I wasn't born with depression. Sometimes I wonder if it wouldn't have been better if I had been. Because I remember life before depression. I remember what it felt like to be free. I remember what it felt like to laugh wholeheartedly. I remember what it was like, and my life feels so empty now.

It hurts to hear the hope in my father's voice when he hears I've visited a church with friends. Because I know that he will never accept who I am, and will probably pray to his dying breath that I find "the truth." I wish he could accept that I've already found it.

I Choose to Look Through My Own Eyes

And what is it that my own eyes tell me? Who do my eyes say that I am? My eyes tell me that I have endured more in my 23 years of life than some people do in a lifetime. My eyes see that while I may be broken inside, I am still standing. My eyes see that though I have suffered betrayal after betrayal, I have lost neither the ability to trust nor the will to hope. My eyes see that even though I have been tempted to give up time and time again, through sheer stubbornness I continue to move forward. My eyes tell me that I may focus on myself a lot, but I am always willing to help a friend, enemy, or stranger who needs me. My eyes tell me that I am not weak, but strong. And my eyes tell me that while I will always have room to grow as a human being, I can be proud of who I am right now, today.

In browsing my website stats I've noticed that some people have been attempting to follow links that no longer exist, specifically to darknesseverpressing.com (or .blogspot.com), iplaywithmarkers.com (or .blogspot.com), or untwistingthetangledweb.com (or undertakingliberty.blogspot.com). I realize that all links that go to those sites are broken or blocked, and I apologize for that. I am making it my mission to go through and fix all those links, but it will probably take a while. Thanks for your patience and understanding.

Christians like to look at Easter and say "Look how much God loves us!" I tend to look at Black Friday and say, "Look how God treats those he loves!"

A Letter to a Hero That Has Let You Down

I struggled for a long time with this post, finding a hero that I've had at all. See, I learned pretty early that people would always disappoint me, so I was never much one to idolize anyone. At first I thought, I will do a post about God! But then I thought...God didn't let me down, because he never existed in the first place. That's like saying Frodo let me down. You could make a case for it in a figurative sense but it doesn't really fit. But eventually I thought of one. Or two, really, but I shall write to just one.

Dear Daddy,

My eyes are tearing up just starting to write to you. And I can't help but be reminded of all the other times I've done the same thing. And then I can't help but think of all the times you got such letters and promised to do better and then...never did a thing. See, you're my daddy. I always looked up to you. Remember how you used to sing to me?
"Daddy loves his Katy Beth girl
Katy Beth girl
Katy Beth girl
Daddy loves his Katy Beth girl
She's his bundle of joy."
But when I was abused and needed your protection, you said that I had sinned. And then you made a rule that plunged me further into shame and said "we will never talk about this again." And so I hid. I hid my shame, with no one to talk to. I should have been able to talk to you, Daddy. And eventually when I grew older and disregarded the rule and tried to talk to you, you always put me off or changed the subject. And then you told me that you would not get me the help I so desperately needed. You told me "if I could not do it on my own then no counselor would be able to help me." You let me down, Daddy. I often get harsh with Mommy for how she acted towards me, but you are the one I went to when I needed help, you are the one I trusted, and you are the one that let me down.
I still love you, Daddy. But when I became pregnant with a baby that I was not ready for, instead of helping, you took the opportunity to say I told you so. When I got married I could not count on you even coming, though you eventually did...but only after your own daddy told you to. My wedding was a glorious day and I was too excited, and too cold (brrr) to pay attention to what you said. But I watched it later and you took the opportunity IN THE MIDDLE OF MY WEDDING to cast your doubts on how long it would last. "We don't know if this marriage will last but we hope it does." Really? Who says that at their daughter's wedding? You do, Daddy. You let me down.
I love you, Daddy. But when that marriage did dissolve, you again could not wait to say I told you so, although the reasons it did had nothing to do with your reasons for not wanting me to get married. And when I needed a place to live where I could be closer to my son than I had been for the last few months, you hemmed and hawed until I withdrew the question. You let me down, Daddy.
I won't talk about your reaction to my coming out, mostly because you didn't react. You seem to have made yourself a rule much like the rule that made my childhood hell..."we will never speak of this." I want you to know, Daddy, that ignoring something doesn't make it go away. I would have thought you would have learned that by now.
So I just wanted to say, Daddy, that I still love you, and I always will, no matter what you do. I just wish that you wouldn't have let me down.

Love,
Your Katy Beth girl

Life is a Wondrous Thing

A while back one of my friends posted on Facebook about how much she was looking forward to Heaven and that this life is just preparation for that one, a poor foreshadowing of what is to come. I took exception to that and we had a brief discussion. She, understandably, looked at my life and wondered how in the world I was content with it, how I could possibly say that this life is glorious and wonderful and I have no need for Heaven. It is a fair question, wouldn't you say?

So ever since then, I have had this idea knocking about in my head. You all know that I know all too well the darker side of life. I am overly familiar with pain and heartache, and loss and tears. But just because I live in the dark does not mean the light any less beautiful, or amazing, or wonderful. I live in the dark through a series of choices, both mine and others', and because my brain has forgotten how to be happy for more than brief moments. But does my experience with life make life any less wonderful? Do my tears make the sun shine less brightly? Does my pain prevent the world from singing? Do the shadows in my head make the waterfalls cease and the streams dry up? If I am sad is the whole world sad?

The answer to those questions, obviously, is no. Just because sometimes life sucks for me, doesn't mean life is sucky. But this is broad, and vague. It still doesn't explain why I, myself, do not long for a heaven, or why I myself am content to live this life. And here's the thing. I know why my life is the way it is. And I also know that there are things that could be done to help bring me out of the dark and into the light. And some of those things I try to do, and some I am not able to do at this point. But I know that even for me, life can be wonderful. Indeed, even for me, life IS wonderful...even in the midst of my pain.

I look at pictures of fat chubby not "thin" girls and find them cute and/or attractive. So I wonder why it is that I think no one will find me attractive?

People assume sexuality is a strict progression of gay and straight but from a non judgmental realistic viewpoint it's more of a big ball of wibbly wobbly sexy wexy stuff. ~ this person on Tumblr

We Do Not Rape Girls, Sam I Am

We do not rape girls if they're drunk
We do not rape girls in a trunk
We do not rape girls on a boat
We do not rape girls on a coat
We do not rape girls, Sam I Am

We do not rape girls in short skirts
We do not rape girls in tight shirts
We do not rape them if they're there
We do not rape them if they stare
We do not raps girls, Sam I Am

We do not rape girls here or there
We do not rape girls anywhere
We do not rape girls if they're high
We do not rape girls if they're sly
We do not rape girls, Sam I Am

We do not rape girls who say no
We do not rape girls who say go
We do not rape girls to us wed
We do not rape girls in our bed
We do not rape girls, Sam I Am

We do not rape girls young or old
We do not rape girls hot or cold
We do not rape girls thin or thick
We do not rape girls well or sick
We do not rape girls, Sam I Am

We do not rape girls who passed out
We do not rape girls clothed in nought
We do not rape girls in a bar
We do not rape girls in a car
We do not rape girls, Sam I Am

We do not rape girls if they glance
We do not rape girls at a dance
We do not rape girls one by one
We do not rape girls if it's fun
We do not rape girls, Sam I Am

Classy WoW

I'm a nerd. Anyone surprised? No? Good. I also play World of Warcraft. And recently I've made it a goal of mine to get a character (or "toon") of every race/class combo first to level 20, and then eventually to level cap, or whatever the level cap is on the account the toon is on. I have many accounts, but not all of them have all the expansions, you see. No, I don't pay for all of the accounts to have gametime every month either, in case you were wondering. I usually only pay for one or two. So anyway, to facilitate that goal, I've made a spreadsheet detailing how far I've come and such. Through the magic of Google (all hail the great Google!) I've placed it here, online, for all your viewing pleasure. I'm honestly surprised that I'm not any further along than I am, but then, I have a disturbing habit of deleting alts so I can start new ones. Names in parenthesis are names I've decided on for a particular combo but haven't actually made yet. It's a fun list!

Of Two Minds

I want to die
To leave this world
To be free of its
Anger, fear, and hate

I want to live
To enjoy this world
To be free in its
Peace, joy, and love

A Letter to a Band or Artist that Has Gotten You Through Some Tough Days

Dear Evanescence,
You truly mean the world to me. I've struggled with depression for far too long, but your music gives my pain a voice. Indeed, I often feel like you've been peeking at my life or looking into my head for inspiration. Your self-titled album helped me though my recent break-up after having been married more than two years. It was all I listened to for a month...in the car, on break at work, and late into the night.
If not for you, dear Evanescence, I think that I would have died. Your music reflects the pain I have inside, and by doing so, lessens it. So I thank you, and I hope you keep making beautiful music for a very long time.
Peace,
Threnody

Something You Never Get Compliments On

My mature and well-adjusted personality! I don't know why, since I am the most mature and well-adjusted individual I've ever had the pleasure to meet!
All joking aside, I suppose I can whine about my lack of musical talent some more. You know the stories about prodigies who lived and breathed music all their lives growing up and turn out to be extremely talented and can do anything musically? I got one out of three of those (hint, it's the first one). I grew up in a music teacher/pastor's home, so I was inundated with music of a certain variety. My eldest brother is insanely talent and should go on the Voice (or similar show) and get a record deal or something. My second brother has some talent too, though I do not know if he was ever as interested in developing it as the eldest. Then there is the third child, also gifted with an extremely talented voice. And it looks like the younger one has inherited the talent as well, though he would rather play Call of Duty than sing. As for me, well...I sing, but not well. I am often off-key and I can't stay on a part by myself to save my life. I play the piano, but only at what I would consider a late intermediate or maybe early advanced level. I taught myself to play the recorder, but really anyone who can blow can play a recorder. For example my two-year-old son has already figured out how to cover different holes for different sounds. He'll probably pass me up by the time he is four. And finally I play the clarinet and bass clarinet. I taught myself how to play those as well, which may be why I absolutely suck at it. Or blow, to use a double (triple?) meaning.
Oh. I do actually get compliments on the piano playing, from my mother. I operate on the assumption that family members don't count. But for the most part, I don't get compliment on my musical abilities, because I don't deserve it. I still wish I did, though! Deserve it, that is. Undeserved compliments are just kind of stupid.

Something People Seem to Compliment You the Most On

Harking back to day two, I will have to respond "my way with words." I do have great power with words, and to my credit I have (as far as I can remember) never used those words for evil. Although I will admit that I have wanted to, at times. But I write, and people tell me things like "that post moved me to tears" or "you ripped my heart out with that poem" or just simply "you're a really good writer."
If it isn't words, people usually say something about my art. This surprises me, since my artwork is limited to doodling here and there. Of course, the one thing that I really, really want to get compliments on I never do, but I have whined about that once already, I have no need to explore it further, at least, not in this post.

Someone You Need to Let Go, or Wish You Did Not Know

This one is difficult, because I literally cannot think of anyone. You see, when a friend or acquaintance becomes somebody I do not wish to associate with any longer, well - I stop associating with them. Many times I do this prematurely and later regret it. Sometimes the damage can be mended if I swallow my pride and apologize, and I have done this more times than I want to admit. But it only very rarely happens that I retain the companionship of someone that I feel is bad for me in some way. The reason for this is simple: life is short, and I do not need to waste precious mental and emotional resources (which are scarce) trying to maintain a friendship that will only bring me down.
Now, for the other part of the question...I do not know anybody that I wish I did not know. I am the sum of my experiences, and the people I have come across in my life have all done their part to contribute to those experiences. Some have contributed negatively, some positively, and some (the vast majority) have done both. No, I would not change the people I have known, not for the world.

So That I Might Feel

Oh hey there, depression. I would say welcome back, but then, you never really left, did you? Of course, you have so many different forms. Feeling so utterly sad and angry and worthless after breaking up with not one but two partners was to be expected, I think. And of course you've dragged me up and down the scales from nearly happy to despair time and time again. But this...this is that depression that makes everything seem like nothing. I moved back to Wisconsin to be closer to my son, and I love seeing him. But underneath that love, underneath everything, is emptiness. Nothingness. Not darkness, not shadow, not even pain. This is the void that makes even emotions emotionless. I feel love and yet I feel emptiness. I feel pain and yet I feel nothing.
I've developed a bit of a temper over the last four or five years. Or perhaps it has been there for a long time and I have merely started letting it loose a bit. Or more than a bit. But right now, right here, alone with the void...I feel no anger. I am incapable of the passion that would require.
People have often wondered why it is that I am a cutter. After all, they reason, if I am in so much pain, why would I add to it? And to be sure I have cut because of pain. But right here, right now, my hand itches for the blade merely so that I can feel.

Hi blog readers, all two of you. Sorry for my long and unannounced hiatus. I was living in a horror film known as "The Land of No Internet," alternatively entitled "Visiting My Parents." But I am safely ensconced in my new home, awaiting first contact with my new roommates, and I have written you some blog posts, continuing the "Thirty Days of Truth" challenge. I shall post them shortly, by which I mean, sometime, by which I mean, probably tomorrow.

Someone You Didn't Mean to Let Go, But Just Drifted

Ah, my friend Squishy. That is not her real name, of course, it was one of her nicknames. I had one too, but I don't remember what it was, something like Fluffy or Floofy.

Squishy was my best friend growing up. Or at least, those years of growing up where you start forming best-friend attachments. We moved to Squishy's town when I was, oh dear, I'm not sure. Ten or eleven.  She was our pastor's daughter, and we hit it off right away. It was actually one of those times when our parents were like, "Oh, Squishy and Threnody are close in age, they should be really good friends!" And surprisingly, we were. I say surprisingly, because I'm the sort of person that is likely to hear that sort of thing and be like, "Oh, you want me to be friends? Well then I don't like her at all. So there." Squishy taught me to love soccer, and we played in the city league together for two years, spring and fall. When Squishy and I met, we were two years apart in school. She was in 6th grade, and I was in 4th. That was fine, for a year. But then Squishy graduated to the teen class in Sunday School/junior church/Wednesday night and I was very lonely. So I took 5th and 6th grade in the same year so that I could catch up. This might have been the beginning of people around me identifying me as a nerd. But, I caught up, and we had a ton of fun together. We went to camp together, we made plans to go to Northland together for college, we were inseparable. And then of course, my family moved away. I say of course because my family has yet to live in one place more than four years, at least not while I lived with them. Currently they're living in the same house they were when I went to college, but they haven't been there the whole time. So they might have exceeded the four year mark, but not consecutively. So we moved away, and our friendship kind of drifted. I had (still do, actually) what amounts to nearly a phobia about talking on the phone. I hate doing it. I don't know why, but I will avoid talking on the phone if it is in any way possible. So we sent a few letters back and forth, but for the most part we didn't really communicate very much. She was a year ahead of me, and when she graduated high school she went to the University in the town she lived in. I honestly didn't really expect to see her ever again.

But then I went to college. Not Northland, the college my eldest brothers went to. I followed my other brother to Maranatha, jokingly calling us traitors all the while. And I got to my dorm, and unloaded my stuff; I was there early, for soccer tryouts (I was too lazy to do well. I was one of three people who didn't make the team). After about a week, the day came for all the normal students to arrive, and many of the room leaders started putting up little signs with their roommates names on so they would know which room to go to. Imagine my absolute SHOCK when the room leader next to me put up a sign with Squishy's name on it! I mean, she doesn't have an extremely common name. So I called her, right then and there. And she answered, and said something about them unpacking at the hotel, and she would talk to me later, and bye. So anyway, by some magic we ended up at the same college, at the same time, in the same dorm, on the same floor. It was one of those coincidences that never happens, except for that it did.

Squishy and I got along pretty good that year. I helped her though a lot of tough times; her home church (my old church) was treating her father like shit, her mom had to get a job and her dad was working at Walmart as well as being a pastor so that their family had enough to survive on. She persuaded me to join the school band, which was probably the most awesome thing I did at college. We had a good time. The next year I had a job and lived off-campus, so I really didn't see her much. And then I started dating, so my free time was spent hanging out with my boyfriend/fiance and his friends. And we just drifted apart. After I got kicked out, she made an effort to talk to me online a bit, which I appreciated. But I think the last time we talked was when she canceled our plans to meet at Taco Bell for supper one night because she was afraid the deans would find out and punish her (see previous post about the deans making my life hell). I didn't blame her for that, but we never really talked after that.

Sometimes I miss my Squishy. I don't really know what's up with her life, despite the fact that we're still facebook friends, but I wish her all the best in the world.

Nice Broken People

I wonder how many nice people are broken.

I used to be a very self-sacrificing person. I would go out of my way to do things for other people, or be nice to other people, even to my own detriment on occasion. The reasons for that of course were varied, but two main ones come to mind. One, I genuinely enjoy making people smile...hearing "Oh, you didn't have to do that" and responding, "I know, but I wanted to," not from any ulterior motive, but because there is an honest joy in caring for the people around you. In some ways, too, being kind to others fights depression, because it helps you realize that, while depression is focused on self (not in a selfish way, though), making others happy makes you think about something else for a while.

The other reason is because I wanted people to like me, or to love me. Growing up Christian and especially Baptist taught me, purposefully or not, that love is a thing that you earn, and that it is perfectly acceptable to withhold love from someone who is unhappy with you. That may seem odd to you, since Christianity is supposed to be all about loving people no matter what. I don't pretend to understand it at all, but there it is. I thought, that if I was kind and did nice things for people, that they would like me. And, really, I was right. After all, nice people usually have friends, and I did meet a lot of people and made quite a few friends.

Eventually, as I grew, and healed, and became less broken (though by no means whole) I grew less nice. I still enjoyed (and do even to this day) doing nice things for people, and genuinely giving someone else joy still brightens my whole day. But I started doing it less and less. I began to realize that love and friendship should not be and are not based on how many nice things you do for the other person. A friendship that is based only on those things isn't a very deep or lasting relationship. And I learned that a true friend would accept me no matter what.

So now I'm more of a normal person. I'm not a "nice" person, not overtly. Sometimes I'm even kind of an asshole. But I'm more real, and I don't expect people to like or dislike me based on how many nice things I do or don't do for them. I expect people to love me for me. But I wonder, how many people are like I was? How many nice people are broken?