| At least the Internet will listen to me.
And what do I want to say? What do I need to say? I'm convinced that those who feel deeply love deeply, hurt deeply, and to not feel deeply is to hurt deeply as well, although in a different, masked way. I've heard about emotions being untrustworthy, I don't buy it. But I've already gone over that.
What else do I need to say? I'm not allowed to write in my journal until I have something worth writing, so I'm here instead. I'm trying to figure stuff out, to release, but mostly I'm just losing my grip, falling further and faster. I'm tired and weary and tired, more than tired. And that leads me to an observation. There is nothing that destroys me like being distressed spiritually. If the spiritual is off, everything else might as well be off. Without God, there's no point. I'm spiritually exhausted, dying. And now....
So, I'm past due in posting about nursing being a perfect match for me and how and why and how very thrilled I am with the way everything is going. However, rifts end in breaking apart, either partially or completely, but they don't come together. What's broken is broken. How's that for idealistic? ...Now I want it all to be over. Restore me or finish me. First the hope went, then the purpose, and now the belief. I want to remember it as whole and perfect, but it was never perfect and it was never whole - I just didn't notice. I realize that it was for me - it was for my benefit and I knew it, that was my motivating factor. And to be right, to stand above, to be an example, to be respected, to no longer be inferior, to deserve it. And yet...
I was thinking about my so-called accomplishments and my allowances, and how I do nothing with them. I haven't done anything with them since I got them. I wanted them, but I don't know that I wanted to do anything with them. I wanted the freedom, the ability to do what they allowed, but to do those same things? I don't want anyone telling me no. I'll accept governing authorities' authority, but that is a choice. I set my own limits, my own boundaries, my own standards. ...Yet I always thought that if I submitted, if I acted humble, if I chose to be inferior, I would be superior, I would bloom, people would acknowledge me, appreciate me, revere and respect me. It would be my reward, my right. Ah, the last right I realized I did not nor could not have. And still...
I relish in details. It's the little things that matter to me. I remember them because they are important to me - what they stand for, what they mean, what they imply, the connection they create and/or reinforce. The thoroughness of details, the completeness, the precision and accuracy. To love them is to know them, to remember them. ...Still, pure is not my middle name - it is my name. I used to confuse purity and holiness. Holy is set apart and all that implies; pure is complete, undiluted, undefiled, perfect. Pure is wholehearted, complete immersion, total engrossment, obsessive obsession. And so...
I have the loyalty of a cat. Dogs are known for their loyalty, yet cats, when loyal, are thoroughly loyal. They don't want you to expect it, they don't want the pressure or the responsibility, but their loyalty is essentially unbreakable. They give it as they choose and they express it as they choose. It is not an obligation to them, it's a choice, a gift. It is a selfish loyalty; they give as they desire to give. ...So I jump in, live the moment, the experience, the connection. Almost entirely involved, utterly obsessed ultimately in every aspect. To the extreme I would rush. Passionate, zealous, consumed, obsessed. Moderation had its role in that I would not seek responsibility. I wanted freedom to do as I desired, to do good without obligation so as to feel good about doing good. Great expectations of no expectations. A redefinition of freedom, a twisted freedom, a false freedom. And so, my purity is not pure, my perfection is not perfect. To some it may seem as such, yet I know it is defiled, diluted, and incomplete. Sometimes I forget, but the impurities are present and nothing imperfect is worthy. And still, I have no rights. I deserve less, worse than nothing. And yet my motivation must come from love. Not love of self, but love of the savior, the perfecter, the purifier, the giver of purpose and hope. And now, I must learn to grow. Perhaps in the end shall bloom a flower, but even if there will be none, that is no foundation for refusal to grow.
And now for mental relief. |
) Of the various methods and means, impressionistic change is, perhaps, one of the most integrating. Therefore, it becomes easy to misattribute. The integration or impression of one set of ideas into or onto another makes the second an almost imitation of the first. The distinction, then? If the principles and ideas are so deeply integrated and embedded, than there mayn't be much distinction in essentials. However, forget not the source. If God has given a new perspective, God has given it. No matter how long ago, no matter how very much it may seem like one's own, God gave. God. That must never be forgotten. He made that happen; it's His doing - even if the before cannot be remembered. It's a growth process, a changing process.
Someone else suggested I was stressed. Very interesting notion. 
I'm beginning to understand that people think there is something wrong with me! 
Actually I can't argue with that conclusion. Most obvious is the discomfort in my hip. Heh. Seriously though, I'm not perfect! 