It Turns Out

I thought keeping busy meant keeping happy
But it turns out it's just keeping busy.
And the happy just isn't keeping.

I thought your words would lead to actions
But it turns out they were only words.
And the actions never came.

I thought my prayers would bring me strength
But it turns out they're simply prayers.
And my strength is ever waning.

I thought your promises were sincere
But it turns out they were only promises.
And "sincere" is foreign to you.

I thought your silence could make me hate you
But it turns out I hate your silence.
And hate myself for loving you.

I know now it's all been wishful thinking
But it turns out the knowing is sadly futile.
And hasn't helped me change my thinking.

I know I should move on and forget your name
But it turns out I can't move at all.
And your name is everywhere.

I know my tears should be long dry
But it turns out tears love my reddened cheeks.
And just my mouth is dry.

I can't know what changed your mind
But it turns out the change is real.
And your mind is far from me.

Bridges and Dreams

Sleep comes too late
When words will not come.
I'm stuck on a track
My mind longs to jump.

Bridges and dreams,
My home and a song...
So many links
To a time that is lost.

There are moments I laugh
And mornings I cry.
Is the joy just deception?
Or salvation from grief.

"This, too, soon shall pass,"
Wiser men say.
But my heart doesn't buy it.
I feel trapped in the pain.

But the goodness of grace,
Comes in truth despite doubt.
Life carries on...
Moon still beckons Sun.

One foot, then the other...
A breath, then one more.
This is all I'm required
I will carry on.

Let's Make Magic

Last night, my absolutely freakin' lovely friend Ainsley and I met for what I hope is the first of many many many (ad infinitum) "writing sessions." Before we began, I suggested we make this like a Bible study of sorts... except, in this case, our subject will be the written word... our devotional, whatever inspires and encourages our written words.

I got home, my head swimming with ideas and my mind aflame as it hasn't been in far too long. But then I did what I am too often wont to do, and I got distracted by iPhone games, facebook stalking, and IM conversations. And I went to bed a little disappointed that I hadn't actually written anything, but still excited about what tomorrow (well, now, today) would bring.

Then, in the dark, buried under sheets and feathers, as I was praying for sound sleep and a restful night, the following words started clicking across the typewriter of my mind. Lights still out, glasses still resting uselessly on the bedside table, I reached for my phone and typed this into my "Notes" :

--------------------

I'm writing. I'm writing...
Thoughts pour forth from my skull.
This old typewriter is here
To give words to my soul.

I dream of you nightly
And fight not to love it.
I try to medicate you away,
Yet you fight your way through.

For so long I've avoided
Putting you on a page.
I suppose I'm afraid
Of trapping you here.

You're so much more than a poem.
My words cannot capture
The feelings I'm scared of...
And fear you'll never return.

Your silence is haunting.
I miss the lilt of your voice.
This might mean the end...
(bitter)Sweet dreams, here I come.

--------------------

This is the first poem I've written in at least three years... and while it's not very good, I can't begin to describe the feeling of elation I experienced as I texted it to Ainsley... in awe of what had just happened. This sort of thing used to happen to me all the time. Back when I was writing consistently. But again... it's been years. And hot damn... it felt good. It feels good.

See you very soon, pen and paper... typewriter and paper... keyboard and screen.
We're going to be friends again. And we're going to make magic.

Resurrecting the Ruined

I am a ruiner.
I ruin things.
I ruin the good mind, sweet spirit, and precious relationships God has blessed me with. I ruin these things with sinful and untrue thoughts, anger and unfounded hurt, and overwhelming doubt and insecurity. I struggle daily to believe the one who created me and even died for me truly loves me. How much more difficult to believe that others, as flawed and fallen as I, could possibly love me.

In church this morning, our pastor reminded us that we choose to hide behind locked doors out of fear... fear of so many things. The disciples hid in a rented room behind a locked door because they were afraid to face those who had crucified their friend and teacher... their savior. But Christ conquered death, passed through their locked door, cast it open, and told them it was time to teach, love, and forgive the haters and doubters that lived on the other side. As the Father has sent me, even so I am sending you. -John 20:21

I hide behind busy-ness and loquaciousness and self deprecation. I doom every good thing before it even has the chance to fully reach me. And my biggest and most horrific fears become self-fulfilled prophecies. There is a voice that lives inside my head that I don't know how to quiet. It tells me to doubt whatever goodness looks in my direction. I desire this goodness so deeply that I allow myself to look at it... sometimes even smile at it. But the voice is always there, reminding me that goodness is not what I deserve... goodness is not to be relied upon... goodness will see me for what I am and abandon me. So I shun the goodness... argue with it... even scoff at it... and eventually drive it away.

And I've come to believe that by doing this, I'm somehow protecting myself. If I ward off the goodness, the goodness can't turn its back on me later... and leave me broken.

But there is good news, even for a ruiner like me. Today (Easter Sunday) we are reminded that Christ not only died for us... He was resurrected for us. Christ was resurrected to show us... He will one day return to resurrect the ruined. Today I was reminded... whatever else I might have ruined, I will never be able to ruin His perfect sacrifice and resurrection. I will never be able to ruin the grace, peace, and forgiveness he has bestowed upon me. I will never be able to shun, argue with, scoff at, or drive away His love. No matter how much I doubt.

And I hope one day I'll be able to accept the earthly goodness He tries to give me. And I pray I'll stop driving it away, too.

I Want to Be Well

Lately, I can't imagine what "well" even looks like. Most days, I think I get glimpses of it. There are moments I remember happiness... I remember what I (think) I know in my heart to be true. I breathe deeply and sense a peace I've too long forgotten.

Then, moments later, I find myself fighting back nausea induced by my own neurosis. I'm beginning to wonder if perhaps my crazy is the reason I've managed to lose so much weight over the last year. I'm rarely hungry because I'm so often nauseated by the notion that everything I hold dear is nothing more than a figment of my imagination.

I am perpetually gripped by the idea that I've driven away, hurt or disappointed everyone in my life. And then these thoughts are compounded by evidence I present to myself by replaying (over and over and over again) recent mistakes and awkward encounters, all while dwelling on my many character flaws. Even now, as I'm typing this, I am bemused by my implication that these thoughts are, perhaps, false. And I feel absurdly ashamed at my inability to decipher what's truly the truth.

Day in, day out... this war within my mind rages on. And every day I feel my resistance weakening. Deep down, I know the deprecation and fear are self-induced. Deep down, I know my friends and family love me. Deep down, I know that even if they don't... my life doesn't and my happiness shouldn't depend on it. And yet, the enemy voice seems to grow louder and more insistent. And the evidence he presents becomes ever more convincing. But I must cling to what's truly true. I must find a way to believe what I know despite my crazy.

I want to be well. I really do. No more fuckin' around, Martha. I want to be well. I want to take control of my mind again, once and for all. And I want to kill my mind's enemy before he takes over and the lies he's telling me become my truth. From here on out, there's only room for one voice in here. And I have to believe I'm strong enough to win this war... I have to believe I will be well.

thanks to Sufjan Stevens for the inspiration

I Can't Remember

I need to start writing again. I need it bad.
For a while now, I've felt pretty lost. No... "pretty lost" is a ridiculous understatement. The truth is... I don't even know who I am anymore.

I've been unemployed for almost eight months. I started looking into grad school... but I was cutting it too close as far as deadlines, and I've made the decision to hold out and look into next fall as a possibility. I'm completely broke, in massive debt, and need to figure out a new living situation very soon.

The therapist I mentioned in my last post thinks I should consider moving out of Dallas... out of Texas even. She said I'm not like anyone she knows here, and while moving away is never a solution in itself...maybe I'll be happier, more content and at home somewhere else.

I don't know that this is true, necessarily. But it's made me wonder.

Really, I think it's that I no longer seem to be living my own life. I have a part-time job at Anthropologie... but retail (especially in expensive women's apparel) doesn't interest me in the slightest. And yet, I've found myself trying to think and look more fashionable, and I talk (or complain) about work like I've never done before. I find caring about these things (clothes and makeup and style in general) to be pretty mindless... and yet it's the only thing I can think to find my identity in these days.

That and being my roommate's roommate. I schedule my life around what my roommate's doing, and I have no idea why. I think this would bother (perhaps even anger) him greatly if he realized... it bothers me greatly, in fact. But because I seem to have forgotten what my life once was, I can't make myself stop. I lived alone for years, and yet I can't remember how I used to fill my time. I was extremely independent before the guys moved in last year... and I'm pretty sure I stayed that way for at least a few months into the situation. Yet, looking back... I can't remember what it was I did. How I filled my time (aside from work, of course) or kept myself fulfilled. And yet... I know for certain I was far more content and productive back then.

I was also probably far more interesting. I don't know if this is true, but I can't imagine otherwise. I had interests once... I was passionate about certain things... I was involved. But in what, I can't remember. And it's pretty damn terrifying.

There was also a time not so very long ago when I was invested in my faith. My life revolved around it. It wasn't easy... but I knew what joy felt like, even in the hard times. I don't anymore. I've recognized for a few months now how sleepy I am in my faith... and yet, I can't figure out how to wake up. I don't remember how to pray... I miss church more often than not (often for valid reasons, but sometimes for no real reason at all)... I no longer participate in extracurricular activities with my church friends. And it's been such a drastic downhill slide, that I'm afraid I've lost the strength to start the climb back up.

So yeah... I can't remember who I am. Who is Martha Elaine Belden? Because I can't remember... can you?

Visions

I recently started seeing a therapist after deciding perhaps it's time I start dealing with all this life has given me. For the most part, I consider myself an enormously blessed young lady. I don't think I need to go to any great lengths to prove this (amazing family, incredible [and countless] friends, a roof over my head, food on my table, beautiful music to listen to, etc. etc.). But I've certainly been handed my fair share of trials and tribulations as well. And there are times I surrender to that self pitying voice we all try to ignore and allow myself to believe maybe I've been handed more than my fair share. Unfortunately, over the last several months that stupid voice has grown louder and louder, and finally the tears and the petty anger have driven me to seek help.

Now, don't get me wrong. I'm not saying that therapy is only for those suffering from self pity's nagging voice or that it's anything to be ashamed of. I think I should have started talking to someone a long time ago. Perhaps if I had, I wouldn't have spent so many months crying myself to sleep or getting pissed off at my friends for quite literally nothing at all.

In the last seven years, I've been diagnosed with two chronic illnesses... one that almost killed me last November. I've been hospitalized at least once a year over those seven years and suffered innumerable strange symptoms and relapses. I've done chemo twice and taken copious amounts of steroids. I've been in a horrific car accident that should have taken my life. I've had my heart broken twice (once in the last six months). And I've lost at least three jobs (most recently in March) within months of hospital stays or chemo treatments. It's been a long seven years.

And it's finally caught up to me. I want to quiet that voice and remember all the beauty in my life. And my hope is that therapy is one step in that direction. I've only been once so far, but she's already opened my eyes to things I thought I already understood. The most surprising, perhaps, was her interpretation of a vision I shared with her.

Occasionally, when I'm seriously grappling with something in my life, I suddenly am struck with what I can only refer to as a vision. A few years ago, for example, I got caught up in a web of gossip brutalizing a friend who'd hurt and insulted me. Because I felt wronged, it took me some time before I began to realize how cruel my own actions were. While processing through all I had done and said, I began to visualize my sin and its effects on myself and everyone around me. I wrote it down here, and I still refer back to it when I feel myself slipping into bad ways.

The vision I had most recently came to me as I was driving down Mockingbird, contemplating the poor state of my heart and the awful habit I have of trying to shove said heart into the hands of so many friendly menfolk who wear a comely beard. One moment I was staring into the canopy of trees beckoning me home and fighting back frustrated tears... the next I was staring into the eyes of an eager child in a lovely dress, holding a beautifully wrapped and ribboned package. She was flitting to and fro handing the package to every passerby only to have the gift shoved back into her hands each time a little more worse for the wear. Finally, when the package was no longer recognizable, the tearful child unwrapped the gift, rewrapped it, and held it high in the air with her eyes shut tight. I blinked a few times and moved forward through the green light in front of me.

As I made my way home, I realized this little girl was me. I am so eager to find love... to love and be loved... that I too often hand my heart away to well-intentioned (and not-so-well-intentioned) guys who are most often simply seeking the companionship of a friend. And before too very long, I find myself a little more broken than the time before and all too often without even the friendship I was once so grateful for. And it struck me that the little girl in my vision finally realized the solution. I've long been taught to "guard my heart," and without understanding how to do so, I've always considered it brilliant advice. However, with this vision, I finally began to understand. In the end, the little girl finally surrendered her most precious gift to the only one who can truly handle it with care. I realized it's time for me to stop searching for someone to hand my heart to... it's time I hand my heart to God. I have no doubt, He knows what to do with it... who might be worthy of it... who might actually take it lovingly and keep it well. And this vision brought me comfort... even if also a lot of fear and trepidation.

And as my therapist pointed out, to my surprise (I hadn't even begun to consider this picture finding application beyond that of my poor excuse for a love life), this goes for every aspect of my being... everything I do with my life and everywhere I go. God made me wonderfully and uniquely who I am... and He knows best how to use the gifts and interests I possess. Now I'm just trying to figure out how to pry my stubborn fingers from this broken little package and surrender it to His loving hands. I know it's not yet beyond repair... but I'm afraid for any more damage.

Feel What I Feel

Life really is a funny thing. In fact, I'm a little bewildered by it. About two weeks ago, I wrote that last post... trying to look upon my seemingly dark life with a little optimism and hope. And then a few days later the darkness took over. I lost that job I was so thankful for... this time because the economy and current political climate have taken their toll on the industry I worked for, and I am no longer needed. Regardless of the reasoning, I'm unemployed, and I'm scared.

To make matters worse, someone I love dearly has gone away. He's not gone forever, I hope. And I am trying to believe that he left with good intentions and will come back someday under better circumstances. He's been facing demons of his own, and I'm selfish to wish he was still here. I hope whatever his reasons, he's finding peace and learning to believe in himself again. But he's gone, nonetheless... and he has given me no explanation. I've never hurt for someone so much in my life. I miss him, and I don't know how to get passed it.

It's so difficult to explain pain like what I'm experiencing right now. I've known pain like this in the past; but this time, it's more powerful than anything I've experienced before. When the hurt comes as a result of some infection, wound or sickness... there's typically a solution. An ointment of some kind. Pain killers. Medication. But when the hurt is psychological and takes over your mind, it destroys your ability to think clearly... to remember all the beauty and goodness and love surrounding you... and it seems impossible to find a remedy.

I've done all I can think to do so far... and I'm making it one day at a time. I remind myself as often as I can that things only seem as bad as they are. I still have that lovely home I mentioned. Those wonderful friends I have are all around me and are shining whatever light they can into my darkness. And all hope is not lost. I'm trying to cling to that faith I spoke of. It's still there; but it's been shaken again in its already fragile state, and I'm dealing with it gently right now.

In the midst of my own pain, I've also witnessed a lot of hurt around me recently. I want to be strong for those I love... to give them encouragement and be the shoulder they need to rest on. But I feel selfish and vulnerable and utterly incapable of being the friend, daughter and sister I long to be. My father says I should find some organization to volunteer with... somewhere I can work with people whose situations are far more dire than mine... people who can remind me to find joy in all the beautiful things I have that so many do not. And yet, I don't know that I have the strength. It's a struggle to swing my feet out of bed and stand up each morning, much less do some research and find a place and some people to help. My selfish sadness is terrifying... even though I know I'll come out of it... right now, I just can't see how.

I know I need to let myself feel what I feel right now and continue to just take my life one day at a time... but I want to see the light. I want to smile genuinely again. I want to spend time at home without feeling the agonizing weight of loss. I want to enjoy the company of friends without bursting into tears the moment we part ways. I want to pray and mean it. I want to be strong for the people I love. And I want to feel grateful for all the blessings I know I've been given.

I haven't said any of these things to anyone. My friends know I'm sad... they've seen the tears and my swollen eyes. But I haven't been able (or even tried, really) to articulate the depth of the sadness and hurt I'm living in. So maybe this is the first step. Writing things out has always helped in the past... and I'm hoping it will once again.

Turn On the Light

Life is a funny thing, isn't it? They say it's for living and that when it's going well and filled with fun, it goes by too quickly. And I would have to say that I agree with those sentiments. On the other hand, however, in its darkest times... it drags and that darkness seems as though it'll never end.

Unfortunately for me (and for anyone reading this) I'm in one of those dark times right now. And let me tell you... time is dragging... and I see no end in sight.

But instead of wallowing here and in an effort to try to find some light at the end of my tunnel, I'm going to take a step back and try to look at my life right now from a different perspective. Because, in all reality, I'm pretty sure life is actually quite peachy.

Let's see here... I have a job. True, things got a little stressful for a while after I got out of the hospital and was gone for more than a month. I almost got fired and had to kick my own butt back into gear to impress upon my boss, a new supervisor, and their boss that I actually want to be here and am capable of working hard despite my sketchy health. It was shocking to find myself on the verge of losing my job after having just suffered a near death, a long-ish hospital stay, and a more prolonged than anyone expected road back to good health. But in the end, I did it. I still have a job, and I think things are looking better than they have since I started a little more than a year ago.

Oh... and while I'm on that... I am in good health. Since the scare in November and that long road back, I haven't had any problems of the ITP, MS, or otherwise evil immune system variety. I still live in fear that something could happen at any moment. I check my hands and arms every few days for tiny pink freckles. I find myself on the verge of tears when I trip over my own words as I so often do, mostly because I talk way too quickly for my own good. And I fight and try to deny the depression that haunts and twists my thoughts. The depression I really should deal with... but otherwise, my health is wonderful right now. And I need to be more grateful.

I have a wonderful home. More friends than I know how to love as well as they deserve. Roommates who challenge me every day... in ways they will probably never understand (some I'm grateful for, some I could live without... but that's part of the challenge, I think). A family who loves and supports me despite myself. Plus, the weather has been beautiful for the first time in months. Yes, our snowy, winter-wonderlandy day last month was beautiful to see... but painful to feel after so many cold cold days. I'm so thankful for the sun and the shine and the warmth it indicates is coming our way. And above all... I still have my faith. It's taken some hits over the last several months. I've struggled with my belief that God does love me... but really, only because He won't give me the thing I believe I want most in the world. But deep down, I know He knows what He's doing... I know He knows what's best for me. And I just have to remind myself of this every moment of every day... especially when I least want to acknowledge it.

So while I still can't seem to see past this darkness right now, I know the light is there somewhere. And because I've been here before... I know it won't last forever. I just need to find that light switch... I know it's here somewhere.

Just for Red

As you (you being anyone) can tell, I haven't posted here in way way way too long. But I'm thinking it's time to revitalize this space. I need to flex my writing muscles again, and there was a time this was my favorite place to go at the end of each day.

So, since Red just told me she was coming by to see if I was still at this... Here I am. And now I'm going to try to think of something new to say. But in the meantime... for old time's sake...

I Hope it Dies

Why is this so hard for me now? Why am I so afraid?
There was a time I sat down in front of this silly contraption... often bleary-eyed from too much living and too little sleep, sometimes bored senseless and eager to find something/anything to occupy my time... and I would write for hours. Poetry, prose, love notes, confessions, jibberish.

And I was happy. I would come back and re-read what I'd written... editing mistakes I'd made in the fever of getting it all out... eager to see what (if anything) my friends had to say in response. But mostly elated that I'd done it.

Now, I think daily of sitting here (or anywhere) to write. To process through all the amazing people, places, and things I've experienced and grown to love of late. Things flitting about that memory part of my brain. Things growing paler as I neglect to make them permanent. And daily I convince myself there isn't time. There aren't any words. What if no one else cares?

Yet, never has there been a time in my life that I have so desperately determined to hold onto... a time I hope to one day chronicle... a time I scarcely believe I'm really experiencing. So why, for the first time in years, have I refused to sit down and keep track of these simple but extraordinary happenings... to share them with you and keep them safe and tangible for me?

What is it I'm afraid of? What keeps me from sitting still... quieting my anticipation and tranquilizing my restlessness... and taking a few moments to say some stuff and store some thoughts?

Whatever it is... I hope it dies. And I sort of hope it's painful.
It deserves it.

Still Here

A few of you occasionally remind me that I have this space and gently nudge me to write something new. I've wanted to for a while now... but I can never decide what to write about. I could write about my day, I suppose... tell you that I woke up, went to work, saw some live music (perhaps) or made a little dinner and curled up on the couch for the evening. But all that just seems so pointless... so worthy of a "yeah... and?" sort of response. So instead I've left my blogging hat (and, incidentally, my writing gloves as well) hanging on the peg at the door.

I've been reading a lot lately, which has made me desperate to write again and yet also terrified that I'll never live up to what others (or even I) expect or hope from me. I miss writing... I miss that feeling when I type the last word of this, that or the other and realize, "I've finished something. It might not be incredible... but it's mine, I wrote it, and it's finished."

I'm writing this while I'm at work because it seemed today might be a slower day... however, this has proved to be untrue and it's been almost three hours since I wrote those first two paragraphs. Thus, I find myself unable to keep a steady train of thought and continue on in any sensical way.

So before I go back to business, here are a few things I've done lately that have brought me joy:

• saw Harry Potter 6 (informal title) for the second time at Alamo Drafthouse in Austin
• while watching said film at said theater, I drank their version of butterbeer and enjoyed it immensely (I've been daydreaming about butterbeer since I first read about it in whichever HP book introduces it)
• watched/listened to a LOT of live music... mostly friends and their awesome bands, which only adds to the fun
• bought a really cool vintage dress from New Bohemia in Austin
• ordered a new mattress and boxsprings... I've been sleeping on my current set for 23 years, and before that it spent many years in my great grandparents' house (suffice it to say, it's OLD)
• picked out a new couch and plan to order it (most likely in the color "Vintage") sometime this week
• started reading The Eyre Affair on a friend's recommendation
• decided a few months ago that I'd like to go to seminary to be a relationship counselor... I got my acceptance letter last week (I feel like this isn't something to be overly excited about b/c I'm pretty sure they accept anyone... however, I was excited nonetheless b/c this makes it official)... I start in September
• I've started cooking almost all my meals myself... it may not sound revolutionary, but it is for me... and I'm loving it

Yeah... none of it's all THAT exciting. But I suppose life's joy is found mostly in the small things, right?

Looking Back

It's amazing how far I've come.

I can't believe this was little more than two years ago. Dr. Marder has done exactly what she said she'd do.

She's given me back my life. Sometimes I still can't believe it.