In which I need a break

Because I am not old enough for a cocktail (legally in the US, anyway).

As I write this, I am sitting at the kitchen table of Lorie's family. Lorie herself currently lives in a neighboring city, having moved out about a year ago. It's midnight; I'm going to go to bed on the family's couch after finishing this.

Now and then, I overstay my comfortable welcome at the dorms. It doesn't help at all that we're coming up on the close of the year. This coming week is the last week of classes. Then I have finals week. And then I'm off for summer, including my ten-day trip to Japan(!)

Tonight, however, I needed to get away. It was not my intent to leave the dorms this weekend. I wanted to hold out until the three-day weekend after classes ended; then I could make the first round of bringing stuff home so that packing for summer wouldn't be so much of a production. However, things happened that made it intensely uncomfortable to stay in the dorms for very much longer. I needed to get away, or something bad would have happened.

Here's a tip from one who's made her mistakes: Don't ever open up to people. Especially if you're doing it because you're trying to help people. By extension, don't ever try to help people in the first place, either.

I thought I recognized my roommate going through the same crap I was this time last year. She stays up late, she eats a sleeve of Oreos in one go, she doesn't seem particularly happy. Okay, it's finals season; I'm not exactly a basket of rainbows either, but I still find things to laugh about. And see; she's a lot more extroverted than I am. When she suddenly got all quiet, I noticed. Me, I can go a whole day without saying a word to anyone, and that's normal. She usually at least said "Hey" when she came in the door. That's the sort of stuff I get tired of; it's exhausting to greet everyone that I know through a friend of an acquaintance every time I see them.

Yeah, okay, I recognize all of my own faults in this, but let me finish.

I left her a note before I skedaddled off to class, trying to breach the subject and basically check in that she was okay. I told her what I was going through this time last year, and that I didn't want the same from her. Maybe I was jumping to conclusions, and I made note of that in the... note... My heart was in the right place; I couldn't just stand to the side and watch her go through that, knowing the hell I went through trying to get out of the cycle of binge, self-hatred, binge some more. Depression is not fun. It is nothing to be messed with. Do not say you're depressed if you're just upset that your favorite Idol wannabe didn't win, or whatever people get "depressed" over nowadays. I digress (even though the digression was a serious topic).

What do I get for my trouble of revealing something about my past that I would rather forget, would rather didn't happen?

I get a long text chewing me out, throwing everything back in my face, and four attacks against me.

According to the roommate:

1 – She goes and actually hangs out with people instead of being alone on her side of the room (guess who spends all their time on their side of the room? Did she forget that I have friends I hang out with, too?)

2 – She's staying up late because she's taking eighteen credits, and she's a normal person who loves junk food (So I'm not normal because I don't down a whole sleeve of Oreos in one sitting at midnight?)

3 – She doesn't talk to me anymore because I've been coming off as very unapproachable (I am introverted. Learn the difference. Sometimes I just don't feel like talking much at all, and that is normal.)

4 - …And she is not the only one who thinks that way. (Great; I'm still in high school, where people didn't like me because they thought I was weird for being an introvert and on my own all the time. Way to admit that you've been gossiping about me, too. Are you going to tell all your friends about what I revealed in this note, too?)

Am I overreacting? Maybe. I apologized for upsetting her, saying I was glad I was wrong if that was the case. And then she made like things were a-okay, but next time please express my feelings to her face instead of in a note, because it's the respectful thing to do.

Okay... the jury is out on this one. I get very uncomfortable with confrontations, even mild ones. I'm even nervous to ask for small favors. The note was the way I felt most comfortable bringing it up, especially when it was so out of the blue.

And then she tells me she's sorry for criticizing me... LIES.

She's had plenty of time to mull over exactly how she feels about me. I think she meant every word she said, and I don't think she would have said it any differently.

You know what the respectful thing is to do? Wait until you've calmed down before flying off the handle. Maybe she genuinely is okay with things now, but I'm not interested in being her friend anymore. She revealed too much. I don't know how many people she's going to share that information with. Or who. She's already lost all of my trust. And she is not going to get it back.

This isn't the "Christian thing to do." I don't care. I'm not perfect. My job is to be like Christ, I know. But I feel like calling in sick for the moment. Today, I learned a valuable lesson about opening up to other people: it's a horrible idea. It's why I don't do it. Which is why people call me unapproachable or even "cold."

And you wanna know what happens when you call me unapproachable or cold?

I close up even more. Sometimes, if I expected better from you, I close up just to spite you. Always, I do it to protect myself. If you'll attack the core of the kind of person I am, you don't need to have any more surface ammo to use against me. You've already shaken me out of my comfort zone, because I thought you respected me more than that.

You'd better be ready for me to ignore you completely.

Because here's a tip: if I ever get the feeling that you don't accept me for who I am, you are suspect.

And here's another, more important and relevant tip: if you ever throw my differences from you in my face like there's something wrong with me, then you are gone from my life.

End of story.

In which I spend a couple paragraphs in middle school

I thought I might just be growing up, and those words hurt, because my asshole of an ex-boyfriend used them on me when he threw my rejection of his friendship back in my face.

Just part of growing up, he said, to not have time for friends anymore, anyway. Have a nice life [of growing up and not having time or place in your life for me. Have a nice life of being cold. Have a nice life of believing what we had was a waste of your time. Have a nice life of trying to forget about me after I said you'll be in my heart always. Have a nice life of growing up closed off. Have a nice life of wasting my time, too, then, if it wasn't any good to you].

ALL LIES.

I'm not cold, am I? Am I too closed off? I don't believe I'm cold. I don't believe I'm closed off. I'm only closed off to people who make me feel like I'm not good enough for them when I'm just being me. Because I don't instantly become friends with everybody. Because I don't give them sex because they want to become closer, because they think we like each other enough. If I am not good enough for someone because of their arbitrary, immoral standards, that is their problem and NOT mine.

YOU ARE NOT MY PROBLEM.

-----

Sigh. Sorry about that, folks. I just needed to get it out. This came out of a freewrite I did today to try to make some headway on an assignment for Creative Writing, and suddenly I stumbled over the first line, and I started to cry. And I didn't want to continue, because I didn't want to cry in a public place. But I did it anyway, because I didn't think I could heal from it if I didn't explore it. So here we are. I thought of making it a Note on Facebook because it's not exactly a blog post. But I have too many FB friends who also like my ex-boyfriend. I don't really feel like creating any more tension than there already may be. So you get to deal with me being thirteen, today.

To Fluff, or Not to Fluff?

Disclaimer to the following statement: This post is written by a twenty-year-old female who is a AA-cup and shows no sign of further development.

In regards to whether a padded bra is worth the bother, I respond, "Fluff!"

Disclaimer for the above: This is for when you're old enough that you may be expected to wear one. NOT when you're seven and too young to know what a bra even is. (ahem, Hot Topic).

The first time I was asked anything bra-related, I was eleven. Now, I was only very very slightly developed; as I recall, I was starting to get hips, and I was in the middle of a growth spurt, but I wouldn't menstruate until the next year. The classmate (who happened to be that year's bully) asked me why I wasn't wearing a bra. I guess she noticed that I was cold, or something…? Perhaps she was just being mean. The only reason she wore a bra was because she was overweight...

Recently, however, I have been asked on a couple different occasions why I even bother with a bra at all. It's pretty obvious that I don't actually need one.

Now, I'm certain many girls would love to be in my position – I get to save potentially hundreds of lifetime dollars by not buying bras (until I become a mom, anyway), and I could go totally commando under my shirt if I really wanted to.

Still, I kinda feel like I missed out on an important rite of passage into womanhood.

I know that's fallacious to say. Whether I need to wear a bra or not does not determine my femininity.

But you know what? Sometimes a girl just really wants to get some pretty undergarments. My problem is it's so difficult to find such creatures in my size, without seeking out a special (expensive) boutique

Them's the breaks.

–

I do not mind having a small bust in and of itself. It's easy for me to do rigorous exercise, and it's a nice thought that any guy who looks at me twice isn't just bugging his eyes out at my chest.

But, I feel like I look a little disproportionate, sometimes. I have a little torso, but my limbs are rather fleshy by comparison. If I wear a loose enough shirt and no padding, and you ignore the hips, I look no different from a guy.

–

Last summer, I finally caved and walked into a Victoria's Secret, just to see what was what. I was tired of overheating in my shelf-bra'd camisoles that I wore underneath my shirts, and figured the expense might be worth it if I could only find something that fit. I got measured, and ushered into a fitting room with a box of different styles. I found one that was pretty, and fit reasonably well. I bought one of that style, and one of another style that I found and liked. I walked out of the store reasonably pleased (though I still wish bras didn't have to cost so much).

Annnnd now I've lost weight since buying them, and so I don't fill them quite right anymore. Bummer. But I'm still wearing them because the weather's warming up again, and I spent too much money on them to stop wearing them after less than a year.

–

I'm never going to be a Victoria's Secret model, and I don't want to be one. I'm probably never even going to get halfway there, anyway. And that's okay.

Am I going to lament now and then that I don't fill a certain pretty shirt or dress the right way? Yes. Am I still going to wish a really cute trend (or a trend made cute) would just work on my body? Absolutely; I'm not alone in that (I don't think skinny jeans are ever going to look good on me).

Wearing a padded bra is just another safety blanket to help me feel a little better about my appearance in a world where the ideals are impossible to achieve anyway. I cringe to admit that, when I have been making so much progress in the past year toward totally accepting myself, including what I look like. It is the truth, though. It's an insecurity that I've had since my female classmates left me far behind, and I don't know if/when it might go away. Just like other girls are insecure about their tummy, or their thighs, or their nose.

So I'm gonna call back to a previous post and say: You. Are. Beautiful.

Because you are His.

And nothing can change that.

And no one has any authority to tell you otherwise.

My appearance is my own.

And I wouldn't have it any other way.

~Sarah

On Doppelgangers and Smiling Because They Happen

Original Posting: August 2011

Today was my first day working with a group of Japanese students as part of my university's summer cultural exchange program (I believe I yammered on about that in the previous posting). Now, everyone who is non-Asian (and many Asians themselves) know the trope: All Asians look alike.

Anyone who has spent a significant amount of time with at least a very small portion – say, a group of students studying abroad at a particular university, like mine – of an Asian population, as I have, knows that this is a stereotype in its purest form. Generalization? Yes. Based upon an element of truth? Oh, yes.

I definitely don't subscribe to Political Correctness Gone Mad, but I do try not to stray into offensive territory when describing non-Caucasians. I am well aware that there's a generalization right there in what I just wrote, but, see, generalizations are nice sometimes. But I digress.

The point I intended to make is: Asians don't all look alike, but you can confuse two who look similar; you can do exactly the same for two Caucasians, two Africans, two Arabs, and whatever other ethnicities your culture recognizes.

Case in point: One of the students (although I believe she is actually functioning as one of the guides for the students) looks uncannily like my roommate from the Fall 2010 semester.

I don't recall off the top of my head if I've talked all that much here about Mami, but before I go on, I think you should know that we became very close by the time she had to go back to Japan. We were best friends, and we loved each other dearly. I was so, so terribly sad to see her go, and I've missed her ever since. I think about her a lot; whenever I hung out with my Japanese friends the spring semester, I would wait to here her chime in with something, or think, "Mami-chan would love this..."

I remember waking up on morning toward the end of the year (recall from my more recent posts that I was completely not in my right mind), and I saw Risa at her desk, I think doing homework, and I just saw her silhouette, and for a moment I thought she looked like Mami. I literally had to think to myself, "She is not Mami." And I felt so lonely.

She shows up in my dreams occasionally. We just hang out. It's usually those dreams that make me think about her, but sometimes I'll see something and just think of her. She's told me recently that she is making plans to visit during one of my breaks from school. I don't think she knows for sure yet, but I am definitely looking forward to it. It has been far, far too long!

So when I saw the group of students from the Mukogawa University in Japan for the first time, and then Rie-san was introduced, I balked. Right down to the hair; when she smiled, it was wrenching. Her style was even a bit similar to Mami's. I stole glances at her all day, trying to figure out if I was going crazy.

I know she's not Mami. If I get a chance to one-on-one with her, I'll have to remind myself of that, just like I had to do the same with Risa.

Rie is not Mami.

But I wish she could be.

It makes me feel very sad. That's the simplest way to put it. Makes me wonder why time couldn't move faster so I could get closer to when Mami would visit. Or makes me wish Mami was here instead of her, on some level.

But this day... To have so many students from Japan, with their endearing Japanese ways, was just... wonderful. It felt like home. It made me so extremely happy.

It was only on the way home on the bus that I started to feel sad. Because I started to remember Mami, of course. And also Megumi, and Honoka and Saki and Konomi and Masashi and Kotomi and Iku and Mai and Souichiro, and also the friends from Korea I made last semester, who I sadly wasn't able to spend so much time with – Sori, Sujin, Amy, Emily, Hyosuk, and others whose names I haven't the foggiest how to spell.

It's those faces from last year who made my freshman year special. It's Mami and Megumi and the others from that first semester who lit it up and made it memorable. I thought about them on the way home and it made me sad, even though it was the last thing I wanted to be, especially now that I'm thinking so much about my life back on campus for my sophomore year.

I think about it again now. Specifically how I look at this batch of students from Mukogawa and how I see my friends' faces among them. And I don't want to be sad. Everyone knows the saying, "Don't be sad because it ended; smile because it happened."

Sadness is an expression of regret, isn't it?

So that makes me wonder, what is there about my time with Mami-tachi that I regret? Nothing. Not a darn thing. I still miss all of them, certainly; I am allowed to, because I always will miss them and there's no reason to deny myself that freedom. But I don't have to cry about it. That wasn't our last good-bye. We still have Facebook to stay in contact, so it's not like we'll never hear from each other again.

If anything, as uncanny-valley-esque as it might feel to me, Rie's resemblance to Mami proves one thing: That Mami holds a special place in my heart. Everyone does. These students who I am just getting to know (along with their names and faces!) now, I'll have a special place in my heart for them, too, after they've passed out of my life for the time being.

We all make mistakes; we all carry regrets, but regrets can weigh us down like a disease. So isn't it only fair that we make an effort to have as few regrets as possible?

When I see Rie's smile tomorrow, I will remember Mami.

And I will smile, too.

♥Sarah

Baby Steps

Original Posting: August 2011

I want to say my last post was something of a red herring. I was doing better, true, but I wasn't anywhere near recovery. In fact, it took me until halfway through July to really make a breakthrough. The steps leading to that were many, and some more complex than others. I'm quite sure I've forgotten half of them! But the ones I do remember are the ones that had the biggest influence.

I want to pick up my poor broken self from three months ago, hold her close and tell her it'll be okay while I rock her to sleep.

My mind ran on multiple tracks; I was riddled with anxieties and fears and paranoia. Even if I felt better, I still felt that one wrong move would snap me, breaking me for good.

Sometimes I still feel like that, but that's a point I'll elaborate on in a moment...

I was in a pretty bad place.

I sought control over my thoughts. They wreaked havoc, ran wild, made my compulsions worse. The first step toward breakthrough happened when I sat down in a quiet spot and narrated, in my head, what I had just done – gotten up and made myself breakfast. For ten minutes, I described the sunlight casting through the window; the drowsy half-stumble to turn off my alarm clock; the walk downstairs to the kitchen; boiling the water for oatmeal; the taste and texture of my oatmeal mixed with chocolate protein powder and diced coconut meat.

For ten beautiful minutes, only one train of thought.

It led on a little from there. The next step came in completing a one-shot "Sherlock" fanfiction. (Shameless plug! Read it here!) Being able to narrate a story in a fluid way really did a lot for breaking past obstructions that had accumulated due to creative stagnation.

But things weren't perfect. My life still felt in turmoil. I still had a few weeks to go.

The first week or so of July, I realized that, all of a sudden, I felt a lot better. I'd wake up in the morning and feel decent. It took me a couple days to realize that I was finally legitimately recovering from the breakup.

But no cigar yet.

The thing that really did it was... Anyone wanna guess?

The cynics in the audience say, "Let me guess: God."

And I would say they're absolutely right.

I'm not sure how much I'm technically allowed to talk about, but what the heck; it's awesome, what happened, so I'll risk it.

There's something called Sozo. There's a person who prays, a person who guides you through the process, and a person who writes down the Truths that are revealed so that you have a record to remind yourself.

I didn't get a Sozo. I got what we called a pseudo-Sozo. But y'know what? It still worked.

Truths came out, indeed. My spirit got totally Wrecked that day. And okay, it took a while for my mind and body to catch up with it. Human beings are every bit as complicated as Rome, if not even more so; I can forgive God for taking His time with me. But I digress.

Here's the thing that might sound a bit off to non-believers: There was nothing said that day that I didn't already know as fact. What made it all so jarring was the fact that many of the truths were truths I had chosen to forget, chosen to deny, chosen to believe were lies. Truths regarding my parents and my friends – I didn't even consciously realize that I blamed them for feeling distant, for making me feel like my words didn't matter, like I had no power. Truths like I believed God wouldn't heal my earthly father's heart; I had no more intimacy with my mother; I thought God was nowhere in my family. These horrible, uncomfortable lies that I had been believing, and that I had been repressing for who knows how long (the one about Dad's heart goes back nearly a year, now). Lies that I had forgotten I believed in.

Holy Spirit gave me a soft place by a river. Holy Spirit gave me a cliff to push all of my struggles over into a bottomless canyon. Jesus drove a bulldozer through a wall I saw between us (no, really).

My life still felt in turmoil. But necessary things had been brought to the surface for me to process and file away properly now that I had time for them. It took me a while. But one day I woke up and realized I had done it. My mind was calm. I saw the sunlight and looked forward to the rest of the day even if I knew I had nothing at all to do.

There's so much more I could write about regarding my pseudo-Sozo. But I'll leave it there for now. Maybe I'll put up the whole thing later, but even after that there are still things I don't feel like I'm ready to share with the world. So I will move on.

I spent so long in mental flux, I still wonder every so often if it would be so easy to regress back into that damaged state. Maybe there's a part of me that refuses to believe it when something so extraordinarily good and miraculous happens to me. But I hesitate to read anything from my period of extreme angst because part of me wonders if it might be catching. I think that's unfounded, but there you go.

I still have a few steps to go.

The last thing on my agenda is the breakup, and everything surrounding that. I've gotten over the breakup, I think. I still genuinely believe that we did the right thing. I haven't really contacted him since the night we broke up, and I really don't know how I'll react when I next see him. Cos I'm certain sooner or later I'll run into him on campus, and I haven't worked out how cold I'll be.

Because I am not over him. That's distressing for me to realize, but I think it's only a good thing that I know that now, before some poor bloke ends up becoming a rebound because I made the mistake of thinking I really was ready to date again.

I didn't have time to establish an identity for him in my mind as a friend. It went right from new acquaintance to a person I dated to boyfriend. Shunting him to the position of "friend" might take some time and patience – historically, I don't deal with the people who break my heart very well. Usually I just clam up whenever they're around. I don't necessarily ignore them (no, that's only if their new girlfriend's in the room with them), but I don't speak to them. This is largely because I don't know what to say.

Of course, the last time this scenario occurred was high school. And while that wasn't really so long ago, I like to think I've done a lot of growing up since I graduated. So we'll have to see what happens this fall...

But as long as he isn't on my mind at all (which fortunately is no longer "all the freaking time"), I'm totally peachy. I wake up most mornings feeling alright, if more like I'd rather sleep five more minutes. Once I sit down to breakfast, I'm more alert and feel like life's worth it. There was a reason I got up this morning, and today I think it happened to be so I could make this post.

I think it's safe to say, at the ever-present risk of jinxing it, that I've found peace. Is it perfect? Not yet. Can I be content with where I am if I don't move forward? I believe I can. Heck, I've gone through it all before. For the moment, I am not plagued with anxieties. I've started working with my university for its summer cultural exchange program (yay, money! Oh, and, uh, learning about other cultures too, of course). No steady job to speak of yet (after a whole four months of searching – I'd say I'm doing pretty good, no?), but there will be work-study and on-campus jobs aplenty for the new school year. And I'm sure places near the school will start hiring once people leave to go to their schools again. Just have to keep an eye out for it all. I have a food handler's card now, which is handy cos there are a lot of restaurants and other such establishments around my university. I'm excited for my future again. I'm really looking forward to being back on campus, seeing my roommate and the other Japanese students again, meeting new ones who are studying abroad for the semester/year... And my roommate from Fall 2010 is making plans to visit me! I'm so excited for that! I have contacts who can help me find jobs, help me pull resources together for what I want to accomplish – including taking a trip to Japan where I'll hopefully be able to see all my friends again. And hopefully they can help me dig up some scholarships and other non-loan-like financial aid for Bastyr... But now I'm rambling; let's not put the cart before the horse, as they say. I still have a long way to go before I get to all of that.

What God has been trying to hit me over the head with, is that I need to stand back from trying to take total control over my life and freaking out when things don't go the way I'd prefer. This is a season to walk with Him; I need to enjoy the summer weather while we have it (and living in the Pacific Northwest, I know it doesn't last long once it finally arrives!). This is not yet the time to be itching for a job, even though I have been seeking all summer break. This is a time to stop and smell the roses like I have been needing to all of this time. It's something of a shame that I should realize this during the busiest month of my break, but maybe that serves all the better to drive the point home.

For all the time I've had off from school this break, I haven't been able to let myself really play. I don't know what I've been letting myself get caught up in that I haven't made time for regular recreation other than swing dancing (which I don't have time or money for anymore now that I'm working as a CA and trying to save money for this year and Bastyr).

There's a scene I wrote for a fanfiction where the central character has been dealing with much the same situation as I've just recovered from. The cause was different, but his recovery runs (scarily) much along the same vein. Another character tells him that he's done all he can for the moment; now he needs to step away from it, and go out and enjoy life like he's meant to.

I don't know if that scene will ever be used in the story now. It was written two years ago, and the plot has changed quite radically since then – although I will try to include it if I can find a place for it.

But I guess this is where I say I should take my own advice. I've done everything humanly possible to get my life back on track. The rest is up to God, as everything has been from the beginning. He'll take care of it, and He'll keep on taking care of me.

Here's to life.

♥Sarah

The Road to Recovery

Original Posting: June 2011

In regards to my most recent post: I'm doing a lot better, now.

I don't know how long it's going to take me to get completely back to my old self, but I've had some days where I genuinely felt happy to be alive, so that's good.

I still have emotional times. Sometimes I think about him, about a time we had together or something he said to me, and I can't get over how completely unfair it is that it had to end when all the little things were so good. I try to let myself cry like I want to when that happens, because a lot of issues I developed by the end of the school year were due to the fact that I wouldn't let myself cry or otherwise express emotions. Usually I just get heat behind the eyes, sometimes an attempt at tears. Not much. But even if I don't get the hard sobbing I got the first few days after the breakup, I think it's been very helpful to at least acknowledge that the inclination is there. It's been a tricky habit to develop. But if I can make it a solid habit, then maybe next school year will be better. I've said it before, many times, and I'll say it once more; I believe most if not all of the problems college left me with directly resulted from prolonged refusal to stay in touch with my emotions. Distracting myself from them – by any means – does not work.

Okay; sometimes eating a piece of chocolate will make things a little better. Crafting for a little while might give you enough time to process something that happened. But sometimes you really do need to step back from everything and dig out why you can't make yourself feel better with external stimuli. If there's a problem with you, all the dark chocolate in the world probably wouldn't help.

Anyway; that's what I've been really making an effort to do for the past couple weeks. So far it's working out. I'm starting to feel more like myself again. Which is very good.

Now if only I could regain control over my acne!

Until next time.

♥Sarah

Breaking Up, Breaking Habits

Original Posting: May 2011

God and I have a rather interesting relationship. I'm sure this is part of me still being fairly new, and not really used to devoting lots of time to my faith and getting to know Him.

Anyway, the point is that I don't habitually actively try to tune in to whatever He's saying to me. Oh, some stuff does get through now and then, but usually God has to really hit me over the head before I realize He's trying to tell me something.

Case in point:

He's been telling me for a while that I really need to step back from obligations, relax, and really work on myself. And I've been getting that; I've known for a long time that I need this long summer break to build myself back up. But it never seemed quite that necessary to happen; it was always something I could put off until a little later, right after I got past this month, this week, this final...

And then I broke up with my boyfriend.

I've had my heart broken before. But with everything that had happened leading up to this breakup, well...

I think it shows how out of my head I was that I wasn't scared of myself at all. As it was, I should have been terrified.

By the time I was done with finals (the day before the breakup), I was hanging by threads. I don't want to go so far as to say I had a psychotic break, but... I think I came pretty damn close.

I had all of the extremes after the breakup.

I had refusal to eat, and then I had binging.

I had long periods of hard sobbing, and then periods devoid of emotion.

I had complete apathy, and then I had manic episodes.

I had self-injury (not cutting, but... hitting myself, hitting walls/furniture to make myself bruise – I did accidentally make myself bleed, though...).

I currently have a rubber band on my wrist, and my wrist is covered with welts.

There were in fact warnings of this earlier. The behavior, I mean (well, the breakup, too, but that's not what this post is about). The week before spring break was hell on me, and some of the behavior I exhibited in the days following the breakup, I first displayed that week, between complete rage at other people and severe panic/anxiety over a scholarship deadline.

And then we add in that I was pretty much forced to go talk to one of the university's counselors a few months ago, and I strongly considered paying another visit a few weeks ago of my own free will (I never did, but I wonder if things would be any better had I gone).

In short, this breakup is the hit over the head that God needed to give me, to tell me, "You're fucked up. You need to fix yourself completely and get back to 100% before you can even think about balancing another person's interests with yours."

Well, okay, God wouldn't use the F-word, but... you get it. And I am; I look at where I am now and I think about where I was before the spring semester and that's the only word I can use.

So this summer break isn't just a break from classes and homework and (as of recently) committing to another person. It's also a time of personal therapy. All that happened this past semester has left me with anxieties and fears and habits that I never had before, and that threaten to be quite damaging if I don't do something about them right now.

I recently bought some books about Chinese Medicine and healing – my current obsession, as I bill it to my parents. One of them has a routine for stimulating the Meridians of the human body (if you're not familiar with CM or other alternative medicines, Meridians are paths along the human body associated with various organs; masseuses massage along them for healing, and acupuncturists insert needles along specific points of the Meridians). The routine uses acupressure, and I just tried a very abbreviated version of it earlier. I felt better, for a little while. If I can incorporate it into my morning routine, and make it a habit by the time school starts again (oh, God, help me), then I think it will make school, among other things preceding, easier to bear.

There's so much I've learned about Chinese Medicine just from that book, but that's for another post.

So I'll see what following CM healing principles to the best of my (financial) ability for a few weeks does for my emotional and mental health (and physical as a side benefit). Hopefully that'll be enough.

But if not, then maybe I will need to face the fact that I'll need to shell out for consulting an expert. I know my parents won't pay for it. Dad hasn't really said anything for or against my latest obsession, but Mom's already poked fun at me for my interest. Not exactly encouraging...

But let's not put the cart before the horse.

That's what's going on with me at the moment. I really did start this blog with the intention that everything would be cheerful, or at least not rife with me angsting. But sometimes you do just need to get stuff out to the world (believe me, I've been writing in my diary just about every day, and while it's helping, I do wonder if this might be a little more effective).

I'll do my best to have something more positive next time.

Until then, folks.

♥Sarah

Weird Things that College Made Me Do

Original Posting: May 2011
1 – Weird food combinations
Now, this is something that I've always done anyway, but I wound up doing some very bizarre stuff. Consider: Butternut squash soup, orange juice, a banana, yogurt, quick oats, flax seeds, protein powder, and cranberries. All at once, in the same cup. I kid you not. Sometimes when you don't get the flavor you want, you grab whatever will give you that value. If I want something a bit more sour, I'll throw in orange juice. If I want something creamier, I'll add some yogurt. Want sweet? Dried blueberries. I had such things in spades this past semester.

Salsa with banana chips? Best. Snack. EVER.

2 – A fridge full of condiments and no food
Well, this isn't literally true, but close enough. Oh, yes, once in while I bought chips to go with the hummus or whatnot, but by the end of the spring semester, I was just eating the condiments straight out of the container. I still like to just open the thing of salsa and eat it with a spoon.

3 – Stay up late just to play pool
There's a pool table in the TUB, and a friend introduced me to it one of the last weeks of the semester. He's... really really good at pool. And it turns out that as long as I focus, I'm actually not that bad (I credit my many bored hours of playing PC pool when I was a child...). But I wanted to say that I could beat him fair and square (meaning that I would be the one to sink the 8 ball after all else was done), so after the first night, I challenged him to a rematch. A midnight meeting was set.

I still need to sink that 8 ball. On purpose, I mean…

There's always next semester!

4 – Stay up all night just because I'm used to it
This is pretty self-explanatory. I never got to watch the sun come up, though. Sucky timing; sucky weather.

5 – Use an umbrella
This one is only weird if you know that I live in Washington. (Don't ask me which one.) And I don't mean that I live in Washington because I'm going to college here. I'm a native Washingtonian, born, bred, raised. We never use umbrellas, and we laugh at those who do.

Cos, see, in Washington, it's easy to tell who's not from around here. It's not the lack of our distinctive Washington accent that tips us off (although if you show up with a strong Southern drawl or a New York snark, we will notice). Nope; it's the people who react to our weather like they've never seen anything like it before.

Maybe it's because I grew up with it, but I find it hilarious that out-of-staters will pull out the umbrella and rain boots for a drizzle -- not even anything.

Now; I love the rain. I really do. But this year, walking in the weather several times a day (with freshly-done hair and makeup that I don't want to ruin) has made me really appreciate the umbrella.

Now, my favorite rain is the heavy rain. In summer, when it's warm. That's not so fun to walk in during the winter.

So, eventually, I caved and bought an umbrella.

I'm not completely gone: I don't have rain boots. Although I did almost buy some at one point, because I have Converse, and then all of my other shoes are sandals, or ballet flats with varying degrees of waterproof-ness. But I couldn't find any that were cute enough that were also cheap enough (I’m sorry, I just can’t justify paying any more than $20 for a pair of shoes/boots). Go figure!

If the next winter is as bad as this past one was (it's been very tentatively spring for the past week or so – we had a super-long winter), then maybe I'll get rain boots. If I find some that are cute enough...

But I still make fun of my roommate for pulling out her umbrella at the first very tiny little bead of water that lands on her.

6 – Date a musician


--

That’s all for now. I might add to this later; who knows. College has completely changed my perception of normalcy, so it might be that my parents will point new habits out to me in due time, once I’m home!

Until next time!

♥Sarah

6.2 – I totally kid
His name is Ryan. We've been dating for almost eight months. I adore him. The "little king" and the "princess." I know, right? Too sweet...

Your Dad was Right when He Told You College Boys are Better than High School Boys

(April 2012 Afterthought: But not by much.)

Original Posting: January 2011

Depraved high school girls, rejoice!

Long story short, I usually got the short end of the stick when it came to dating in high school. It always seemed to me that they didn't know I existed, or knew I existed but were taken with (or taken by) someone else, or they knew I existed but I didn't feel the same way about them. My most recent exploit before college was completely outside of my established "type." Didn't work out well on my end. He didn't contact me for a few days after I got his number, and when he finally did, he was drunk and trying to persuade me into having sex with him, should we start a relationship. No thanks. I was a little too forgiving of him after that, though, and it didn't seem to me like he quite got that I wasn't interested in him after that, but I was too nice to tell him to back off.

Lessons learned: Stick to your type, and if you're not interested, tell him NOW.

Since this was on the tail of other emotional traumas regarding relationships of all kinds, I think by the end of all of that I had decided that men were all backstabbing, heartless, selfish bastards who would only have anything to do with you if they thought you would give them sexual gratification. Who cares if your feelings get hurt? At least they'll feel good about leaving you in the dust wondering what just happened while they get to brag to their buddies about how whatever they are.

Obviously, I'm still a bit bitter. I need to learn not to be, at least not for this long.

Fast-forward into college. As per a habit that I had developed over the past three years, I scouted around for every cute boy I could spot. It was refreshing to know that, for the most part, I was an unknown in this environment. With the exception of a few boys who graduated with me and a few more that I had met during orientations, none of the boys at this school had any idea who I was. Refreshing, but also a little bit scary. What sort of first impression would I make on these people? I had finally gotten comfortable with the idea that I am a very attractive girl, but I was still embracing the finer nuances of my personality that I had never quite felt free with during high school. Would I come across as too smart, too geeky, too severe, too anything? Of course, I was not about to be dishonest about who I was, but my fear was that, just as I believe might have been one of my problems in high school, I would be a little too intimidating. Obviously I am quite verbose on paper (or screen as the case may be), but I do not actually talk much just out of my own volition; usually someone has to speak to me first, or there otherwise needs to be something going on that sets a precedent for me to follow. I've already established that I like silence, and thus I do not particularly like breaking it. So, what most people get as a first impression of me, I think, is a pretty face that won't really interact with people.

Not very interesting, right?

So I think I did go into this new pool of eligible males being aware of that failing. At the same time, however, this was still a new pool of college boys. College men, as my dad always corrects me. They tend to be made of tougher stuff than high school boys, so they might be more willing to accept the risk of rejection, so I thought.

I braced myself and waded in. I didn't even have to get in past my feet.

The second week I was on campus, I met him. He asked me out the first night we texted each other, and we've been together since.

I remember being very nervous about our prospects. In light of past experiences and my thus very skewed perspective of relationships, I wondered what I wanted from this and what he wanted to do with me. I second-guessed everything, and was perhaps more cautious than the situation really warranted. I'm sure on some level this was frustrating for him (it certainly didn't make things very fun for me), but he told me he understood where I was coming from, which was reassuring.

I also remember being very upset when it started dawning on me that maybe we just couldn't work. He was very busy working toward his major and getting stuff done so he could go to grad school, and he was also in the play. Maybe, he thought, he might have to break up with me because everything would get to be too much to handle, and he didn't want to risk hurting me like that. I had just started college, and we were both wondering if it was maybe too much to have a first, new relationship right on the heels of that. It all led to one of those moments when you can't stop the tears, and all you want to do is scream because of the injustice of it all; was that how it would end when I had finally come that close?

By the next week, we had both decided it was worth a shot. I had figured out by then that you're going to get hurt by people regardless of your relationship with them, no matter what you do. The only way to avoid that is to not live your life, and what's the point of that?

He took me out by the water on a clear night; we could see every star. He made my first kiss special.

My roommate asked me several weeks ago what I liked about him. I'm not entirely sure why; I know that she's been very happy for me with my relationship, so maybe it was just simple curiosity. And in fact, I hadn't revisited the reasons explicitly for a while, so I indulged her.

I liked that he was very straightforward about how he felt. He admitted practically right away that he was interested in me. I liked that he was very thoughtful, and considerate of my well-being. Our first date, we hung out on a couch by the fireplace in the dorm building with tea for me and coffee for him, and we kind of wound up talking about our most recent significant experiences concerning, to put it bluntly, our mental states. I talked about the fallout of the past month, and he told me about the rough time he'd had leading up the end of the past academic year and the summer. Maybe this isn't the sort of thing you should talk about on a first date, but I felt it was fair to him that he know right up front that I still had significant hangups and might not trust him for a while.

He was very kind, and sweet. Talking to him felt like talking to myself. I often say when people catch me talking to myself that I'm talking to whoever's listening – which often ends up being myself. Finally, I could ramble on about something, trying to sort thoughts out, and there was someone who would give me feedback on those thoughts and let me know if they made any sense or if they needed to be expanded upon a little more.

Cleverly disguised narcissism? You decide, because I don't know right now.

And it's continued on. We have very good communication in the relationship, which it goes without saying is very important. And every conversation we have reminds me again and again that he's a keeper.

I can't say it's been perfect; we've had our share of ups and downs and bumps in the road, but we've worked through them, and we readdress certain issues on about a monthly basis to make sure we're still on the same page. As of last week, we have been together for four months, and it has been a dream come true.

I could never have gotten this with the high school boys I knew.

♥Sarah

There is No Such Thing as a Quiet Night in the Dorms

Original Posting: January 2011

My first night in the dorms could have been better in a lot of ways. Even though I was now moved in, I was still under pressures to find out what textbooks I needed, to get things for the dorm that I'd found out were necessary, and to make it to all of the orientation activities that I somehow felt were necessary but at the same time didn't feel were necessary. After all, it's not like I was penalized for not attending things except by lack of a stamp on a card that I could have turned in for prizes if I wanted to... I never did turn that thing in.

Anyway, so the first night, I had some racing thoughts. I had also just met my roommate, and I was hoping that I'd made a good enough first impression on her (we had just spent half an hour that evening taking pictures with each other, so we already had some good memories). However, things were still a bit shaky.

The mattress felt hard as a rock. Eventually I would get a memory foam mattress pad that would make things a zillion times better, but until then, I had to suffer with the standard brick-soft variety that colleges supply.

I also had not brought my earplugs with me. I had been told that quiet hours started at 11PM. I quickly learned that though this is the policy, it is very difficult to enforce if it is enforced at all. I learned I cannot count on the dorms being quiet until something like one o'clock in the morning. And even then...

It took me something like three hours to finally fall asleep...

There is not a single night in the dorm that I have not felt the need to wear ear plugs. Unfortunately, this has led to me sleeping through my alarm a couple times (much to the chagrin of my roommate, I'm sure), but I find that as long as I get at least a moderate amount of sleep, I wake up with it. Whether I actually get out of bed is completely another story...

And no, the dorms aren't even quiet during dead week and finals week. Or at least they aren't quiet enough. I likes me some perfect silence for studying...

Happy New Year, everyone!

♥Sarah

A Collection of Visions

Original Posting: November 2010

It's been a little while, hasn't it? What with college work and NaNoWriMo, I can't spare much time for blogging (not that I ever dedicated much time to it before, anyway...)

This does not mean that stuff hasn't been happening.

--

This happened back in September.

My boyfriend and I went on a triple date with two of my girlfriends and their boyfriends, to a ceramics painting locale. I had not exactly thought about what I wanted to paint -- I wanted to see what was there first. I decided, since every time I had gone to paint ceramics before I had painted an animal, that this time I would paint a tile. But what would I paint on it?

So I thought for a while, and nothing came to me. Hannah had chosen to paint a mug, and she was not sure what to do either. It was simultaneous: we both prayed for inspiration, and He granted it to us at the exact same time!

It actually came to me in pieces as I went. God doesn't give us more than we can handle at one time, after all!

I tried to take a good picture; I had to use flash so that the colors would show up right. Sorry, guys. But here's what the tile ended up looking like:

(I should mention I did not do the shadows and highlights on the fire -- that was all Hannah.)

It currently lives propped against the back of my desk; I have no means to hang it up that I trust to keep it up. But it's gorgeous, and totally from God: I would NOT have come up with this image without His input.

I want to go again, and paint a tile for my roommate. She'll be going back to Japan after the semester is over. She spoils me rotten, and I have barely been able to do anything in return. I want to make sure she has something from me before she leaves!

--

Back in October, well... Let's say I had been having a little trouble keeping the faith. I still went to True North every Wednesday, but other than that I had not been spending much time with Jesus. So, during worship, I asked God for a vision, since it had been a while. I just asked for something to prove to me that He was still there -- I knew he was there; I just needed a reminder. And he showed me a red vase with two white stripes going across it, across a vivid sky blue background (He knows I like sky blue, I guess!). And as I watched, a green bud grew up from the soil very quickly, like in those time-lapse videos you see of the sky changing from dawn to dusk. And it blossomed into this gorgeous pink tiger lily.

And He told me, "That's you."

I drew it when I got home (yes, I know now that lilies have six petals -- the one in my vision even had six petals, so I don't know why I drew five):

(If you can't read the verse, it's Song of Songs 2:2)
I started coloring it Photoshop, but I'm not finished yet, obviously.

I looked up symbolism for the tiger lily, and it's for wealth and pride. One source had it as symbolizing femininity, but it was just the one. Pink can be for being romanced/pursued out of love by the Lord. Cool, yes?

--

I had been kinda low for a few days (bit of a ripple with the boyfriend -- bound to happen), and I'd gone to prophetic hearings that were happening at my church on a Tuesday night, because more than anything I needed to get away. I came kinda late in it, and I was in the back, just sitting, not entirely paying attention, and thinking.

God put this in my heart to do, and while it may seem strange to think that it made me feel better, it made me feel better nonetheless:


I don't know if that's an actual verse that I wrote on my hand, but it's something that He put in my heart to write, so I did it. (It says: And so My beloved looked upon My cross / And she knew Me."

--

This happened this past Wednesday. I'd been having a bit of a rough week (I seem to get a lot of those) and I was feeling kinda low again. During worship, they played a song with the lyrics, "Only You are worthy."

And I sat at some point during the song, and one time as the chorus played, "Only You are worthy," I started asking, "Am I worthy? Am I worthy of You?"

And He said, "Of course you are." And He showed me a white bird, as if I had been watching it fly overhead; just this huge white bird. And the first thing that popped into my head was "albatross."

"Albatross?" I wondered, thinking of the bird. "I think I'd prefer if it were a swan."

"No," He said, "It's an albatross."

"Okay, okay, it's an albatross. So what does that mean?"

And I recalled the meaning of the albatross, specifically as told in "The Rime of the Ancient Mariner," and how the albatross was a symbol of good luck at sea.

Ahh...

And God said, "You are My good-luck charm. That's how worthy you are."

What a Word! I'm still reeling from it!

(Hopefully this vision doesn't also mean I'll get shot with an arrow... Haha!)

--

That's all for now, folks. He's always there, and He's always watching you, and He has plans for you all like you would not believe!

Jeremiah 29:11, guys!

♥Sarah

Dinosaurs in a Hotel

Original Posting: August 2010

A cracked-out title for a B-movie? Maybe, if Samuel L. Jackson ever gets this on his screen.

No, this is my first revelation!

Several days ago, I started having bad dreams, night after night. First was the standard actor's nightmare: you go on stage having no idea what the play is or what your lines are. Second was more personal terror – attempted strangulation, and no one in the crowd surrounding you coming to help. Third, to be short, my parents were getting divorced; which is extreme nightmare territory for me. I woke up crying from that one...

Last week, I was fed up with having bad dreams. I asked God that, if I was to remember my dream at all for that night, to please give me a good dream.

What He did in response was spectacular.

Imagine: A hotel. Dinosaurs invading that hotel, FULL of people. The Teen Titans (yes, those Teen Titans we loved to watch on Cartoon Network) rushing in to rescue the tenants from the dinosaurs.

There was actually quite a bit more than that going on, but that's the shortest way to put it, cos I want to get to the AMAZING part.

I was a bit skeptical, about asking God to interpret this dream – what can you possibly get out of dinosaurs in a hotel, right? But I asked Him to help me out, anyway, because there was no way I was making sense of this on my own.

The people in the hotel represent, of course, THE PEOPLE. Of this planet.

The dinosaurs, collectively, are Satan and his sinful influence, in this place where the people are trapped and easy prey to him.

The Teen Titans, collectively, are Jesus and His holy influence. They get the people OUT of the hotel, defending them from the dinosaurs. Jesus saves the people from sin.

With me so far?

Then I thought, "Wait... I was one of the Teen Titans, in my dream. What does that mean?" (I was Raven, if anyone wants to know – she's always been my favorite. And I/she was wearing a shimmering white-pink dress that seemed to reflect light a lot more than any material should, if it didn't actually emit light, and I'm quite sure there was a reason for that) I didn't get anything, but I trusted that I would know eventually, so I left it there and continued on my way to an interview.

Cut to last night; graduated seniors are prayed for by the group, and that was the night for me and two others. My mind was blown away by what some people saw as they prayed (a box in a room, me breaking out of that box and out of that room, but always having a vase around me, divine protection; a deer needing to always drink water, the water of God, to keep up its strength), but then, afterwards, Joel came up and said he'd gotten an image, and something he'd wanted to say, but hadn't because it was running long.

"Now's your chance!" I invited.

Here we go:

Joel told me he'd gotten a vision of me becoming accepted into a group – called "the elite" for sake of simplicity. Basically, people who don't yet know Jesus, who think they're above it all. This group sees me as being like one of them, and they let me in and open their hearts up to me, and then Jesus enters their hearts through me.

...

WOOOOAH!

Mystery solved!

I can't get over how world-rocking it is! Yay, Jesus!

Oh, and the following has happened twice, including last night, so it can't be coincidence (no, I seriously doubt it is): I prayed with my whole being to the Lord that those I love who don't know Him, would feel His presence and His love, and then I felt myself buzzing.

WOAH! If that's not supernatural, I don't know what is!

Oh my goodness, life is just picking up and becoming more and more incredible these past few weeks!

Psalm 104:1 – Let all that I am praise the Lord!

♥Sarah