Training to be a Superhero

Who doesn't love Marvel Superheroes? Oh - well then stop reading. This is for enthusiasts.

So, I don't turn the lights on unless absolutely necessary. Like, ever. I kinda loathe artificial light. I dunno - it hurts my eyes and gives me a headache. I'm already blind as a bat, so if I don't have my glasses on - I really can't see anything but vague colors. I've definitely taken a shower in the dark for years now and lately I've been attempting to manage in public without sight as well. It's been fun trying to figure things out without being able to see the details(also might be a big fan of not knowing who's looking at me, and how when I'm emotional). I mean, most people have the normal amount of senses and typically tend to rely on their eyes most of all. I'm down to four - I have no sight or smell to rely on. Ah yes, you're counting on your fingers now? I maintain I have four. You could call one of them a "radar sense" although it has little to do with Marvel.

So I've been working really hard for the day I lose my sight altogether, and maybe my mind as well ;) . And I think my training is paying off! The rumor mill has been churning...

...and I've heard tales that I am to succeed Daredevil! One of my favorite Marvel movies, no joke. The first time I heard someone slander the 2003 movie I got in a huge debate. And I'm pretty sure I lost, technically at least. Although - they probably have a bruise since that's how I debated in high school with my friends. But over time, I learned to just keep my mouth shut on the subject and my love for this movie, private.

So of course, I was ecstatic when I heard I could be the next demonic vigilante and have begun my training to become a "woman without fear". I can happily say that I can navigate the streets of my 'hood, in the day - without my sight or fear fairly well at this point. At night? Well...maybe one day...with a sidekick and a heck of a lot of Grace. For now I'll stick with training in my home when I'm up at 4am.

And so I've been doing just that. If I decide that justice needs to be brought to Hell's Kitchen, I get my apron on, grab a dish-rag, and go to town breaking heads - and maybe some dishes as well ;) . Last night, I woke up with an urgent need to restore order to Hell's, um, Privy. I would say that this part of Manhattan isn't as difficult to maneuver as Midtown West, but I hadn't planned on this mission. And being unexpectedly awoken by a strong desire for...revenge - I was half asleep when I set out and not even my four remaining senses were helping me maneuver the streets of my home"town". And this has happened before. I have many a scar from my lack of grace in times like these.

And although I returned to the sanctuary of my room in one piece, it was climbing into my bed that had me questioning my ability to ever live up to the dream of being able to have my name associated with the villains who are what made the movie for me. Well, them and Elektra. Oh and the cinematography ;) . I mean, really, if you haven't seen this movie in years, watch this trailer and you'll see exactly why I love it.

But alas. Although I could probably pull off the dramatic one-liners, my coordination leaves something to be desired. I might have attempted to crawl back into bed after my nighttime escapades and promptly hit the floor. Yep. Right foot bed, left leg - broken! Ok, it's not broken, but I do have a new bruise to add to my collection. And a hit to my ego as I was lying on the floor, wondering what exactly had just happened.

I think the best solution would probably be just to buy a coffin and fill it with water to shut out the world. No? Huh. Well - I'll think of something...

Until Next Time!

Trust is Hard

Hey All!

I'm pretty sure I've broken the ice enough that it's time to delve into something deep. Haha - I see those incredulous looks you guys are giving me behind your computer screens.

Most people who have read what I've written, or have been in Sunday School with me - know I don't hold back when it comes to finding the truth, even when it means revealing "deep, dark secrets" about myself.

Maybe you've thought, wow she's "real". Maybe you've wished you had that kind of courage, to jump right into a conversation, not fearing what people think of you. Maybe you've been present for a speech of mine that you're sure could have been reserved for a more select audience.

Wanna hear a secret?

I don't trust easy. Yes, I know you're laughing again. Either you don't know me well, and you think I trust indiscriminately; or maybe you know me better than most, and it's no secret that I have major issues with trust. This post is my attempt to work past a fear that has been incredibly crippling all my life.

That being said. Trust. It's a big deal.

I mean, most of us have participated in a "trust fall" at some point in our lives, even if we weren't willing to be the victim ;) . NO ONE has an easy time trusting. Unfortunately, trust is a very encompassing term and we each struggle with different aspects of it. I have a harder time trusting others in areas such as my technological incompetency, while others struggle with trusting people with knowledge of a lurid past. We all have vulnerabilities and we ALL struggle with this issue of trust.

I think one of the reasons for this, is that there is no "one size fits all" when it comes to where people struggle with trust. We are all unique, even at birth, and as we get older our experiences shape us even more so. And while there are some black and whites in this fallen world, for now, it is best to understand that there is also a lot of grey. While a root issue for all is pride, the way that is demonstrated in each person's life is different than the next.

Whenever I come across a problem like this, I want to solve it asap. I'm a big fan of "formulas". Please, just give me the equation and I'll find the solution. And I wish that were possible, as many seem to wish as well. It's not. I've been told to trust my friends. And I agree, but I struggle with how and even why it's so difficult for me to do so. And it does come back this idea of individuality.

We are each incredibly unique as individuals. I very much enjoy the discussions I've had with so many about how this uniqueness effects the way we each view the world so differently, even when we have the same moral or theological values. We might know consciously that we are different than others, but subconsciously we often forget to take that into consideration. Just yesterday I had a discussion with an elder at church about the privileges of life and how we often take them for granted because of an inability to place ourselves in another's shoes.

I mean, you've heard the phrase "driving is a privilege" I'm sure, but it usually takes a while to understand what this means - for teenagers, as well as many adults. You who know that this is true, and why - I hope are smiling and nodding in agreement.

I myself, have taken that for granted, as well as many other life privileges. We all do. Driving IS a privilege. So is going to college. A job is a GREAT Privilege. A family, friends, a loving community? Those are privileges. No, you do NOT earn them. No, you do NOT deserve them. That's definitely a societal idea, and although I love Disney, you're dreams will not ALL come true just because you go after them hard enough.

In birth you were given certain advantages. Were you born disabled? Physically or mentally? Were you born to a loving family or left on the street to die? Were you even given the option of life? It starts at the beginning, the privileges we have as people. And no, I don't think you should resign yourself to living a second-rate life. I think you should embrace life to the fullest!

But what happens if you lose your job to the economy? What happens if a second Great Depression were to hit? What if a hurricane or tornado takes EVERYthing you own. What if World War III begins tomorrow? These may be extreme examples, but they're real. You don't have control over every aspect of the world, or even your life. If you have the mindset that hard work is all it takes to succeed, then when the day comes where you have no control over your imminent failure...well, from experience, I'll tell you, it won't be good.

And this is one of the pieces I have fit into the complicated puzzle of the mysteries of this universe and what's going on in my blasted head. I did not have an easy life, and in the eyes of the world, I deserved the hell I went through LESS than ANY of my friends and family. I was the good, naive girl who only got in trouble for reading after her parents told her to turn out her lights out. Ending up in the hospital - in rehabs - in jail?! If you had told anyone who knew me in high school they would have laughed in your face, and many people from my youth still think I'm pulling their leg when they hear a little about my life's journey.

I may not have deserved my life in the eyes of the world, but I deserved it just as much as anyone, and I am becoming...even thankful for it. Because I see things many can't. I see that a home is a privilege, not a reward. I see that your differentis as well. Relationships are in general. And that circles us back quite nicely.

Relationships are a privilege. They are not deserved or earned. And they DO take hard work, but that also does not mean you will get to keep them. I've learned over and over, that no matter how hard I work at a relationship, it does not mean they will always be in my life. And with this societal mindset that we, as a country at the very least, have - I always blame myself when my relationships fall apart. It is MY job to keep my friends and family and it is MY fault when they leave me.

Of course, it is far more complicated that, but this post is already getting incredibly long :) .

Trust is not easy for me...or for you. We are all different and we are all the same. We all sin. We all struggle. We all fail. We all want to be free. But just because we struggle with similar issues, have common backgrounds, like the same college basketball team, does not mean we always understand why a person is the way they are. I cannot use the same "formula" as you in my struggle with trust. I am working on it - I've been working on it, but sometimes, people don't see my success in this area. You don't know where, within this big general region of trusting, I wage my hardest battles...and why.

And one of the reasons I have such a difficult time, even sharing this much, is because I have pretty terrible experiences in attempting this in the past. I've tried this thing called trust and I've been hurt by it. I've been beaten black and blue by this thing called, "trust". And my friends now, they're no different. They're not perfect, they will fail me and they will hurt me just as badly as the man who walked out of my life after he promised me the world. But I will try again.

I will let you into my heart, because when you do hit me with your fist, or worse - your words & silence, I won't be alone this time. I will never have to go through these beatings by myself again. Because that's what they are. "Sticks and stones can break my bones but words will never hurt me"? Oh please, physical pain gives me a thrill. Maybe you're scared of sticks and stones - my fears are far less tangible, but just as painful.

I love you all dearly, I truly do. This is me, not wanting to convict, but attempting to trust. To explain why trust is hard for me and to let you have a peak inside my head. But I'll tell you now, the inside of my mind is a scary place, don't ask for the key if you're not ready for the haunted corn maze you'll have to traverse, complete with the most horrifying monsters popping out to scare you, as they terrify me regularly.

Of course, no one will get complete access to my soul. That is reserved for One, and no other. I am an extremist, but I've been working on finding the line between. One of the ways I will continue to do this is by following the idea behind Luke 16:10-11.

I look forward to trusting each of you - little by little.

Sincerely,

Kt

Diamond in the Rough

So, everyone knows the Berger Girls' are awesome. But our guys are just as spectacular. Particularly one, my long-time favorite - Reedlejuice. All the Berger men have their endearing qualities, but our Buddy-Ro is a diamond in the rough.

With four extremely confident, opinionated, and loud ;) women in the house already, the first boy born to our family never had it easy. I won't go into the grisly details of what he had to put up with as a child, but feel free to ask me anytime! And our Buddy could have done a good many things in retaliation, but his response to the drama he had to deal with as a young boy, I've been blown away over and over again.

I wouldn't say we have the closest relationship right now, but he's in college - I guess I can give him a break ;) . The thing is, that no matter how close we are, he loves me how he can. When I lost my entire world(it seemed), he packed up the remains and stored them while I struggled to survive...several times. When I was stranded in a parking lot, unable to drive from the hurt caused by my ex's actions, he and Dad drove to pick me up...at 2am. He came, simply so I could have my car in the morning when I woke up. When I ran out of gas at the side of the road, he brought it to me...when I was an hour away from him. When I was scared out of my mind, he came and held me until I calmed down...at the expense of his Cookout shake(It was delicious, thanks. Gotta love the distraction technique).

And this weekend, when it rained cats and dogs, he took pains to rescue my most treasured collection. It did not survive and I was heartbroken, but he knew how much it meant to me - and that means SO MUCH MORE. Even now I am crying at the love my brother has continuously showed me, not through words always, but through his actions. 

When the first person told me that their actions spoke louder than any words that came from their mouth, I did not understand how this was possible. But I've been watching and I've been learning. I thank you friend and I thank you brother, for showing me love the way you can. It means the world. I can never repay you for this, but this is my attempt to show you love in my own way. I adore you Bud and I hope this is better than the pizza I offered, but I dunno how anything could beat Papa John's Supreme Cheese Special.

P.s. My favorite picture of me with my brothers - ever yet.

Princess Bride Style Zombie Apocalypse

I'm proud of being a 90's girl. I remember a lot of odd things from the 2nd millennium. Like how you could just unhook your corded phone if you were feeling anti-social. Using a computer without a mouse. Even having my Mom get frantic when I decided to go to friends house after school as a 1st grader, without telling her. I know many wonder how a rational fear could be seen as odd. Probably because I'm all for giving small children phones, not smart phones necessarily, but yes, a gadget with a nice little tracking device ;) .

I'm a big fan of the way technology is headed. I agree with many that it is entirely too easy for kids to get lost in the chaos of today's world full of gizmos and gadgets. And that is exactly the point. I think it's extremely important for parents to learn how to use these confounded gizmos so that one day they are able to guide their children through some of the treacherous waters that can be found on the internet. And eventually our children will have to know how to navigate that dangerous territory, despite every parents' dreams of a life for their kids, without needing to introduce them to anything scary.

But there is a bright side! How many people have I heard use the phrase, "a kids mind is like a sponge"? They are curious and perceptive and an early age is the perfect time to teach them proper "technological etiquette". The earlier they learn the moral, legal, and social ramifications of many aspects involving computers, and social media(!), the easier it will be for them to make smart decisions when they do have full and unguarded access to the world.

My generation, including me, already has an incredibly poor understanding of social etiquette. I had a conversation with a woman, recently, about how the baby boomers were much more adept with the idea of social graces than any of the generations following. And I believe that has much to do with the way the world is quickly changing and a refusal to "move with the times". I'm not saying society is perfect, but unless you are adapting to change, you cannot effect it as well.

I hope if I do have the opportunity to have children, I can teach them the social graces my parents tried to instill in me, while adapting those different types of "etiquette" to work in any world I end up in. Ideally I would like to act out a scene from Princess Bride in a real-life zombie apocalypse. And if you think this is impossible - I'll tell you, it's been done before by our ancestors time and time again. We can continue this tradition, but not without considering the possibilities as well as the difficulties in the attempt.

My Conspiracy Theory

We all know the saying:

Once is luck, twice is coincidence, but three times is conspiracy. Adapted from a Ian Flemming quote, I believe.

However, I have a new feel on that idea. It has to do with that cliche word “affirmation”. Even when I’m not looking or even expecting “conspiracies” I have seen them popping up in my life. I thought they were simply exciting coincidences that I was reading into far too much. But one day I had a good friend point one out that we had never discussed and I was thrilled that another had seen what I had attempted blow off! And this particular happenstance could not be labeled as such, or even coincidence in either of those idioms. I had no choice but to call it a “conspiracy”, but I have a happy idea of Who’s it was.

I have agreed with Mr. Flemming in the past in counting this sort of affirmation as “enemy action”. No joke. It is known by many that I’ve needed to be approached very carefully about difficult ideas as I have thrown entirely too many hissy fits in my life. And although I no longer scream obscenities, I still struggle with rejecting differing opinions out of hand.

Today I would like to share a small example of the countless “conspiracies” my “enemy” has taken against me ;) .

If you follow me on Fb, I post a variety of things, from funny memes to random “lightbulb moments”. I also have posted links to several ladies’ blogs, each tremendously encouraging and insightful. Today I stumbled across a woman named Hillary Covil, who was a guest blogger on my church’s website. She wrote the most beautiful and and terrifying “truth” I have always known, but have struggled with terribly.

Hilary Covil: A Key Component to Christian Love

It moved me, but I only took the time to add it to my growing list of amazing blogs and then move on. This happens quite a bit in the mornings when I different projects that need attention. Usually I go back and forth between conversations, learning more about the technicalities of my job, and keeping up with what’s going on in society today, which is a very important aspect in knowing how we can Love Others.

So I was surprised in this mornings efforts, to see that my most read blog post, was “A Ramble Through My Mind”, which I have not reread since the week I posted it. It was one I had discounted as, well, a ramble which I assumed meant babbling needlessly. I decided to take the time to reread it and was absolutely delighted to see so many more “conspiracies” contained within that blog! The affirmation of things I’ve been learning and struggling with was so overwhelming that I desperately wanted to share with you the amazing grace I keep being shown.

The example I’ve begun in "My Conspiracy Theory" today, can be seen throughout the second half of that rambling dissertation. You might be thinking, feeling is not the same as being vulnerable. For me, however, letting myself feel and especially, allowing myself to cry is a sign of the ultimate vulnerability. One that I do not show easily, but have worked on all my life to get to the point where I ever allow myself too, which could be why many take it for granted when I show my feelings. I am getting better at allowing myself to be vulnerable, but please know, that is is still NEVER easy for me and I doubt it will get too much easier even over the next ten years. But I won’t place bets on God with that ;) as He knows me entirely too well *cough*OmnicientlyAnnoying*.

Thanks All,

Kt

"Door of Hope"

Hey All,

I’ve mentioned a woman, who has a love for single teen moms that few can rival. There are many I know who can relate to the story of these girls, whether or not it also involved having the responsibilities of a mother. You each empower me when I think of your stories and how far you have come! I struggle to think I could ever join the ranks of such amazing women who have been to hell and back and still fight for hope!

So I thought I’d share with you, a woman who is intimately involved with others like us, and has such moving stories of suffering, pain...and hope. And when you struggle to find the fight in you on those “closet days” - when life is trying, again, to knock you down, you can read the stories of other girls, who are also fighting! The struggle to climb out of that abyss of despair is NEVER easy, but in knowing there are others there with you, attempting the same impossible feat...Well, if we go all “Antz” and work together, maybe we can build a human ladder just high enough to see the world again. "Antz" ending scene (definitely NOT a perfect analogy, but I’ll work on it. It has potential.)

Her name is Shannon and she works in Honduras with Puerta De Esperanza “Door of Hope”. Isn’t that a great name for this mission? She is a mother of five beautiful children and has the capability to love so many more! A little about this “mission of hope” can be found at Puerta de Esperanza while Shannon herself has a blog that shares some of those stories I believe you will find, touch your soul like they have mine. Shannon's Blog

I encourage you to look at these stories with an open mind. We might not all struggle in the exact same ways, or find the same answers in our search for “truth”, but that doesn’t mean we can’t relate to just about anyone if we keep an open heart. I, myself, struggle with most preachers. I find that whenever I listen to someone give a talk, that I can’t interrupt ;) , I have to remind myself to not listen with a chip on my shoulder. This can be hard, as I’ve never agreed with a pastor 100% and some I have outwardly raged about. However, I’ve found that when I look for what I can relate too, no matter how small or rare in what I consider a very poor sermon, it opens so many more doors!

In having, even one good thing to say about something you’ve heard, gives you opportunities and relationships you never would have otherwise! No one wants to be blown away with all that’s wrong in something they’ve said. If you point out all the problems, without anything nice to say, they will just shut down and you’ve accomplished nothing. I’ve had people say that they are just trying to speak the truth and don’t care what others think. But, if you aren’t trying to change people's’ minds on something you see as a truth, then why are you ranting?

How is it helpful in our goal, to change the world for the better, to just preach to people who only agree with you? If you don’t know who I’m talking to - Good. Because I’m not just talking about myself, college students, target shoppers, protesters, vegans, hunters, pit-bull owners, I mean - the list is never ending. Whether you admit it or not, you have a passion that you want to share. We all do. So take what I have with a grain of salt, for I have a passion now as well. I have a passion for the hopeless and the ones in this abyss of despair.

And I’m only starting how to learn how to share this passion in a loving way. But now that I’m no longer just, surviving, I will learn and grow. I will get better at sharing this passion of mine with you without ranting. Please bear with me until I do, for it is not anger that causes this. Like so many, it’s love. Love for people who hurt in ways I have and I can’t bear to sit by and just watch. I don’t wish this suffering on my worst enemy, much less my friends. This has proved problematic as sometimes learning the hard way, is the most effective way.

There are many times I wish I could be the savior and take the suffering of my loved ones in their place. Even with this desire, I know that I cannot. But I still find myself wondering if there’s a way to become a superhero in this day and age. Please do not tell me if there is, because it would probably not be good to give me that kind of power. I may have good intentions, but I screw up just as much as the next person, and I would not be able to handle the responsibilities of Savior.

Thanks for listening and go check out Shannon’s Passion! I will work on preparing for your thoughts and comments :) .

Sincerely,

Kt

That "Ugly" Word...Acceptance

So, I make friends, fairly easily. Maybe it’s because I don’t know when to keep my mouth shut, or maybe it’s because I get excited extremely easily. Whatever the reason, whether it’s the friend of 21(!)years I offered gum to the day she moved in next door; or my “long lost sister” I made a vow with at a party that “we would be bffs for life!” and never got her number - we all struggle with the issue of loneliness.

I listened to a woman speak last night about her work in Honduras, with single, teen mothers. She said that these young women struggled with such intense loneliness and it hit me hard. Because, no matter where I go or who I meet, that hole in the pit of my stomach I have felt so often, stems from from feeling unloved, unwanted. And even with all my friends, this is not a hole that can be filled easily. People are fallible, people leave you, or sometimes, you lose people in much harsher ways.

Death is never easily understood, when it’s someone close to you. And if the day comes when that person you rely on to feel loved, to feel like you are valuable and worth a lick, is taken away from you, I pray you have something to fill that gaping hole that will appear with their absence. Too many times I have lain in my bed, curled as small as can be, arms around my knees, trying to close that gaping maw of hurt and pain. Too many times have I met a boy who promises to end my suffering, even for the night and I jump at the opportunity to be pain-free, if only for a couple hours.

This is my to goto for filling that pit in the innermost parts of my soul, what’s yours? Because we all struggle with this, and we all have different solutions. Some of us drink, some do drugs, some cut, some watch porn. And those are the known self-medications. Have you thought about the others? Do you know exercise produces the same results as cutting? It’s all about the endorphins - that high. Have you thought about where your “baby fever” comes from? Do you maybe have the idea that if you have a child, then you would have someone who will has no choice but to love you? What about your job? Do you need to make money, to feel productive, in order to believe you have a purpose in this world? Because, feeling like you make a difference can also alleviate the pain of loneliness in the same unhealthy ways. I mean, if no one cares about me, at least I have that self-righteousness in knowing they need me.

And maybe none of these are things you struggle with, or maybe, like me, you’ve tried them all. Have they worked for you? They haven’t for me. We all want to be loved. I would also argue, that we all need to be loved. No matter your struggle, no matter your gender, no matter your nationality. Whether you’re the homeless man in the gutter, or an upstanding citizen with two children and a white picket fence. We all need to be loved.

"The sinners are on the bar-stool. The sinners are on the church pew. We are all sinners...There has to come a time when we stop seeing each other by the places that we sit and start seeing each other as the people we are. 'Cause after all - we're just people. People in need of love." -Ed Baxter Church Pew

Judgement - that too is something our world struggles with. We like to judge - I like to judge. And I do tend to judge Christians harsher than any. Maybe it’s because they have all these “answers” but tend to remind me more of the pharisees of the Bible than followers of Christ. “Bible-beating” Christians make me angry, as they see so little. Their vision is narrow and legalistic, and rarely have the very important trait of empathy. And like these “Christians”, the Pharisees from the olden days suffered from this lack of empathy.

Hearing that Jesus had silenced the Sadducees, the Pharisees got together. One of them, an expert in the law, tested him with this question: “Teacher, which is the greatest commandment in the Law?” Jesus replied: “‘Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.’ This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: ‘Love your neighbor as yourself.’ All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments.”

-Matthew 22:34-40

As much as many frown on the way society is trending, this is something the world around you has a better grasp on that the average church. I have always felt more comfortable in a bar than in church, because they accept me. Yes, that “ugly” word “acceptance”. But it is our society’s way of loving unconditionally. And although it is not perfect, I believe it is a far better way to love unconditionally that the ways many self-proclaimed Christians have found.

But I’m not done. I didn’t expect all this to come out when I started writing this, but it is not only Christians who have a problem judging. All you lgbt enthusiasts, I don’t care what gender or sexual-orientation you are, you can be just as bad. The most beautiful love quotes I find are under the category of “lgbt love”. Truly! But does this not extend to Bible-beaters? I know they started it but you can end it! And you have already begun! I’ve seen so many touching articles of love shown in the face of the truly heinous protests by people who have a such a narrow vision on what it means to be a Christian. And I am sorry for this hate done in the name of Jesus, for it is not.

I dislike saying I’m a Christian so often, because of people who hold signs that say “God hates *insert protest here*”. In a Bible search I found two instances with the beginning “God hates…” The first was worshiping other gods with despicable acts. The second had to do with erecting altars to other gods. Do you see where this is going? God is a jealous husband and it has nothing to do with the “despicable acts” as much as it has to do with whether you have idols above Him. And I would bet all my money that you do. You, Christian, also have idols that you place above God, just as any of the other sinners in the world.

We are all to be judged, but not by you, and not by me. And in the end, I’d be willing to wager that there will be far more people who label themselves lgbt in Heaven then there will be those who are so quick to exhort others in the name of Jesus. We are ALL in need of love and grace. It’s time we start learning what that really means.

Sincerely,

Katie

Wrong Side of the Bed

So, I totally woke up on the wrong side of the bed this morning and it was an odd experience, mainly because it was not figurative, but a literal definition of the phrase. Went to bed at one angle and woke up with a 90* difference. Not so odd for small children *cough*Duke*, but uncanny for me to say the least. It may help to know that for the past 8 or so years I have either slept in a single or shared anything larger. I don’t remember if I moved around a lot as a child, but as an adult, this hasn’t been an option. I would’ve ended up on the floor with this kind of movement.

It was hard enough acclimating to having a large bed to myself these past couple months. The space bothered me whenever I would unconsciously reach out in my sleep for that reassuring warmth and it was never there. At least with a small bed I was never under this illusion. Sleeping most of the time involved a hand or foot, or both handing midair. So for a while, I surrounded myself with pillows and always made sure the edges of pillow cases were available for wiping up excess eye leakage on the more difficult nights. And, gradually, I grew accustomed to being alone.

There was the day that helped with this process. A dear friend of mine was going back to college and I made her a last second scrapbook, which is not an easy process for me, and I did it...in one night. Of course, this frenzied attempt had been working past midnight before it was completed, albeit, rather sloppily. Nevertheless, it had everything I wanted to convey and I was pleased. I put the completed work aside and was ready to collapse immediately when I realized, my bed was covered in paper, glue, stickers, you name it, it was probably on some portion of my work bench. All I could think was, “pduoicnebcue” as my head wasn’t making sense with exhaustion. So I did what any person in this mindset would do - I pushed things around until I could fit in a prone position, and then I fell asleep.

Granted, it was not the easiest sleep. I’m pretty sure I found the scissors I had lost earlier that night, but when I woke I was refreshed. After that day, I realized a perk of having a big bed to yourself: There’s enough room for you and a quite a bit of crap too. And with time and the personal changes I was experiencing, I was working on a couple projects. In this process, a new sleeping arrangement was found. I slept in my bed, diagonally. On one side was my phone, glasses, book, water, all my night-time necessities; and on the other, the project of the day. And I was content with this. However, as you change, so do your routines. This can be sad for me, but encouraging as well.

These days I prefer to work on my projects downstairs, more often than not, for a variety of reasons, so my bed is typically quite empty. Plus, I think I was really starting to like having the space to myself as there has been the occasional time I have kicked something off the bed! And that isn’t common for me since I’ve slept with a cat for the majority of my life. You learn not to kick “random” objects off, even when half asleep, or you will be woken from this novice, kitty-owner mistake.

However, every night I still start with my head at about 11 and one foot at 5 -  my sleep positions are similar to some of Peace Softball’s forms when stretching, so the other foot could be anywhere. And with the gradual acceptance of freedom of night-time movement, my head could end up anywhere between 11-2, while my feet could literally be anywhere lower than this(I am not like Lu in having ever been able to put my feet behind my head).

So, I was completely taken aback this morning when I found that, while I still had gone to sleep at my usual angle, my head was now at 4 and my feet at 12. Wha?! And this is when my curiosity started to take effect. How did this happen? Why was it surprising? Has this really not happened before? Does this happen to others? But the question I’m going to spend the rest of my morning on, and that I’m most eager to answer, is actually, “where did that phrase come from? ‘I woke up on the wrong side of the bed.’ And why does it have such a negative connotation, when I have found it an extremely satisfying experience.” Haha, this should be fun!

Kt

What Makes a Book "Good"?

I do think this is subjective, for the most part. I understand there are classics out there, but I also don’t believe that the basis for a “good” book is based on archaic writings from the 1600s. As society and the world change, so do the people and what makes them tick. I am not saying that these older classics have no relevance in our current society, but I also don’t believe that they should be the guidelines for what makes a book considered well-written.

I’ve thought often about my criteria for a good book, as well as the public’s, my friends and some critics. And I think the biggest thing these four groups have in common, is that we don’t always see eye to eye. And this is but a sample of the different groups out there and how rarely they agree on the definition of a “good” book, as well as supporting my original thesis. I don’t know enough about history to know if it was always this way, or if this is a new thing for society. However, with what I know about people, there is typically always a person who likes absolutes and “black & white” thinking. I know this, because it is usually me ;) .

So let’s be honest here - what truly do you like in a book? And why does that have to be the same for everyone? Why can’t “Twilight” be a good book? And even well-written, which I would argue, it is! I don’t know your basis for good writing, but I learned ages ago that descriptive words, flowery language, crazy awesome essays, I mean, they really aren’t that hard to crank out. I’ve been getting A’s in my writing since I started getting letter grades and was accused of plagiarizing by more than one teacher. Not even college papers posed problems for me, in any subject, even when put off til the last minute. And I know my classmates did not agree with me, as their grades reflected this. So, maybe now you understand, why “well-written” can be subjective. I see authors who have an amazing talent in their grasp of language and rhetoric, that I could care less about. I mean, if I can do it in middle school, what makes you think it’s impressive? You want to impress me? Get me to relate.

When I find a good book, it’s because I was able to put myself into either, the characters’ or author’s shoes, and feel what they felt. I saw what they saw. I laughed, I cried, I understood. This type of writing is harder for me. I can’t bs my way through blog posts like I can term papers. There’s so much more to books than semantics or a well-thought out thesis. Although, both are important, they do not make a book “good”. Not in my eyes. And the best books also don’t always have happy endings, I’m sad to say. They also may have ideas you don’t agree with, and that’s ok too. We never learn anything from constant agreement. So, disagree if you will, because I would like the opportunity to know what YOU think makes a book “good”. I’ll be looking forward to that discussion :) .

Kt

P.s. Thought y'all could use a break on the intense posts plus I've been giving myself writing exercises. Hope you enjoyed!

Spoiler Alert: I am Valuable

For those of you who are newly joined to this story of my life. It’s been pretty insane. Like, literally. From 8 month rehabs to multiple suicide attempts. Since I was 18, my life has been, difficult to say the least. And no, I haven’t always been surrounded by friends and family. I’ve been completely alone in the world. I’ve hit rock bottom. I’ve lost everything. Everything...multiple times. And yet, I’m still alive. So although, this story starts out sad and doesn’t exactly have that perfect ending, where “they all lived happily ever after”. I mean, come on, life isn’t some fairy tale where everything’s all rosy once you find your one true love. Been there, tried that, didn’t work. But this is my story. This is my roller coaster ride in the year 2015. These are where my thoughts and emotions have been over these last few months. This doesn’t mean this is where they were last year or will be next year. But enough of you are constantly asking me where I am right now, where I’m going in life, or sometimes just what’s going on in my head, that I’ve decided to take some time and give you the cliff notes. Yeah, gotta love Spark Notes that are 8 pages long. Oh boo hoo. Suck it up Buttercup. You wanted to know, here ya go. And spoiler, enough of you will really enjoy the ending.

I’m not the best with timelines but somewhere in late Feb/early March of this year I was admitted to the hospital. I attempted suicide for the first time in 8 years. To this day, I don’t know what I was thinking when I was taking those pills, and nothing is so simple as to have only one answer, although if it was, I would say it boils down to pride every time. In this case the pride manifested itself in believing I had no purpose on this earth and God was wrong to put me in all your lives. That I was in no way helpful and only some kind of festering boil that needed to be lanced and drained of negativity. I felt that the only way my life had any meaning was simply to be as a warning to others. Haha, yes, I know many of you told me that as a joke and it truly is funny. And the problem wasn't in believing that that humorous demotivational poster was a purpose for my life, because it totally is in many ways, but there was definitely a problem in believing that was the only purpose for my life and then brazenly rejecting it as well. See, pride. So I decided to do what I honestly believed everyone deserved even if they didn’t actually want it, and take myself out of your lives. I knew death was the only way you could truly be done with me and be able to heal. Running away wouldn’t cut it. I remember that day vividly in some ways and it cuts my soul like a knife.

And although I tend to think very black and white, and I dislike grey, I’m learning that there are very few uncomplicated absolutes in this world, so I won’t say that day was this “big turning point in my life”. As an optimist, and a fan of memes, I realize that taking a step backward after taking a step forward is not a disaster, it’s a Cha-Cha. And that is the way I have danced through this ballroom called life. There is not one big light-bulb moment for me. There are too many questions in this world and even more answers.

But for this post on this day, as a starting point, that hospital visit works well enough. It was this particular stay I realized a significant “truth”. If you know me, I'm always looking for different kinds of "truths". And on that day I realized, I could try to take my life as many times as I wanted. God is simply not going to let me die that way. Some may think that I have survived, not because of God, but because I have only made half-hearted attempts to end my life. That I was some simpering white privileged girl who cried over spilt milk. These people are fools. You have no idea where I’ve been and what I’ve done. And yet, I am alive. This I believed for so long, was either some cruel cosmic joke, or a horrible mistake. But I had to face the fact that I was stuck here and no matter what I did, for now, I was invincible.

It really struck me how rude fate could be when I was discharged from the hospital and placed at Holly Hill, where I met a gentleman who had literally shot himself point-blank in the head with a gun and survived. He, like me, didn't want to be here and he had done something I had wanted to do and showed me the futility of it all. No, the bullet didn’t miss. The bullet went through one side of his head and out the other. This man is not a vegetable. He can walk and talk and function. Getting there however, took years of reconstructive surgeries and hard work. He showed us the scars and we tapped on his face to feel the metal plates. It was surreal. You probably see this story with some kind of moral, probably happy or hopeful. People like that man, me and all the others there that day, who were trapped in an abyss of hopelessness, saw it as our last chance taken away from us. It was exactly the opposite of what so many think. We already thought we had nothing. Hope was long gone, but now control over our fates was too. We couldn't even decide to leave this world full of anguish, pain and sorrow.

I came to the conclusion after meeting him, that I was stuck here. And although I wasn’t happy about it, I was going to make sure the people who deserved a life without me, had a good life despite me. Yes, I know, don’t worry, it gets better. The first thing I realized I needed to do, was take the strain off the terrifyingly few people I was relying on at this point. It might not be very fair to make a crapload of people deal with my emotional train-wreck of a being, but if I was going to have to live on this earth and if these people weren’t going to rid themselves of me like they ought to, than they needed more to share in this suffering or no one would survive('cept me, 'cause I'm invincible). So I began that very day. I stifled my pride and made several calls. In the beginning, my decision to change was not for me, but for others. I had long since given up on my own life, I was just resigned to it. However, God is “sneaky sneaky”(reference to "Mr. Deeds") and I had already given in to communicating with Him again a few weeks or months earlier(really, not good with timelines).

You see, we made a deal. He was obviously not leaving me alone and wanted me to talk to Him, and although I felt quite crazy that day, standing in the shower talking out loud, even to the point of saying, “I’m crazy. I’m f*&^ing crazy”...repeatedly. But we talked and I made a deal that night(disclaimer: this is not a sound theological principle to stand by and I don’t recommend it). I told Him I was willing to talk to Him, if He would let me be myself. You can laugh at that, “be yourself” part, but seriously though. God is this big deal, omniscient, omnipresent, lots of “omni” words, Holy Being who know’s all my innermost thoughts. I can’t just go and have an actual relationship with Him, while trying to hide all my imperfections and blasphemy(and there is a LOT of that). He wants me to talk to Him, then I will, but no formal crap. I can barely hold my life together much less try some of this cliche nonsense everyone seems to think is necessary. So we started talking pretty regularly, which was a very good thing for this round at Holly Hill.

For those of you who don’t know, at this hospital juncture, me and my doctors had decided, with my family’s permission, to try coming off meds for the first time in 10 years. To try to start over and see where I am now, so we could see where to go. At 18, I was placed on medication and although I have missed days, I have never been more than a week without any attal. But with the constant change of doctors, newer drugs being made, changes in weight and age, we wanted to see where my baseline was now, and work our way to something that could be more effective. Because at this point I was utterly exhausted at finding a “cocktail” that worked for more than a year. There was also the possibility that the bipolar was not as prevalent as it was when I was 18 and that therapy might be more effective than any meds would be at this point, also because the borderline has always been the continuous prevailing concern. All the doctors agreed that after a massive overdose and being in a safe environment, this was the optimal time to test that theory as well.

So, here I am, in a ward, no meds, nothing to do and no tranqs. Me and God had an overabundance of time to get to know each other. So we began. I read more of the Bible that week than probably my entire life up until that point. And it intrigued and enthralled me. There was so much good stuff in this thing, but it was quite overwhelming. Kind of like, trying to go to Goodwill and find all those clothes that suit you and fit, without any kind of organization, all by yourself. I mean, when I go to that place, I can only do it with someone who is willing to help me look for those pants, or that shirt, and occasionally point out other things that would fit quite nicely as well, that I wouldn’t have thought of. So, I decided that’s exactly what I needed to do and started asking people their favorite verses. And I might have been slightly shocked with their excitement in supplying me with exactly what I needed. There was one verse in particular...but I’ll get to that.

The next couple of months were a bit of a blur. Summer came and I was moved into my parents house with a new job: homemaker. I was absolutely terrified. Yes, I’ve lived on my own, I’ve been a wife in everything but name and yet, I still could not cook. The last time I tried to cook I literally had to put a fire out in the oven with a fire extinguisher. So while this was not an exciting development for me then, not much was being asked of me at that point, so I thought, what’s the worse that could happen? Now I know how to put a fire out and I seriously doubt I could kill someone with my cooking. Food poisoning, tops. Plus, the last time I gave people food poisoning with my cooking, we were only sick for one night. I was obviously improving. So, with much trepidation, I decided to dive into this new role. Yeah, y’all didn’t really know what you were getting into when you had dinner with me, huh?

Those next few months was a rush of information. It felt like I was having a growth spurt, with all the “growing pains” that can be associated. I wasn’t just learning how to thaw chicken and get stains out of microfiber, but I was learning what it meant to be a child of God. What it meant to live on this earth with these people, who I totally believed, didn’t deserve to share it with someone like me. And although I still didn’t believe there could ever be such an amazing thing as a “future” for me, I had hope that maybe life didn’t have to be a struggle every step of every day. I had hope that maybe I didn’t have to reject God’s purpose for my life, and after more time, that maybe I had even greater purpose than I could have ever imagined for myself. But hold on, I’m getting ahead of myself.

At the end of the summer I felt like life had meaning again and I was on the road to somewhere, even if I had no idea where. And God decided it was time, time to prove to me that He was trustworthy. One Friday night, I found myself in a position where I had no one to turn to. I hurt more than you can possible imagine and I was, literally, too scared to move. I immediately emailed my Bible Study for prayer from the dark confines of my closet and cried and shook and asked God, “Why?! Why are You doing this to me?!” I don’t hold my punches with God and I was at a loss. I knew there were several outcomes to what was happening and none of them, that I had actual experience with, were good. So I just sat and cried, cursed and prayed some more. And the world did not end - history did not repeat itself. I’m not saying it was this easy, carefree, I-prayed-and-everything-was-suddenly-all-hunky-dory moment. No, I felt like a battered piece of gum on the bottom of someone’s shoe. I was drained, tired and scared. I was confused as to what had just happened and how to proceed. I knew I hadn’t done anything stupid, but that didn’t mean it was over and it didn’t mean there was no longer a possibility of another hospital trip. I just needed till Thursday and my appointment with my therapist to discuss what had happened. He would fix it, he would make it better...I still didn’t get it.

If I had thought Friday night was bad, the following Sunday night was much, much worse. It was like a plane crashing right after you just survived a car crash. And although it’s possible to survive a bad car wreck(I know, I totaled my car in 2013), being in a plane headed for the ground, I mean, I don’t know the actual percentage of survivors, but I sincerely doubt it’s all that comforting. So there I was, back in the closet, folded in two and wracked with sobs, unable to breathe, unable to move and seriously contemplating suicide again. This time, I was even more reluctant to turn to God. How could He could do this again, so soon?! I wasn’t ready for this. I couldn’t handle this! So I called, person after person. Trying to find the answers I needed from humans and not giving the ultimate authority on life, the trust He alone deserves. I was in mid text when I realized just that, that people are human. Literally, a light-bulb moment for such a simple sentence. People are human. People, all people, are imperfect and fallible. I didn’t trust God wholly and completely at that point, but I had no one else and that was enough to get me through that night.

That was another bit of my life’s dance. Another, “turning point”. And no, things did not get easier after that. If anything, things got harder for a while. My stress was at the max - I wasn’t eating a lot, if anything at points; I stopped sleeping, pretty much at all; I was struggling hardcore with the fact that all my idols were being kicked of the pedestals I had put them on, one by one; and although, I didn’t trust God all that much, I trusted Him more than anyone else, including myself. And I did not, at that point, think that was a good thing. Because, frankly, I was pissed at Him. He was taking away all that I knew and understood. I didn’t understand that He was giving me something far better and I was definitely, definitely not going to be happy about it. I was willing to go along with Him on this path He had chosen, but that was pretty much because I was sick of being dragged and wanted to walk freely in the direction I was apparently going to end up anyways.

And I was learning a lot. It just didn’t always seem worth it, and sometimes, still doesn’t. But these days, more often than not, He shows me the good that comes, not only out of evil, but also out of conflict, exhaustion and overall messy situations. My most common request for a couple weeks there was, “God, please let me see the good that comes out of this.” And He was quite faithful to me with that prayer. I started seeing more than just the moment, I started seeing God’s plan unfolding all around me. I took the blinders off and started staring at the world in all it's glory. And the world is a complicated mess. A beautiful, complicated mess, full of all the colors of the rainbow. Not just black and white. And I started seeing more “truths” every day. It was completely overwhelming.

I remember the day I truly started to believe no one is “better” than me. You might not understand what a big deal that is, but for someone like me, who has been “comfortably miserable being the worst person in the room” and insisted on it to others. This was not only a revelation, but extremely difficult and uncomfortable to grasp. I also didn’t realize, exactly how important it was, this concept of equality, on my path to one day having a hope and a future. And this was how it went for a while. Me lying in bed, sitting on the stoop, taking walks in the park, or wading in a stream, and delving into the “truths” of the universe. And unfortunately, much of what was pointed out to me, was not typically “happy” or “comfortable”.

One day, when I still wasn’t sleeping most nights, I was lying on the trampoline and delving into the mysteries of the universe when God unfurled another scary "truth". He did it in an unusual way. Most people know I’ve desperately wanted to wear a red wedding dress, for years now. I’ve had many reasons for those people who question this. It’s sassy, rebellious, great color, unique, traditional in like, some other country, you name it, I’ve said it. On this evening, I had already gone without sleep for one too many nights, and I could practically heard God say, “You’re favorite color is white. It always has been. It's been your favorite since you did that prism experiment in elementary school and learned that, while black is the absence of color, white is ALL the colors. Yes, you've had other favorites, but white is 'most favorite'. Why wouldn’t you want to wear this color, that you love, that holds meaning for you, that is full of happiness and hope, that is the symbol of holiness and purity, on such a sacred day?”

I was also beyond exhausted enough, that I was straight up with Him. “You said it God, purity. I’m not pure. I’m like, the opposite of pure. If I wore white on my wedding day, most people’s reaction would be, ‘that’s inappropriate’. Whether they voiced it out loud or just thought it to themselves. Whether it was a conscious thought or one that was immediately reprimanded by the thinker, it would still be this big elephant in the room as I walked down the aisle. I can’t handle that God. I can’t be in a room full of people on such a special day and know every single person, even the groom and myself are thinking the same thing. It would be better just to be the butt of the ongoing joke that I’m too screwed up even to wear white on my wedding day. But, as tired as I was, I saw where He was going with this. I admit it. I was pathetic. I literally begged Him, “Don’t make me wear white, please.” And He did hear my plea, but He answered it quietly and gently. “I would never pick a guy for you who would think that, Katie.”

Of course, He would point out one of the roots of the problem. Although, I knew I was everyone’s equal, that I was just as undeserving of grace as those around me; I truly didn’t believe anybody else would ever be able to think that of me as well, much less that there was someone out there willing to spend the rest of their life at the side of someone with a past like mine. And although, that’s something I’m still struggling with, He’s been coaching me through it every step of the way. Psalm 139 has come up frequently in this process. From that day in the hospital, to the sermon last week. I find it to be one of my biggest comforts as well as the meanest, toughest combatant to my biggest fears and insecurities.

We talk a lot, me and God. More than I’d like sometimes. He no longer puts up with me ignoring Him. Little things, big things - He always wants to discuss what’s going on in my life. I don’t think I’m grateful for that as often as I should be. Many a day I find myself in the field down the street staring at the stars and feeling like I’m Simba in “The Lion King”, and God is my Mufasa. Sometimes I yell and cry, other times I laugh and spin in circles like a small child. My mood fluctuates frequently, but it doesn’t scare me quite like it used to. There’s always a reason, and even if there doesn’t seem to be one, I trust Him, that Big Dude Upstairs. He’s proven He’s got my back in the alley behind the bar as well as in the pew at church.

And then the big day came. September 5, 2015 I wrote:

Today/this morning @ 4am, I have taken suicide off the docket, permanently. It’s not a back-up or even a back-up of a back-up. It’s not a 100th in my list of back-ups. It’s not 1000th, millionth, etc. Done.

I see a truth & I don’t think you can ever unsee God-given truths. You can acknowledge them, read about them, discuss them, debate FOR them, but the moment you truly see & believe, it’s there for good.

I see the truth that Jesus died so I can go to Heaven. That He loved me, He & those other 2 Goobers of the trinity.

They’re trustworthy(the trinity). Humanity is not, but God 3-in-1, is. I asked Him never to let that happen again in the 100% I want to ask Him way & whether I heard the words or not. He made it clear that I am never going to want/need to attempt suicide again...because I love HIM.

I love you, God

...Can I go to sleep now?

Please?

930am :) Thanks

Haha, yes, that was my journal entry verbatim. It doesn't have the perfect words in it, but it's an important point. Suicide is no longer an option, not just because I think I'm invincible, but because I have some weird faith thing. I trust that God not only has my back now, in these good times, but in the hard times as well. And yes, I slept that night. Things still aren’t perfect and no, I don’t sleep every night. There are still days I don’t eat. There are days I get angry and yell. There are days I feel like I’m “just making this sh$# up as I go.” Life is never going to be a perfect fairy tale, but more often than not, I find myself saying to myself, God and others, “those moments are worth what I have now”. I don’t know if I can describe it yet. It’s not always joy or contentment. It’s not the fact that I finally believe a future could actually be possible. It’s not one single feeling, thought, epiphany, or anything like that. I think, in the end, it’s just enough for me to know it’s worth it. My life is worth something. I don’t know what yet, or why, but I know I am valuable.

That’s the first time I’ve acknowledged that. This is my story in the “Book of Katie”. Chapter Unknown. Verse Hope. Yeah, I never liked numbers. What can I say? I may be valuable, but I’m still a rebel!

Sincerely,

Kt