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It's a little past two. In four hundred and seventy nine days I'll either already be, or very very close to being a married woman. Wedding Mass is at one. Getting that email a few weeks ago from Deacon Gene stating that the church is reserved for me on a specific date and at a specific time was surreal. It still is, but it seems as with every passing second I get more and more of a foothold of a dream that has all the possibility of coming true.

Four hundred and seventy nine days is a long time from now, but it is so reachable. I daily quiet down the excitement that builds up from within me. I'm being cautious, but optimistically so. Optimism rarely enters my life but I can't help but allow it to creep in. Jury is still out on the positive ramifications of this change.

I have a hard time forming sentences lately. A difficult time placing my thoughts appropriately. All I know how to say is that despite everything, I love him. I love him this deep and indescribable type of love that is at time debilitating but at its source is life giving. He's my best friend, and a piece of me that I'm nearly positive I can't survive without.

The road I'm walking is hard, but its end of destination appeal keeps me going.  

Wedding Bell Blues

My wedding day is something I have always dreamed about. It is perhaps the most girlish childlike fantasy I have ever had. My entire life I have searched for love. I have needed to be loved. I thought at a young age that once I found it I'd be fulfilled. I'd find this wonderful man who would adore me and make me feel like I mattered. Make me feel like I was worth something. Then he would one day ask me to be his wife in a grand expression illustrating his great love for me. I'd throw myself into planning a wedding, and that day will come and I would truly know happiness. All that dreaming has just set me up for disappointment and perhaps put too much pressure on everyone involved. I like to think I don't ask for much, but maybe I do. And maybe that void in me is too big for anyone to ever fill. Love has not brought me everlasting joy. It has caused me great pain and make me doubt everything.

I'm scared of so much. I want to be confident but the smallest thing makes me run back into my well lived in corner. I have buried anger stinging beneath my tears and I walk around in this constant ache. I don't even know what I'm looking for anymore or what direction I'm heading.

I want to get excited. I want to have the freedom to dream. I want to share happiness with those important to me. But I think I'm standing alone and there is this huge possibility that I'm not even standing. I'm more crumbled up in a ball on the floor.

Shattered

I feel broken. Like I'm walking around missing pieces of me. And the pieces that are still there are barely intact. Every step I take just hurts. I'm hollowed out.

I don't know how to be whole again.

And I'm running out of words to say.

Enter Sandman

Sometimes, on my good days I have this dream. I wake up, and the sun is shining. There are clouds gracing the sky and they're the kind that make you wish you could go jump in them. The temperature is exactly 72 degrees and everything feels perfect. Then in a flash I'm in this room, and I'm staring at myself in the mirror. An unfamiliar satisfaction enters my mind. I can't help but smile at myself because for the first time in my life I see my reflection and the first word that came to mind was beautiful. Then in another flash I'm looking at you from a distance. Your eyes are lit up in a smile, and a wide grin is spread across your face. You look down at your feet quickly in embarrassment and then quickly back at me.  Our eyes lock and then everything freezes. I just breathe in that moment with you and it lasts until something stirs me awake.

Dreams are stupid.

Inner Child

I am not a little kid. I don't even know when I stopped being a kid. It was before most, I'm sure. However not being a child did not make me immune from being naive. It did not prevent me from attaining a type of immaturity that only time and hard life experience can take away. I've had to grow up a lot over the years, and even now I am not afraid to admit that I still have more growing up to do. I have not been fully molded yet, and perhaps the idea that one day I will be is another example of how much more I need to grow.

It is with this that I find myself overly frustrated. Completely exhausted over the fact that at their rawest point my emotions are child-like. Like a spoiled child who hasn't gotten her way, I'm internally throwing the biggest temper tantrum ever. Perhaps I am outwardly as well. My heart is consumed with jealously, and anger that cannot be fully rationalized. I want to scream for this life that I almost feel entitled to but the fight in me is distinguished. I just sit in the corner, arms crossed, and lips extended in a pout.

However, at the root of all my emotions is a feeling a child, I believe, cannot fully grasp. For once this emotion is felt to this extent, childhood is but a distant past. The pain, hurt, and betrayal that weigh me down are fully grown. They are a lifetime's worth.

I keep being told that love isn't easy. I never expected easy. But how much pain can love bear before it stops truly being love?

Hourglass

The only way I can actually get my emotions out is through writing. For some reason saying things out loud seems temporary to me. I have to see my words. I wish I had the time to blog more, or even journal. But I have yet to master getting everything I need to do and take care of my daughter who is basically on me 24/7. Not that I mind, but sometimes I just need a break. And more than just time for a ten minute shower, which I do need and appreciate. I don't know though. I'll manage.

I dislike using Facebook or Twitter as an outlet for my emotions. But I have that need to just say something. I'm not in it for the likes or comments. I just need an outlet. Lately I've been feeling more and more trapped in my mind. I'm struggling with countless things and there seems no end in sight. I'm trying to figure out which way to go but I second guess myself at every turn. Nothing is certain yet I'm in need of much more solid ground.

I'm trying but I'm wearing thin.

Going Home

I am a glutton for self punishment. If I do something wrong I torture myself and treat myself as a criminal. Forgiveness? Not a possibility. I'll be brutally honest here. I conceived the greatest gift and blessing of my life during pre-marital make up sex and every part of me hated myself for it. I did everything wrong and I ruined every last ounce of self respect I had for myself. So in turn I walked away from the only place I felt at home, stopped doing the only thing that truly fulfills me, and isolated myself completely. Leaving Holy Cross and youth ministry killed me. If possible, it was worse than my whole St. Anne debacle. I did nothing wrong to warrant the childish Church politics and betrayal in that situation and although hurt and bitter, I was able to hold my head still up. This? I emotionally balled myself up in shame.

My daughter is my light in a very dark world. She saves me from myself every single day. And as much as I was punishing myself, I knew deep down that I could not afford to punish her for my mistakes. From my experience from St. Anne, I should have known that a Catholic church is simply not uniformly welcome everywhere. The celebration of Mass is constant, but there is a giant difference in being surrounded by a community and being a part of it. I needed Holy Cross, not just for my sake, but for hers as well.

This evening was the first time in eight months that I sat in the pews of Holy Cross, perhaps appropriately on Divine Mercy Sunday. And my daughter and I were literally welcomed with open arms.