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October 01, 2009

I am perplexed. sad. fatigued. frustrated. a great many things. I don't know how exactly to describe it, except that the only things that console me are when Cody gently rubs my back, or journaling or sleeping or listening to music and singing out loud. Anything to distract me from overwhelming myself. Yet, these all do not last, so what I am left with is myself trapped in my own perceived devastation.

I escape stress by avoiding to fulfill the responsibilities that make me stressed. For example, I am blogging this entry right now to avoid summarizing the book of Matthew, and I haven't picked up Empire by Hardt and Negri or worked on my Herald page much this week because I am simply avoiding them as to avoid the stress. Yet this, in the end, only heightens and worsens it.

I feel alone. I don't understand why I feel this way because I am surrounded by people. I am sitting in a library right now, overlooking the campus where I attend college. But no matter how many are around me, no matter how many love me, I feel alone. Not alone as in a permanent, I am Legend, there-are-no-other-people-in-this-world-but-me sense. My aloneness is the fact that there are so many people in the world, but I am the only one who is in my brain. Alone as in dread. I dread going home. I dread going to work at the Herald office. I dread doing homework. I love coffee. I love sleep. I love spending time with Cody. I love writing. I love talking on the phone with friends and family. Those are the things that make me feel less alone. Those are the things I truly live for, and the rest of my life: classes, meetings, jobs, etc., are simply necessary but lonely interludes between the things that make me feel better.

When I was a child, I stressed over the prospect of losing someone I loved. Perhaps this is because my cousin died young, which was a traumatic experience for a thirteen year old girl. But now, I don't worry so much about it. Sure, I don't know how I would live without my husband, but I try not to think about not having him. The worse part about adulthood worry is that I don't worry about what may happen, but what has happened and what is happening now. These are real things, things I can't change even if I wanted to. Like the fact that I don't have a group of friends in college that I spend time with. The fact that I have hardly any friends, period. The fact that I am not a good philosophical thinker, or writer. my family at home has moved on with their lives without me. I am not a missing piece. I don't feel needed. Not simply wanted-but needed.

I wish I was a better oral communicator.
I wish I was a quicker, more creative thinker.
I wish I was more athletic.
I wish I was more laid-back.
I wish many things.
Why can't I simply be satisfied with being me?

I keep reminding myself of this which I wrote in my journal last night: "Stripped bare, with nothing but myself, God loves me just as much as if I had a full resume to give Him."

I stare in the mirror and say "I am beautiful, I am beautiful, I am beautiful." over and over.

When I am extremely overwhelmed, repeat many negative things to myself that Cody likes to call "negative self-talk." But I can't help it. Wait, yes I can. I can come to the realization that I am capable.

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