All I want to do is have fun. I don’t necessarily know how to do that anymore. I want to be out but I find myself shut in. I hide in my room. I only come out for certain people that I really like or LOVE. But for the most part my life revolves around school and working on stuff in my room. I want to get out. I want to be normal again. How?
I want so desperately to go and throw a party or have friends dress up with me for something random. Despite the risk of panic attacks, I want to be crazy and surrounded by people. I just want out of this thing.
It gets worse when I revisit memories or physically go back to places. I can’t handle the weight of the hurt and pain. All I want to do is drop it, let it fall. But it doesn’t budge. I want it gone. I want to be normal… but at this point what is normal?
I find that is a question that I ask myself very often. I feel sick so much too. I am physically tired and my stomach hurts and I eat but it feels empty still. No matter what I do, the pain is there. In some form my body is resisting in letting it go.
I just want to let go…
I bought a necklace this weekend and it makes me realize a little of how I feel. It’s got a bird in a cage and right now I feel caged inside of all this emotion and unable to get out. I want out. I want to get away from that pain in some way but I know no way of getting away from it. I can change my location, my surroundings, I can even escape briefly through the pain of my past injuries, but never am I truly free.
Free… It’s more than just a word.
Tuesday, October 11, 2011
Thursday, September 8, 2011
Too much space
Space
It is honestly a very broad term. You go out in Space. You give someone space. You have a space. We need space. I am tired of “space”. I desperately want to be accepted again by my community. They want me to be done grieving. Otherwise it’s just depressing. I want to know, how a person can be involved in a “community” and yet feel so abandoned and alone. The more they isolate me, the more I want to isolate myself from their carefree and selfish lives. I feel that I have dropped hints over the last several weeks that I need them. From straight out telling people I feel abandoned to no longer showing up to groups that don’t reach out or even attempt to understand the situation. In my week or so of injury I had people reaching out to me. Funny that it takes getting hit by a physical object to get noticed. After I said I was doing better, I was left alone again. Here I am bitter, angry and ready to lash out at the world for something that can not be changed because it already happened. What gets me is that as I am trying to forgive a community that left me, I still feel they no longer care. What would it look like if I left that church? How much could my life improve if I found a community that understands that I need time and community. Not space. Space is what isolates us from the rest of the world. It traps us in the hurt and pain of our problems. We end up spending our time in this space dwelling on the pain; Stuck in the pain and unable to escape it. I want to escape it. I have dropped hints. I no longer know what to do. I have told several people how I feel and right now I think that it’s time I just leave. Threatening and thinking about leaving don’t change anything. Doing something, approaching the issue with a plan of action changes the outcome and outlook of a situation.
I want to be challenged in my walk with God. Not guilt for being angry with Him because He took my father. I don’t want to feel guilty for my feelings. If finding a more welcoming environment is what I need to do, then I will do it. Otherwise, I know that I will keep expecting something to change and have unmet expectations. I will constantly be let down by this community that “loves and values” me. That will only drive me further from where I need to be and where I need to go. If I don’t figure this out, it will start to affect my relationship with God more than it already has. I am already angry with Him, now I am questioning the community He placed around me. What gets me is that none of this seems to feel very real to me. I never thought I would question this community the way I am and it makes me question my part. Am I to blame for some of this? Why do people feel that not talking to me would benefit me? Why do they think that by ignoring my existence it will help with the process of grieving? Why?
It is honestly a very broad term. You go out in Space. You give someone space. You have a space. We need space. I am tired of “space”. I desperately want to be accepted again by my community. They want me to be done grieving. Otherwise it’s just depressing. I want to know, how a person can be involved in a “community” and yet feel so abandoned and alone. The more they isolate me, the more I want to isolate myself from their carefree and selfish lives. I feel that I have dropped hints over the last several weeks that I need them. From straight out telling people I feel abandoned to no longer showing up to groups that don’t reach out or even attempt to understand the situation. In my week or so of injury I had people reaching out to me. Funny that it takes getting hit by a physical object to get noticed. After I said I was doing better, I was left alone again. Here I am bitter, angry and ready to lash out at the world for something that can not be changed because it already happened. What gets me is that as I am trying to forgive a community that left me, I still feel they no longer care. What would it look like if I left that church? How much could my life improve if I found a community that understands that I need time and community. Not space. Space is what isolates us from the rest of the world. It traps us in the hurt and pain of our problems. We end up spending our time in this space dwelling on the pain; Stuck in the pain and unable to escape it. I want to escape it. I have dropped hints. I no longer know what to do. I have told several people how I feel and right now I think that it’s time I just leave. Threatening and thinking about leaving don’t change anything. Doing something, approaching the issue with a plan of action changes the outcome and outlook of a situation.
I want to be challenged in my walk with God. Not guilt for being angry with Him because He took my father. I don’t want to feel guilty for my feelings. If finding a more welcoming environment is what I need to do, then I will do it. Otherwise, I know that I will keep expecting something to change and have unmet expectations. I will constantly be let down by this community that “loves and values” me. That will only drive me further from where I need to be and where I need to go. If I don’t figure this out, it will start to affect my relationship with God more than it already has. I am already angry with Him, now I am questioning the community He placed around me. What gets me is that none of this seems to feel very real to me. I never thought I would question this community the way I am and it makes me question my part. Am I to blame for some of this? Why do people feel that not talking to me would benefit me? Why do they think that by ignoring my existence it will help with the process of grieving? Why?
Tuesday, August 9, 2011
My Superhero
As a child I think it’s safe to say that many of us saw our parents as super heroes. For me this was true. I saw my dad as “Super Cowboy.” He was amazing at riding horses, loved working cattle and from my stand point, was the most handsome man in the world. He ran fast, he ate an ice cream cone without it dribbling all over, he was able to turn my melted chocolate back to a solid and he told the best bedtime stories. These things made the perfect super hero. As I got older it seemed like everything my father did slowly lost its “super-powerness.” By the age of ten I still was in awe of my dad but I saw that he was human as well.
One summer we wanted fireworks so my dad and brothers went into town and got some. There was a lot of talk about a specific firework, the “ass-chaser.” As we stood outside and waited for my father to light the fuse, we all had our theories as to why it had such a name. Soon after, we all realized why it had its name. No sooner had my father lit it, did the firework begin to inch its way towards him. As my dad started picking up his pace, so did the firework until my dad was running and the firework was streaking across the road right behind him. Finally he cut to the left and the firework went zooming up and exploded. All of us kids erupted with laughter and excitement since dad was safe. Even he laughed as he went to pick up debris.
Most summers were spent working with cattle, more specifically, our steers that we raised for fair. This was to insure that each of us kids knew how to work for something. In the evenings we would spend time practicing showing our steers and getting help from our parents. Sometimes we fought over whom did the most work, (usually it was Christina and she never complained) and other times we would get frustrated with our animals if they didn’t comply with our demands. When I was fifteen, I learned the value of this work. I placed high overall in county fair and with the encouragement from dad and Shana, I went on to State fair. This was a big deal to me. It taught me how to really enjoy work, to take one for the team, even if it means giving up your fun time. It also taught me that the reward may not be the money you receive but the experience you have gained.
When I was nineteen, my dad taught me the value of making my own choices. Dad and Shana had both encouraged me to work at HR camp, so I applied, got interviewed and accepted the job. A month before heading up to the mountains I got a job at a Dairy Queen. At the time that was what I wanted. To be close to my friends, to go to concerts and to sleep in. However, in receiving some unwanted advice, my dad said that it would be a good experience and look good on my resume. Two weeks before camp, I realized I needed to go and I am not quite sure what it was that changed my mind. When I went to camp, I met several young adults who were in college like me, struggling to live a life that was pleasing to God, like me and who were, for the most part, comfortable with who they were (very much not like me). Throughout the summer I realized how much I needed to be reconnected to God and to my family. When I wasn’t at camp I would stop by and see my dad. Even after a camping mishap that landed me in the hospital, my dad understood that I needed to make that mistake. I needed to learn and like a good father, he let me. For the entire week after my injury (that kept me from working at camp), he would hear me tell stories of the people I worked with and how I acquired the nickname Hazardous Hannah a.k.a. the Haz. This decision to work at the camp has led to a series of more decisions and now I feel proud to say that I am following in my dad’s footsteps in getting my bachelor’s degree at CSU.
Today I see that my dad is a superhero. Although he never had a fancy utility belt or a spiffy costume, none of that was ever necessary. He equipped himself with truth, wise and precise words, a great sense of humor and sense of purpose. Everyone he met, he met with a purpose and a smile. His advice always came at the right moment and always seemed to be the thing many needed to hear. The last advice I received was “Focus”. It came up several times in the last couple of months but the theme and the words were always there. “Focus.” When it came to school, he told me we probably thought a lot alike and that the best way for me to succeed was to focus on one task at a time. Getting overwhelmed by everything at once won’t get anything accomplished. When I asked for his advice on whether or not to go to Nicaragua this summer, he told me to focus on what I thought was important at this moment. When it came to taking a trip up to the DMO, (when I had forgotten to wear close toed shoes and pants), he looked me in the eye and with one hand pointed his two fingers at his eyes and then mine and said, “Focus biatch.”
His words will always remain with me. Even as I think about his smile and what he did for our family, I think of my superhero and who I want to be like, my dad.
One summer we wanted fireworks so my dad and brothers went into town and got some. There was a lot of talk about a specific firework, the “ass-chaser.” As we stood outside and waited for my father to light the fuse, we all had our theories as to why it had such a name. Soon after, we all realized why it had its name. No sooner had my father lit it, did the firework begin to inch its way towards him. As my dad started picking up his pace, so did the firework until my dad was running and the firework was streaking across the road right behind him. Finally he cut to the left and the firework went zooming up and exploded. All of us kids erupted with laughter and excitement since dad was safe. Even he laughed as he went to pick up debris.
Most summers were spent working with cattle, more specifically, our steers that we raised for fair. This was to insure that each of us kids knew how to work for something. In the evenings we would spend time practicing showing our steers and getting help from our parents. Sometimes we fought over whom did the most work, (usually it was Christina and she never complained) and other times we would get frustrated with our animals if they didn’t comply with our demands. When I was fifteen, I learned the value of this work. I placed high overall in county fair and with the encouragement from dad and Shana, I went on to State fair. This was a big deal to me. It taught me how to really enjoy work, to take one for the team, even if it means giving up your fun time. It also taught me that the reward may not be the money you receive but the experience you have gained.
When I was nineteen, my dad taught me the value of making my own choices. Dad and Shana had both encouraged me to work at HR camp, so I applied, got interviewed and accepted the job. A month before heading up to the mountains I got a job at a Dairy Queen. At the time that was what I wanted. To be close to my friends, to go to concerts and to sleep in. However, in receiving some unwanted advice, my dad said that it would be a good experience and look good on my resume. Two weeks before camp, I realized I needed to go and I am not quite sure what it was that changed my mind. When I went to camp, I met several young adults who were in college like me, struggling to live a life that was pleasing to God, like me and who were, for the most part, comfortable with who they were (very much not like me). Throughout the summer I realized how much I needed to be reconnected to God and to my family. When I wasn’t at camp I would stop by and see my dad. Even after a camping mishap that landed me in the hospital, my dad understood that I needed to make that mistake. I needed to learn and like a good father, he let me. For the entire week after my injury (that kept me from working at camp), he would hear me tell stories of the people I worked with and how I acquired the nickname Hazardous Hannah a.k.a. the Haz. This decision to work at the camp has led to a series of more decisions and now I feel proud to say that I am following in my dad’s footsteps in getting my bachelor’s degree at CSU.
Today I see that my dad is a superhero. Although he never had a fancy utility belt or a spiffy costume, none of that was ever necessary. He equipped himself with truth, wise and precise words, a great sense of humor and sense of purpose. Everyone he met, he met with a purpose and a smile. His advice always came at the right moment and always seemed to be the thing many needed to hear. The last advice I received was “Focus”. It came up several times in the last couple of months but the theme and the words were always there. “Focus.” When it came to school, he told me we probably thought a lot alike and that the best way for me to succeed was to focus on one task at a time. Getting overwhelmed by everything at once won’t get anything accomplished. When I asked for his advice on whether or not to go to Nicaragua this summer, he told me to focus on what I thought was important at this moment. When it came to taking a trip up to the DMO, (when I had forgotten to wear close toed shoes and pants), he looked me in the eye and with one hand pointed his two fingers at his eyes and then mine and said, “Focus biatch.”
His words will always remain with me. Even as I think about his smile and what he did for our family, I think of my superhero and who I want to be like, my dad.
Thursday, July 28, 2011
Is this the end?
For the past two weeks I have struggled with the thought of loosing my dad. I mean this is the reality. His health has declined rapidly and we don't know if we have any other options. Time does not seem to be on our hands. This makes me break inside. I won't have my father walk me down the isle, he won't get to meet my children and teach them how to ride or what a steer is or a heifer. It seems stupid in some sense and rather selfish because he so desperately wants to stop the pain, but I don't want to let go. I am not ready to let go. I want him to at least meet my future niece. That means four more months of suffering.
What gets me the most is the torture of watching him suffer in pain. It's indescribable and after a while you start to become numb to it. It sucks. Yet I pray day after day to my heavenly Father and to His Son and I find myself feeling unheard and desolate inside. I feel that God has given me so many dreams of my dad walking and then to wake up and see that he is still bedridden and restless, well, that's unfair. I am 23, unmarried and so desperately wanting my dad to see me finish becoming a woman.
Then I have moments where I see my younger siblings and how they are getting jiped. My little sister won't have him to see her graduate and have him walk her down the isle. It's not fair. My little brother is just going to college, he won't get my dad's advice or his assurance that everything will work out. My brother Jared won't get my dad's approval when he finishes college or when he introduces his future bride. My older siblings won't have him there to visit and see their kids and receive parenting advice. My dad may leave us before any of this is possible. It scares me and makes me nervous that I may never get to form these memories with him.
I feel that God has not heard our desperation. I feel unheard and isolated at times. Where is He?
What gets me the most is the torture of watching him suffer in pain. It's indescribable and after a while you start to become numb to it. It sucks. Yet I pray day after day to my heavenly Father and to His Son and I find myself feeling unheard and desolate inside. I feel that God has given me so many dreams of my dad walking and then to wake up and see that he is still bedridden and restless, well, that's unfair. I am 23, unmarried and so desperately wanting my dad to see me finish becoming a woman.
Then I have moments where I see my younger siblings and how they are getting jiped. My little sister won't have him to see her graduate and have him walk her down the isle. It's not fair. My little brother is just going to college, he won't get my dad's advice or his assurance that everything will work out. My brother Jared won't get my dad's approval when he finishes college or when he introduces his future bride. My older siblings won't have him there to visit and see their kids and receive parenting advice. My dad may leave us before any of this is possible. It scares me and makes me nervous that I may never get to form these memories with him.
I feel that God has not heard our desperation. I feel unheard and isolated at times. Where is He?
Sunday, April 3, 2011
The power of touch
It's funny how much we need people in our lives. We need friends, family and so much more. And we each interact differently. We each need that different interaction, that different touch, different way of conversation and that different way of engaging with people. I realized today, as dumb as this sounds, I miss being hugged in a certain way. I miss the strong embrace of a man. Let's just be simple. I have been single for four years. Three of them I haven't really interacted with guys in a way that suggests romantic interest. The last date I went on was two years ago. EPIC FAIL! Now I am still single, still waiting for that man who is strong, and who will demand my attention (not in a forceful way). I know that God made me a strong and independent woman, I have been that way since I was a child and my life experience has enforced that even more. What gets me is there doesn't seem to be a man who wants that type of girl. I haven't met him yet at least so I can't talk. I just feel depressed and sad and anxious and oh man do I feel lonely. I hate it! I hate feeling isolated. I no longer have a close guy friend. I no longer have that friend who greets me with a big bear hug. I so want that. Here I am lonely. Surrounded by people in relationships, people who are being pursued by strong Christians and people who are married. Where the heck am I supposed to go? Lonely Island?
Pity party for myself. But I needed it. Now the truth. I want male attention. I want to be in a relationship and I am impatient. I am jealous that people seem to be finding that person that balances them out. I am upset I don't have a fall back. I am surprised I just wrote that last part, but I still think it. I hope that I never have to settle. I hope that I can find that man. I just hate feeling sorry for myself, yet it seems to be a weekly ritual. I feel sorry for myself once or twice or maybe every day of the week. I have at least one break down and I usually cry a couple times a day. AHHH... Who would want to date this unstable girl? Wouldn't it be better if I was put together and collected. Wouldn't my future husband want a woman who doesn't cry everyday, who's family isn't on the brink of falling apart? Wouldn't a man want a perfect girl? I am not her. No where near perfect. Not close. I feel that I have issues dealing with male authority. I have issues trusting men not to let me down or desert me. I struggle to understand myself a majority of the time, so why would I find that man now, if I don't even know where I am. I am a snot. I don't think there are some men who are good enough. I want a strong Christian man. A man who isn't afraid to ask the hard questions, who will challenge me in my faith, closer to God. A man who isn't afraid of being challenged by his girl. A man who knows that he wants to serve God. Because I want what little I know about myself and what would be good for me. THat's it.
The rest is questionable...
Pity party for myself. But I needed it. Now the truth. I want male attention. I want to be in a relationship and I am impatient. I am jealous that people seem to be finding that person that balances them out. I am upset I don't have a fall back. I am surprised I just wrote that last part, but I still think it. I hope that I never have to settle. I hope that I can find that man. I just hate feeling sorry for myself, yet it seems to be a weekly ritual. I feel sorry for myself once or twice or maybe every day of the week. I have at least one break down and I usually cry a couple times a day. AHHH... Who would want to date this unstable girl? Wouldn't it be better if I was put together and collected. Wouldn't my future husband want a woman who doesn't cry everyday, who's family isn't on the brink of falling apart? Wouldn't a man want a perfect girl? I am not her. No where near perfect. Not close. I feel that I have issues dealing with male authority. I have issues trusting men not to let me down or desert me. I struggle to understand myself a majority of the time, so why would I find that man now, if I don't even know where I am. I am a snot. I don't think there are some men who are good enough. I want a strong Christian man. A man who isn't afraid to ask the hard questions, who will challenge me in my faith, closer to God. A man who isn't afraid of being challenged by his girl. A man who knows that he wants to serve God. Because I want what little I know about myself and what would be good for me. THat's it.
The rest is questionable...
No words can describe... yet I try
I am really struggling to express how I am feeling. I am sad. I am overwhelmed with joy and yet I want to cry. I don't know why. Last night I got done with a fundraiser for a friend. This is a friend that at one point I had feelings for. Since then he has dated and broken up with my old roommate and moved to Nicaragua. His heart is good, but like everyone he isn't perfect. For some reason last night I drove away from the bowling alley ready to cry. I was overwhelmed, maybe discouraged a bit. I guess I expected more from friends to come support Luke. I may also be influenced by some recent events.
On Thursday, my friend told me that he had been asked to help co-lead a trip to Nicaragua. Both the guys have been to Nicaragua, however, I have been there more times, have organized all the fundraisers, have personal relationships with most of the kids and staff and I have a better understanding of the culture. I have to tell myself over and over that it is not my time to lead a trip. I should not be leading a team. But I can not help but feel hurt and like the situation is unfair. I really appreciated the fact that my friend told me he felt like God wanted him to do it and he asked for my blessing. I needed that. But I still feel like men are more favored at my church, that I am under valued and that the last trip, I got stuck with a lot of the responsibilities of a leader unknowingly and it was unfair. I have to keep in mind that the sacrifice is worth it so others can benefit, but I wonder how much it takes out of me. A lot of the time I feel like I put a lot of work into certain things. I am trying to into the mindset that giving is giving and when you give you shouldn't expect anything in return. I think I generally do a good job of just giving. But from time to time I wonder who would do some of the stuff I do, if I quit. I am also struggling to figure out if I should go to Nicaragua in July. I want my motives to be pure and God-led. I want to be an addition, not hinder the growth and overall harmony of the next team. Why is it so hard? Why is Nicaragua a constant struggle for me?
Why do I feel lonely and why is that such a struggle? I have to constantly tell myself that God has so much for me. So much. But why in the mean time do I feel abandoned and angry with my Father? Why must I fight myself everyday until He says, "Stop!"
I just want to stop feeling so much hurt. I am overwhelmed with how my dad's health is declining and how I feel a void of hope within that part of my life. I just want to feel hopeful, optimistic and full of joy. Why is that so hard?
So I suppose what I feel is hard to describe, but I am trying to comprehend it. I am trying to put to words the way I feel cheated and hopeless.
On Thursday, my friend told me that he had been asked to help co-lead a trip to Nicaragua. Both the guys have been to Nicaragua, however, I have been there more times, have organized all the fundraisers, have personal relationships with most of the kids and staff and I have a better understanding of the culture. I have to tell myself over and over that it is not my time to lead a trip. I should not be leading a team. But I can not help but feel hurt and like the situation is unfair. I really appreciated the fact that my friend told me he felt like God wanted him to do it and he asked for my blessing. I needed that. But I still feel like men are more favored at my church, that I am under valued and that the last trip, I got stuck with a lot of the responsibilities of a leader unknowingly and it was unfair. I have to keep in mind that the sacrifice is worth it so others can benefit, but I wonder how much it takes out of me. A lot of the time I feel like I put a lot of work into certain things. I am trying to into the mindset that giving is giving and when you give you shouldn't expect anything in return. I think I generally do a good job of just giving. But from time to time I wonder who would do some of the stuff I do, if I quit. I am also struggling to figure out if I should go to Nicaragua in July. I want my motives to be pure and God-led. I want to be an addition, not hinder the growth and overall harmony of the next team. Why is it so hard? Why is Nicaragua a constant struggle for me?
Why do I feel lonely and why is that such a struggle? I have to constantly tell myself that God has so much for me. So much. But why in the mean time do I feel abandoned and angry with my Father? Why must I fight myself everyday until He says, "Stop!"
I just want to stop feeling so much hurt. I am overwhelmed with how my dad's health is declining and how I feel a void of hope within that part of my life. I just want to feel hopeful, optimistic and full of joy. Why is that so hard?
So I suppose what I feel is hard to describe, but I am trying to comprehend it. I am trying to put to words the way I feel cheated and hopeless.
Thursday, March 24, 2011
Patience? Patience.
There are days when I get extremely anxious and impatience with how my life is moving. I want so desperately to graduate and finish school once and for all, but certain credits transferred wrong. Sometimes I get impatient when I see other people dating and then I remember, "God has someone better for me." It's a constant battle with myself to be patient. One part knows the rewards, the other part doesn't care, it just wants results.
So how do we practice patience? Do I sit by a timer and wait for it to ding? Do I continue on in my daily rituals and hope that I overcome some of the battles in my head? God give me the strength to be patient. I need it more than ever. GAH! My impatience has caused me to dive into other people's lives and avoiding my own issues that I am waiting for God to answer. I have avoided certain feelings/emotions and replaced it with an unhealthy involvement in the drama that surrounds some friends. Partially, I must confess, it has to do with the fact that I want to have some of the attention from guys, but another part of it is that I kinda get sucked into it...willingly. I usually find myself backing out midway, which is good, but still too late. I like some of the drama that surrounds my friends, it makes my life seem exciting. Not exciting in a thrilling way, but in a normal, this is was people usually deal with kind of way. Part of it is that I don't want to face the reality that my dad is not doing well health wise and the other part is that I want an escape from a life that I have deemed unfair.
But patience. God tells me time and time again that I need to wait on Him. Some situations will pass. I will eventually meet my husband, on God's time and I will overcome many of these obstacles that prevent me from moving forward. I just need to learn patience.
So how do we practice patience? Do I sit by a timer and wait for it to ding? Do I continue on in my daily rituals and hope that I overcome some of the battles in my head? God give me the strength to be patient. I need it more than ever. GAH! My impatience has caused me to dive into other people's lives and avoiding my own issues that I am waiting for God to answer. I have avoided certain feelings/emotions and replaced it with an unhealthy involvement in the drama that surrounds some friends. Partially, I must confess, it has to do with the fact that I want to have some of the attention from guys, but another part of it is that I kinda get sucked into it...willingly. I usually find myself backing out midway, which is good, but still too late. I like some of the drama that surrounds my friends, it makes my life seem exciting. Not exciting in a thrilling way, but in a normal, this is was people usually deal with kind of way. Part of it is that I don't want to face the reality that my dad is not doing well health wise and the other part is that I want an escape from a life that I have deemed unfair.
But patience. God tells me time and time again that I need to wait on Him. Some situations will pass. I will eventually meet my husband, on God's time and I will overcome many of these obstacles that prevent me from moving forward. I just need to learn patience.
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