On Next Year

I think I’m mentally preparing myself – either that or I’m just worrying – for the upcoming school year. It’s going to be my last year as an undergraduate student and I think it is going to be the hardest year of my life.

I’m going to be working two part-time jobs while going to school full-time and also interning for 16 hours each week. I have no idea when or how I will find time to do any homework or when I’ll sleep. I imagine myself drained, always drinking coffee which I’ll swear is useless but will drink anyway, and never having time for anything at all outside of the aforementioned. I don’t even think I’ll have time to make social phone calls, not that I do that often anyway. The other day I thought of letting my dad know how busy I was going to be so that he wouldn’t bug me about not calling him.

Today, on my way from one job and to the other, I envisioned myself passed out on the floor of my apartment. I missed work and school and was eventually found by a housemate and then taken to the hospital, after which my family was somehow found out and contacted. The vision goes downhill from there as my father endeavours to compile a list of reasons the incident is my fault.

I know. It’s a bit much. I’ve come to realise lately that my mind goes rather quickly to worst case scenarios.

Still, I really want to get over this year. It’s going to be hard, but at the end of it I’m going to walk across a stage and receive a Bachelor in Social Work degree, which I will accept knowing that I worked my ass off for it. At the end of the year I will have become a stronger person, knowing that I too can suffer hardships in life and overcome them.

I know I have the wrong idea about the situation. I usually do. I see things through my feelings, and that clouds my vision. But I don’t want to suppress anything more than I already have. I don’t want to hurt myself that way. I already hurt myself so many other ways.

It’s like I said, once she says what she has to say she’s fine. She moves on with her life and doesn’t think about it anymore. She probably disapproves of my behavior, but doesn’t think that she should stop relating to me as her sister. Whereas I am upset that she spoke to me the way she did and I am still hurt by it. I haven’t told her this. She probably doesn’t know. Her tone with me on our last phone call was very different from the way she spoke in the texts. I was very surprised by it. She sounds very calm right now. I don’t understand that. I’m in turmoil. I wish I wasn’t. My life is always like this. There are things that I am thankful for and things that I am worried over at the same time, and so I can never be truly peaceful. There is always something that causes me to be anxious. There is always something that I dread, or fear. At the same time, there is something I am happy about. Something that makes me smile. I thought before that these things were cover ups for how I truly felt, which was depressed, or unhappy, but maybe it’s that that’s just the way life Is. When am I going to be happy 24/7? Never. But I’ve never been sad or down 24/7 either. It’s that yin and yang thing, although I don’t think there’s perfect balance, but in my happiness, there is sorrow, and in my sorrow, there is happiness as well. It’s a push and pull kind of thing where my being is fighting to be at peace, to be balanced. Sometimes I am too much on the side of sadness and I seek for something that will provide some way of escape for this. This is where I find temporary pleasure. Sometimes when good things happen in my life, as they have been recently, I wonder if I should be happy with these things. If it is okay for me to be happy. Not whether I deserve it or not. I’ve never thought that. But I wonder if…I wonder why. I wonder why these things are happening to me when they are the result of a negative incident, when someone else may be hurting as a result of that incident. Can I be happy now, even though I was miserable before. Is it okay for me to happy now, when someone else was hurt in order for me to receive these things, though I didn’t hurt that person intentionally, and though that person got hurt because that person may have been trying to hurt me. …

I got myself a pen pal last night. I found her on Instagram.

That’s not what I wanted to write about.

For the summer I’m hoping to finally start arranging my poems into chapters so that maybe I can get them published together as some sort of anthology.

Not sure if that is what I wanted to write about.

I miss my mother, a lot. It would be really great if I could talk to her about this new change in my life – me moving, and the cause of it.

Definitely wasn’t going to write about that.

I miss blogging. I want to do it more often. I definitely could since I have more time on my hands now. It’s just that I don’t know what I want to write about. I certainly have things on my mind, but I don’t know what I should reveal and what I should keep to myself. What can I blog about? What should I just write in my journal? Should I even still write in my journal?

***

I’m beginning to wonder if all the ideas I have in my head are going to stay there – all the places I want to go to, the things I want to do and say. Will they stay in my head or will they be able to make it out, to come to fruition? I wonder if I should abandon them so as not to be too hurt when (if) they don’t come true, if they don’t make it. I wonder if I should abandon these doubts and really try to make these ideas more than just ideas. They don’t make sense to other people. Other people don’t understand why I want these things, how these things could possibly benefit me. But I understand. These things won’t benefit me. They’ll make me happy. I don’t have a reason. I just want to do them. I just want to live.

I want to live for myself. I don’t care about being called selfish. I know that’s what I am. But I think it’s fine.

I don’t want someone else running my life, telling me what to do with it. I want to do it for myself, not by myself, but for myself. Everyone has opinions and everyone sees life from a different angle. My angle counts. What I see counts. What I think counts. I see no reason for it to be disregarded. I acknowledge that I have not lived a great many number of years. I acknowledge that I am lacking, in many areas. But I will not be made to feel as if what I think is not significant because of that. I will not be belittled for having my own opinions and perspectives. I will not subscribe to the idea that I am stupid or foolish, for thinking the way I do and wanting the things I want.

I am not one for inspirational thinking, or any thing that is meant to be uplifting, but I am becoming very tired of so frequently being positioned beneath the feet of others.

I never got around to loving God. It was just what I was used to; following orders to avoid punishment, being obedient, listening. It’s how I was raised. Obey your elders. Obey your parents. Obey your teachers. It all came from God. I always heard about Him, how He was the only one to be feared, how He should be feared more than man. He should be feared.

When I was in primary school, children used to say things like God is going to sin you when someone did something wrong. That was our way of saying you just committed a sin, and God is going to punish you for it. Somehow we all knew that. God was going to punish us if we did something wrong.

I don’t think that’s why I started looking for Him. I wasn’t scared, or thinking about being punished for any wrong I had done. I was just lonely and lost. But it turned into that; being scared of getting Him angry, inviting His wrath upon myself. Being scared of not being able to go to heaven. That was the ultimate goal; heaven. We all needed to get here, because this earth was not our home, not in its current state. Jesus needed to come and make it new again so that we could live on it. In the meantime, we had to do all we could so that we could be with Him when that happened. We needed to stay on His side. We needed to do what He said. We needed to love Him. If we did what He said, that meant we love Him.

But that’s not it. I did what He said. But I didn’t love Him. I was just scared. It was all motivated by fear. I lived every day in fear, either of Him, or of having to disagree with people because of my choice to serve Him. I never had the peace or the joy that was promised. I’m not sure if I ever had the hope either. I wanted it. But I don’t think I ever had it. I knew it all in my head. I had all the information. But it never went further than that. Not really.

I remember being frustrated because no matter how much I prayed, or sang, God never took me as His and used me for His purpose. Why couldn’t He use me to do things like other people? And I was greedy too. I was always thankful for small things, but I would forget them easily. I would always want more. Here’s the thing though, I never prayed for big things. I was never that kind of Christian. I don’t think I believed that God would answer. I never liked when our head elder told us to test God. That didn’t make sense, because the Bible told us not to do that. But he told us to put God to the test and ask Him for things and let Him work in our lives. I thought that was too much. I only asked for small things like help on exams or for it not to rain. Or if I got into a jam and I’d start worrying I’d pray at those times; quick breathy, worried prayers, asking God to help the situation and let it not be too bad, to let it work out. He was just…help, that I needed. And a God that I feared. He was big and powerful, and I was supposed to do what He said and not make Him angry. Because if He gets angry, then it’s all over.

I don’t know where I’m going with this but I’ve wanted to say it for a while. I think the type of person I am just worries all the time and…I’ll never have peace. I didn’t have it when I was with God and I don’t have it now. I worry too much, I always want, and I’ve noticed that I’m getting sadder and sadder each time I realize that something isn’t perfect. There is no perfect thing anywhere. And I mean among inanimate objects. Even machines don’t work the way they are supposed to. People have flaws all over. I don’t need to elaborate on that. It’s just everywhere. And I don’t know why I need it so much. I can never be happy if I keep looking for it. I didn’t even find it in God. That was the biggest disappointment of all. I was on a search for a perfect being, and I found imperfections in Him too. The church, the Bible, religion, His people. All flawed. All imperfect. Nothing going to the way it was supposed to. I can’t put my life on something that has flaws, and I’m not interested in hunting down ways to smooth out the obvious flaws that anyone with eyes can see.

I told my pastor once about the things I saw wrong in the Bible. All along I was being told by elders that the Bible never contradicts itself, and that there’s always a verse or passage in there somewhere to explain another one that seems confusing. But that was crap. It did contradict itself. I don’t go around thinking I’m a genius or anything, but I’m not stupid. That was crap. There were contradictions in there. He said that I was going to find a lot of that. I didn’t understand what he was saying. He told me that God was perfect, and had a perfect message for us, but that the messengers were flawed human beings, and because of that there were going to be some errors in the message as it passed from one to the other. But I didn’t understand that either. Why would God allow what He had to say to be twisted, to be misconstrued? That didn’t make sense. He is God. He could have prevented that. Why didn’t He?

This is too much. This is exhausting. So He gave me truth that was misinterpreted, and in that truth commands me to believe the truth that has been altered and that obviously contradicts itself? The truth that is supposed to represent Him. And Christians wonder why there people who don’t trust the Bible. There are reasons for that. They see that something is wrong with it. We are the ones closing our eyes to reason and…oh gosh, blind faith. See I can’t even think about this properly. That always comes up when I think about this. Blindly trusting God. Except He gave me something to look at that I could read and understand and study. Something that needs intelligence. But then I’m supposed to shut that intelligence off and just trust when what’s in front of me doesn’t make sense. I don’t like that. I don’t like that I’m being asked to trust something that doesn’t make logical sense to me. What He should have done was not let me come to America. Then He would have had me for a few more years and maybe by then He could have completely closed my eyes to everything outside of Him.

 

I don’t know what a mountain smells like. I don’t know what wet wood smells like. Wet wood that’s still in the ground. Pine trees? Not real ones, I don’t think. I don’t know what a mountain smells like. 

Hills and valleys are only in books for me. Text books. Geography text books. And novels I read in high school. Romance novels. Those were the only kinds I read. Hills and valleys are only in books for me. 

Sometimes I think I think too much. I can’t get my mind to be still. Unless I’m sleeping. But then I wake up. And I want to go to sleep again. Sometimes I think I think too much. 

I don’t know what to do with myself, at all. I really am getting tired of watching dramas day in and day out. I think I should read a book but I don’t really want to continue the last one I bought and the audiobook I’m in the middle of isn’t really appealing to me either. I think I should by another book that’s fictitious, but I don’t think I’ll actually read it. I’m not taking any classes right now. Another job is not an option. I’m not going to clean the house. What am I supposed to do? (Read the Bible??…)