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.