  Do you really want to hear me tell you that now I think I am fine without you?  That I don't need you anymore?  That I am strong and independent and I know who I am and where I am going, and all that is independent of you? Is that really what you want?

I don't really know how you are supposed to start one of these things. Honestly, I feel pretty silly since the only person I intend to share this with is Kyle.  I don't even really know what I plan on writing about.  All I know is that I need to write.

I need to start to think and feel and explore again.  I have had my head down for a long time.  I work and I sleep and I eat and sometimes I spend time with those I love. But mostly I just work and sleep and eat and keep my head down.  I don't want to have my head down anymore.  I am strong enough now to open my eyes and let myself see and touch and embrace and interact with the world around me.  God didn't intend for me to live a passive life.

I am absolutely terrified for the year ahead.  Undoubtedly it will be full of countless changes, just like this past year has been.  The difference is this coming year I am going to have to face some of those changes on my own.  Kyle is going away.  My sense of safety and belonging and home is being moved a thousand miles away.  This next year I am going to have to fight a lot of my own battles.  He will still be there for me, but its time I reawaken and regain some of my independence.  It will be good; but as with most things in life, you have to go through some suffering and pain and fear in order to grow.

Just like I didn't know how to start this post, I have no idea how I am supposed to end it. I do think I have said all I want to for today though.  Hmmm..... This blog is pretty much a metaphor for my life right now: I have no fucking clue what I am doing.  Sweet.