Commotion.

I'm so stressed out I'm sick. Physically sick. I'm shaking. I'm throwing up. I'm tense. I'm exhausted. I'm crying constantly. And of course I'm consumed by endless thoughts. Not all of them are bad but I'm losing my mind. I don't know what to do. I want to talk to someone but I can't think of words to say. There's too many. I just want to be in someone's presence. I want to be held. I want to be talked to. Maybe at some point I'll start talking. Maybe bits and pieces will fall. I have no idea. Maybe I just need to get past tomorrow and things will clear up some. Over the hump. Wishful thinking.

Things I want to blog about:

• Desmond
• The New Roman Missal
• My desire to be a youth minister but even more than that. I want to work for Life Teen. 
• Chasity, Natural Family Planning, and the Sacrament of Holy Matrimony 
• The natural unbalance of friendships 
• The psychoanalysis of a guilt complex. My guilt complex. 
• My providing nature being unable to provide because of the abuse it has undertaken.

Oh boy.

Happy Halloween.

Intricacies.

I've had a weird week. I've had a weird year. I've had a weird life. Let's go back. Actually maybe we shouldn't.

Not that I need to blog every day, but most of the time I sort of have to. Obviously not for my millions of readers that long to follow my string of thoughts. I blog for me. It's my way of getting my emotions out there in some sort of tangible way. It helps me from going under. From becoming consumed completely. The fact that Erin, Jamie, and Michael and who knows, maybe others, care enough to tune in is just overwhelmingly amazing to me. I don't say everything on here. The journal I carry in my purse contains more personal thoughts. I scribble thoughts on paper randomly throughout the day and so if you dug through my trash you would probably find out either how crazy I really am, or a deeper understanding of my inner workings. I don't make sense half the time. Which is okay to me. I don't necessarily need to. I'm just trying to function.

I'm rambling. I ramble under only certain circumstances. Do you know what those are? Hm. I wonder.

Opportunities aren't something I waste. I am a responsible young woman. I'm quickly approaching 22 years old. My lifetime isn't long, but it isn't short either. I have experienced things that others never will. I have scars that haven't come close to healing. I feel so weak. I am weak. Yet somehow I stand.

Desmond.

One month.

Go out and live.

Can't promise it isn't over.

Selfish.

Forever.

How Much Is That Doggie In The Window?

I don't even have a picture of him. Not that I need one. Every single thing about him is locked perfectly in my memory. I got rid of the pictures on purpose. I hoped to forget. It was painful looking at them. Painful thinking about him. I'm in pain right now.

I remember when I first saw him. I was at my friend Taryn's house. He was tiny and filled with energy. He ran up to me and scratched at my pant leg. My heart melted. I picked him up and held him and he licked my face. Taryn told me that she needed to get rid of him soon. His name was Rigby. I looked at that tiny little brown and white puppy and said I'll take him. The words just came out of my mouth. She looked at me and laughed and asked if I had to ask my parents. We walked into her backyard and I set him down and he ran happily away, but he turned around and looked back at me. He stopped, barked and came running back to me. I knelt down and he jumped back into my arms. I looked back at Taryn and said "Just keep him for me tonight, and I'll convince my parents. I'll pick him up tomorrow."

The next day my dad took me to Taryn's house to pick him up. The conversation I had with my parents the night prior was interesting. But I went into my complete stubborn mode. My get things done mode. The version of Stephanie Marie no one in this world can stop. I wanted that dog so I was getting that dog. When I brought him home I took him into my room and just locked my door. I sat him on my bed and he looked at me and the first thing I thought about was his name. Rigby sounded wrong to me. So I picked him up and set him on my lap and he curled up and fell asleep as I logged onto my computer and frantically consulted Jamie for help. Hah. Jamie named him Asher. It was perfect. Asher is Hebrew for blessed, happy. My Brittany Spaniel was all of that and he made me all of that.

My parents helped with none of Asher's expenses and that was perfectly fine. He was my dog. I trained him. He slept in my room, curled at the foot of my bed. He never made a mess. He never bothered anyone. He was the happiest dog in the world and was gorgeous. He was filled with so much energy all the time. And he loved me. When I came home from school, or practice or a game I would just see his face light up. Asher caught every tear I cried and heard every prayer I prayed. He listened to me complain about everything and anything and would just look at me with those gold eyes he had with perfect understanding.

I can't really talk about the process of getting rid of him. The ordeal with my mom. How she ripped him out of my hands. Then two weeks later she spends $500 on a puppy for my little sister. Asher was free. I paid for his food. I paid for his shots, I paid to get him neutered. In fact, I began working solely to pay for my dog. But Asher was taken from me and neither of us did anything wrong.

On Sunday my mom picked me up from my apartment. She had this huge grin on her face and told me she had a surprise. She reached into her car and hands me a puppy. I didn't even know how to react. She then says "Isn't she precious? We planned on giving her to you, but I'm keeping her instead."

Most days I sit at home and honestly, I talk to myself. I fight back tears. My nights aren't really an improvement. I love my snake, but you can't really cuddle with him. I adore Erin's rabbit but there is a key to that statement. He belongs to Erin. So does Charlie and Flounder. I just wish...

I'm so jealous of Jamie. She has Clare and Meg. I miss those two so very much.

Things aren't meant to be.

Just Let Me Go.

Last night I walked out of the house I was partying at. I had just done my second shot and I felt the alcohol making its way through my body. I looked at the street ahead of me and I just took off. I rounded the corner the way I would second base. I felt my legs moving faster and I could hear my heart beat in my ears. I suddenly stopped and just looked up at the sky and fought the urge to scream. I was certainly not even the tiniest bit drunk. Just in the process of getting there. My excursion was not alcohol related. It was my desperate need to live. I turned around and sprinted back to the house. I saw a fire hydrant and for some reason I felt challenged. I hesitated. Then I proceeded to run toward it and jump right over it. Maybe I was a little drunk.

I have so many dreams. I always have. Ever since I was little I've lived in my future. My past was something that I would run from, my present too painful to live in and so I would plan like crazy. I'm going to do this, I'm going to do that. Funny thing is nothing in my life has ever turned out the way I wanted it to. Perhaps that's an indication I should stop planning. Quit trying to control everything. This past year my life has been completely out of control. I've lost everything, been given so much and am now on the edge of losing even more. I'm desperate to grab onto something. I want to have the ability to plan, and dream, and control something without the fear of it being completely fruitless.

I'm not quite sure what I'm saying. Faith. Each day brings new things. Some days are better than others. Some days are much worse. Some days I want to fight like hell. Some days I've taken too many punches and I'm waiting for that bell to ring. Maybe tonight I'm just asking you for one thing. Let me go. I wanted so much, but maybe it didn't matter. It doesn't matter. If nothing else, know how much you were loved by me.

Walls, Speak!

I bore myself. My head is pounding. I've been battling a monster of a migraine all day long. Every minute it seems to get worse. My senses are heightened. Unfortunately, so are my emotions. I should just stop torturing myself, turn out all the lights and go to bed. But I'm really not tired. I have this nervous energy inside of me. And what's worse? I'm lonely.

I dislike the thoughts that are dancing around in my head. Dancing. Hah. Nice choice of words. Incorrect choice of words. Dancing suggests some sort of beauty. Gentleness. Harmony. There is nothing beautiful, gentle or harmonious going on in my head.

Maybe I should watch a movie. Listen to music. Read a book. Pray. Demand my walls to have a conversation with me. I don't know.

Tomorrow I'm supposed to get a call from my doctor.

I don't know why I hate being alone. Why I always feel so unwanted.

Just go to bed Steph.

Transforming Bitterness.

I've been struggling with a lot of things recently. A big part of what I brought to the confessional and what I had been battling with is this bitterness I hold within my heart. This deep hurt that I cannot shake but I desperately long to be free from. This morning I read a blog from a Catholic woman that inspires me. Jackie Francois' words hit home to me in a way that I truly needed. During my confession I told the priest that I wanted to get rid of my feelings. I longed to be like Christ and just love and forgive. Father's words struck me however because they were words I tell people all the time yet often it's advice people shun me from. He told me that there was nothing wrong with my feelings. That I did not have it in me the power to switch myself off at any given moment. I was free to feel however I felt and I had a right to feel. The key to emotions is what you do with them.

The importance to both my confession and what I read this morning lies in the beauty of the Catholic Church. Jackie references the Catechism for it says "it is not in our power not to feel or to forget an offense; but the heart that offers itself to the Holy Spirit turns injury into compassion and purifies the memory in transforming the hurt into intercession" (CCC 2843). For so long I've been praying for God to remove from heart the bitterness that has surrounded it. I've been praying to Him to help me find forgiveness. Although there is no wrong prayer and I know my petitions are not being said unto deaf ears I was going about things the wrong way. I was being selfish in my prayer life. I was allowing my feelings to consume me too much and not allow me to fully receive God's graces. In order to be like Christ and to love like He does I must pray for those who hurt me the most. I need to carry them in my heart and offer my suffering and heartache up for them. Especially when I don't want to.

This weekend during adoration when I knelt before my Lord I begged Him for one thing. I constantly keep pleading for one single thing. Every day I say different prayers but I have one constant prayer that runs through my head. One constant thought and desire that burns through my soul. It's my personal statement of who I am and who I ever really truly want to be. The only thing I want to do in this world is to love, serve and know the Lord to the best of my ability.

Bad Day.

"Where is the moment we needed the most?"

I swear, I have song lyrics playing in my head at any given moment. I wish so often my life was a musical. I wish I could could be musically gifted and I could bust out a perfectly in tune song when I was upset. I wish I could sing from a mountain top when my world is bright. I want to live through songs. But alas.

My heart aches. I feel terrified about what lies ahead of me. I'm frustrated with everyone's lack of understanding. I'm overwhelmed. Last's weeks insecurities or whatever you want to call them are breathing down my neck and are creating me to take everything even more personally. I'm not sure who to really talk to. No one is actually listening. How often can I stand being interrupted? I'm not really sure.

I long for Christ. I want to go to Mass. I want to receive Him. The humanness of everyone else is hurting me too much. I'm hurting me too much. I don't even feel safe blogging.

Lord, help me.

Forgivness.

"I'm not sure what to feel." Among my blabbering of words that sentence resounded in my ears the most. My friend April looked at me with understanding and I felt a tiny sense of peace even before she spoke. Her advice quieted my fear. A quote from a book she shared with me gave me exactly what I longed to hear. Yet later that night as I stood in line for confession I wanted to run away. Anxiety plagued me. Fear wrapped its vicious claws around my lungs and began threatening my life support. I felt nauseous. Light headed. I joked around with April and another girl in the line with me, but it was all a show. My thoughts were eating away at me and every minute that passed I could feel myself getting weaker. When it finally came to my turn I walked up the steps toward the cabin and my feet felt like lead. I got half way and I stopped. A voice in my head screamed at me to turn around. I squeezed my eyes close and took a step forward and then proceeded to walk into the cabin.

I closed the cabin door and I stared at it, my back facing the priest. A wall of emotions and tears came crashing down on me and my body quivered and a sob came exploding from within me. The priest spoke and asked if I was going to come sit down, and I asked him to give me a second. I attempted to compose myself but I just cried harder. Father just nicely asked me again to come sit. I took a deep breath, turned around and sat down in the chair. In typical Stephanie style I apologized to him and then told him that it was extremely difficult for me to be there. Then I took another deep breath and began my confession. I'm not going to blog all my sins, but my open statement was "Father, I feel like I'm a terrible person and I can't handle it."

After my confession was over I received my absolution and then I just stared at my priest. In perhaps a tone that could have been more respectful I informed him that he had missed a very important step. My penance. He just laughed. I didn't find it funny. Then he looked at me and said, "Child, be at peace. You have already done your penance. You've been in your penance for months. You're absolved."  That's the second time in my life that a priest has laughed at me in confession. And a second time I wanted to argue. But it also is the second time I found myself just smiling and saying, "Thank you Father" and walking away. I walked out those doors of that cabin and I saw April waiting for me and I started to laugh and cry. I began to cry tears of complete joy because I felt completely free.

I received Jesus Christ, the God of the Universe, tonight at Mass. His Holy Presence is physically present within me. I am a living tabernacle. I am overwhelmed with love. Overwhelmed with Love.

Losing The Fight

I'm losing. So much I want to say. But I can't. I make everything worse.

I have saved memories. But maybe they're lies. Everything fades.

I'm losing.

When its convenient. I'm always around. But I'm disposable. A doormat.

I'm losing.

I feel sick. Exhausted. My head won't stop spinning. I just want to sleep. But I hurt too much.

I'm losing.

I want you to know how I feel. I want understanding without anger. Without frustration. I want to be able to speak without feeling guilty for the things I say.

I lost.

Don't Steph.

Down Goes Frazier

I threw my ipod against the wall last night. I still haven't checked if it works. My desire to cause myself pain was too much to bear. I feel weak. As I sat on my bedroom floor last night sobbing, texting Jamie and doing everything I could to ignore what I heard in the other room in this apartment my mind collapsed around me. I feel weak. Prior to even entering this apartment I sat in my boyfriend's car and I kissed him and then I felt myself crumble for an unexplained reason. I wanted to jump into his arms and deteriorate.

Stop. I'm having an episode. Everything is exploding. Why I'm continuing to blog I have no idea. The insanity of this is ridiculous. Fight through the noise. The noise. The fucking noise. Oh my gosh. I want someone to understand how LOUD everything is. That adorable little boy outside. His voice is outrageous. Typing. I'm torturing myself. That fucking clock. I'm insane. Lock me up. But could I still write this if I was insane? Probably. I mean more insane people have done better things. But it is SO loud. I wish someone understood. STOP. I don't want to be crazy.

I feel unwanted. Not good enough. Like I'll never be what I want to be. Second best. Maybe even third. Maybe not even in the race.

Last night I only had to hold myself together for a few more minutes longer. And I couldn't even do that. I went into my room to take a breath, maybe go hit my pillow or something and frustratingly the door was in the way. I don't know where all this anger is coming from.

I am so useless.

A switch went off in my head. I WANT so many freaking things. I used to go into a store and think, "Oh, that would be nice to have" or "That's cute, I wish I had it" but then walk away and never think about it again. Never. But all of a sudden I'm plagued by these desires. I'm shedding tears right now because I feel so guilty over it. I find myself wanting to purchase myself something. The last thing I bought myself was a book over a year ago for less than ten dollars and I drove home crying because I felt so guilty. I almost turned around and returned it. These wants that I'm having are making me ill. They're creating numerous thoughts I do not want and they're just not worth it. I want to go back to how I used to be.

Where did my happiness go? And what the hell is wrong with me?

And I swear, if it ever comes back...

Everything and Nothing.

I'm simply overwhelmed with everything inside of me. I have too many conflicting thoughts. Conflicting emotions. I make no real sense. I have this desire to write. I want to describe myself. Hence me blogging. Yet I'm stuck. What exactly is there too describe? Once again I'm frustrated with the issue of it being too much. I'm too much. I want to rant and rave. I'm so very irritated with myself.

How cryptic can I be without exposing myself? How much can I dance around true meanings? How playful can I be with words? The aches, the torment, the anguish. Little gestures here and there that will forever go unnoticed. Crying in the dark. My pathetic sobs the only noise that breaks the silence. At times they're even more painful than my episodes. I rather feel insane than feel.... Maybe that's it. I want to stop feeling. It's too intense. Far too intense. Unnatural.

November will be here soon. I haven't written my essay. Why? Because I do not want to go to Catholic Distance University. November 1st deadline seems silly to me although I think about it often. I want to go to the Franciscan University of Steubenville. No idea how I will pay for any of it. But I want to go there so badly. I need three letters of recommendation. Three great letters of recommendation. The rest is on me. But I'm worried about the letters. I don't even know who to ask. The whole idea of it all makes me sick. I want to go there oh so badly.

Youth ministry. My heart just leaped. I've never wanted anything more. I've never been more passionate about anything more. I've never been more confident in myself in anything. I just want it now. I'm growing impatience. I have this crazy desire to just take over. I want to be thrown into something. I want to go crazy. I would be so good. I have the fire. When I get up there and talk words flow effortlessly. I feel on fire. And in fact, I am! The Holy Spirit washes over me and He burns straight through my heart. Last night when I was talking about the Holy Eucharist and I held my Bible in my hand and I was flipping through it and I felt my voice rise in excitement and I saw the teens eyes latch onto me I was overwhelmed with joy and love and energy that I can't even begin to describe. In their eyes I saw understanding. A light bulb switching on and burning bright in some, a flicker in others. Regardless I knew in that moment that I had done my job. I caught a couple teens tearing up as I spoke and after the night one of them came up to me and hugged me and told me that next time they received communion they were going to say the words "Amen" loudly because she does truly believe.

Have you ever felt so useless? Like you want to do so much but there is absolutely nothing you can do? I hate it. My heart is broken. I'm so very depressed.

Last night my mom made me a pina colada and then left me to drink it alone. She even turned the light off on me. I wanted to down it and do various others things that would cause me harm. My mind tortured me with flashbacks of things that I rather not write out. But instead I drank it slowly, sent a text to my best friend and stared at my phone wanting her to text me back, held my tears in, and waited for my boyfriend to come pick me up.

Something about dancing and singing with Michael sends me into another world. I'm still in disbelief that we're at where we are. But he loves me perfectly. I don't deserve it.

The smell of alcohol on your breath completely threw me. I enjoyed drinking with you. You amused me to say the least. But when you got close to me and kissed me my mind couldn't help but go there. I'm not sure how that makes me feel.

I have so many issues.

Clap On. Clap Off.

Something is wrong with me. Like really. I want to blame it on something. My hormones. That terrible movie. This stupid weather. Some random thing that I can't think of. But this is ridiculous.

I have this dark cloud hovering over me. It was almost like the world spun off its axis when I experienced happiness and in order to regain balance I have to be thrown into this darkened abyss once again. I keep fighting it. Like a mad person I keep throwing myself into my escapes but it isn't working. I keep sinking and sinking and I find myself just wanting my bed and the blanket Jamie made me. I'm being tormented by thoughts of this, and thoughts of that. I want to be alone but then again I don't. I'm consumed by loneliness. It's this constant presence. And then there's this thing that I can't even talk about. This ache I just want to get rid of. I'm so tired of how I feel. I'm tired of the things I keep inside of me. I'm tired of this desperation. I'm tired of my need. I make myself sick.

I have so much to say. But I don't even want to hear myself anymore. I just want to shut off.

Sometimes, I ramble.

The internet is a powerful thing. Ha. I've been without it since Saturday evening and I've gone a little crazy. I attempted to blog by phone on Monday and in fact did so and then my phone decided to shut off on me. It was complete. I just needed a title. It didn't even save as a draft. I actually liked what I wrote. Oh well. Apparently some thoughts are supposed to be kept to myself.

I'm all over the place. Is this what happiness is? Perhaps. It certainly is a feeling I have never felt before. An exhilarating rush of emotions that carry no ounce of sadness. A high that penetrates my core and overwhelms my senses. I'm filled with more energy than I know what to do with.

There is not enough money in my bank account to do the things I want to do. There is not enough time in the day to accomplish the things I want to accomplish. I'm on an entire different level. To describe what I want to describe would be impossible. I can only laugh at the fact that I can't stop smiling.

I like that you mess up the lyrics to songs. I could dance with you forever. I'll sing to you, you'll sing to me.

Best friend! We need to go out. Yeah? Yeah. LIU bestie.

Jamie Ann, I miss you more than words can say.

I'm on core at Holy Cross. No one will ever take my teens away from me again.

Nothing.

I just got off the phone with my mother. I had planned on writing this blog even before my conversation with her but even the way our conversation went gives me more, for lack of a better word, energy to write. I told her about my desire to apply to Franciscan and having to spend a summer there and she just dismissed me. Why I even chose to discuss my education with that woman I don't even know. Why I'm allowing it to hurt me right now I don't even know. I'm smarter than this. I know better. I cannot retreat into that little kid that would bring home perfect grades and show them to her parents and watch them just get tossed into the trash can. STOP STEPHANIE MARIE. Breathe.

I lack self confidence. My entire life I've been told everything I've done wrong. It doesn't matter how many A's I've received. How many MVP's I've won. How many first place ribbons, trophies, medals, awards... None of it matters. I'm still nothing.

I don't have the desire to be the most beautiful girl in the room. If I did, I would probably try harder. Or maybe I know I never will be so my attempt is just mediocre. Who really knows. The point is I know that I'm not the girl that when I walk in a room all the boys stop and stare and I'm thankful for that because I'm far too shy for that sort of attention. No matter what, I'm never going to lose my curves and my short legs are here to stay. I'm just nothing special.

I wonder each and every day how much of every bit of my circumstances is my fault. I've never really had myself in my corner but for the first time I'm right there. Katrina is there. April is there. Jamie is there. Michael frustratingly tiptoes on both sides. My precious little sister is dying to jump in the ring and kill someone. I feel like I understand the situation the very best because it is MY situation but maybe I'm blinded somehow. At the moment I'm on the edge of turning the sword on myself. But I don't want to. I'm an adult and I'll take accountability for my actions. In my rants and conversations and my breakdowns with various people in fact I think I have. I know that I did not handle myself correctly in all matters. However in not a single circumstance was I handled correctly with. It's in the past now. I'm moving on and perhaps I shouldn't even bring it up. Yet the situation is not really what's eating me. What is bothering me right now is the notion that I'm defective to someone. That this "situation" was a long time coming. I had an expiration date.

I feel like I can't move. I'm nothing.