Prayer is personal.

The discipline of writing calms me.  Idle time usually spooks me, but I think this self-imposed requirement (that I write every day) is creating a safe space for me to slow down.

I've been thinking a little more about why I've gone back to writing like this after about a year of inactivity.  The issue before was that I didn't have a clear-cut purpose for the blog, and so my motivation flagged because I didn't know why I was writing.  But it's clear to me that I'm not writing for an audience.  I'm not trying to promote a product, or a service, or even myself.  I think, rather, that this is turning into a journal of sorts...the kind of writing I always reserved strictly for my notebooks, to be created by hand and pen and scribbles here and there.  But typing is faster.  Perhaps that's lazy, but I'm okay with it.  Who knows - maybe I'll go back to more traditional journaling at some point, but for now, this is what is helping me.  It helps, especially given that I'm an internal processor...and I'm content to let this logic dictate things for now.

The logical follow-up question to this thought is, why don't you make the blog private, then, or just keep a journal on Word and save it to your computer?  Well, I guess I could take either of those routes, but here's the thing: I sometimes get into these moods where I'll hop from blog to blog, hitting the link at the top of my screen just for kicks.  And occasionally, I come across a blog that teaches me something new, or catches my mind, or plants a seed, or just plain interests me.  There's nothing (so far, at least) I've written on this blog that's too private for another person to read, whether he/she knows me or not.  And maybe someone out there, someday, will come across something I've written or thought and be spurred to think a little harder.  Maybe something in me will help him/her, or prompt conversation.  I'm aware that as a person, I'm "no passive observer of life" (as my best friend so encouragingly put it, a few months ago).  I have lots to give, and a willingness to do so...so in the spirit of maybe creating something beyond myself, I'm keeping myself wide open.

A shift: I've been thinking lately about how intimidating prayer can be, and how such fear is actually counterintuitive to the idea of praying.

Yesterday, in a weak moment, I tried to pray - honestly, not because I thought it might help, but because I was desperate and already a weepy mess.  Over the last few months, I've fallen into a comfortable pattern of starting prayers, "Father," or "Lord," but yesterday, was in a precarious place of being physically alone and just wanting a person to be there with me.  I wanted so badly to be leaning into someone who cares about me and understands the bitterness of being curled up in bed and hugging your pillow so you can try to pretend you're not alone.  I wanted something personal, in other words, and at that moment, "Father" and "Lord", though intimate titles, felt like distance.

A name, on the other hand, is a far more personal way to approach a person...and God, as it turns out.

So I tried to begin a prayer, and it took me only a moment to realize that I couldn't say, "Jesus."  It felt paralyzing, to be that personal, even with the God who has searched me and knows me and all that jazz.  And it wasn't like I had reason to be self-conscious, either; I was alone.  I persisted for a few minutes, and when I finally was able to say it, it only made me cry harder.  I'm not sure why, though.  Perhaps it had something to do with hearing myself trying to eke out something even vaguely resembling prayer.

That was last night.  The post-crying headache has stuck around all day and is still squeezing the back of my head, so I think I need to stop writing now and prep for tomorrow's Bioethics seminar.  Between that, my head, and my needing to be out of my room by 7 am tomorrow, I wonder if I'll be able to catch any shut-eye tonight...

Captive

I should be working right now...

Instead, this disease holds me captive.  And my heart has never ached like this before.  I need to vent, and I'll do it here because I'm pretty sure no one's reading...which is just fine with me.  Plus, there's no one I can talk to about any of this except D and S and I'm terribly afraid of overburdening them.  What if I'm too much and they decide I'm not worth dealing with anymore?

It's hard to imagine that I could be happy - really, deeply happy - anytime before January.  And I don't even know what's going to happen in January...how that transition will happen.  I know that this time is supposed to provide healing, but it feels like punishment and I'm broken and alone and it hurts to breathe.  So I cry and let this disease control me.  I focus on the cramps because that's pain I can control.  On June 24th (which is when this new hell began), S called it an addiction.  I've only ever thought of it as a coping mechanism, or a control issue...but in a way, her redefinition made sense.  I don't feel able to live any other way.  Is that addiction?

I almost wish I could be angry with him, so that I wouldn't have to be sad...but I care too much about him to even consider such a thing.  Instead, I walk around campus and remember and remember and remember some more.  Everywhere I walk, a memory lies in wait to knock the breath out of me all over again.  B has her reminder in me, and I have my reminders all over this home away from home.  I guess that's fair (what a bitter thought)...but that doesn't make it hurt any less.

Two days ago, S called to see how I was doing.  Among some other well-intentioned and gentler things, she told me that this particular friendship is just not going to come back, and that it would be better (for me) to just acknowledge the truth in that.  She's not wrong; I understand her in my head (as opposed to understanding it in my heart).  It was just way more direct than I could handle.  She apologized, too, and I said, "It's fine; don't worry about it," out of politeness.  She's only known me for four months, after all.  How can I ask her not to be direct when that's the kind of person she is, and she's only known me for four months, and she's only trying to help?

But I ended up crying, alone, all night...it was the same as usual.  It was acrid and breathless and desperate.  It made me physically sick.  I woke with puffy eyes and a tightness over my temples, yet had to spend the day working in my lab and being cheery.  All I really wanted to do was go back to my room and turtle so I could sleep off the headache.  Pretending to be happy is exhausting.  Deceiving (most of) my friends makes me feel more alone than I should have to feel.  There are very few people that I want to be around right now, but if any one of them were, I might have some motivation to move.

And so, I begin.

Why join this mainstream trend of keeping a weblog?  I always have been wary of the idea of broadcasting one's thoughts in such a public forum as the Internet.  It has always seemed unnecessary, and frankly, foolish, to voluntarily relinquish one's privacy like that.  I mean, if you really need to write, send an e-mail.

I was given the chance to modify this regrettably one-sided perspective when I met a blogger - yes, a living, breathing blogger - at college.  In fact, both she and her equally adorable sister engage in this...activity.  Now, let it be said that these two are intellectuals whose opinions I learned to value before I knew that they blogged.  So when I found out, I was baffled - and wildly curious.  What on earth, I asked them, is the allure of using the Internet as a sounding board?

The "loss of privacy" issue is apparently a non-issue.  In fact, you're entirely in control with respect to privacy.  You can be as anonymous or as open with information as you'd like, and your audience will be none the wiser.  One sister emphasized that she blogs because it allows her to hone her craft and to present a polished product in each post.  The other distinguished a blog from a well-written e-mail by pointing out that a blog post is not directed at one recipient, but at an anonymous, faceless audience.  That's not to imply that I fear critique - I welcome it, actually; the purpose of that comment was just to further address my concern about privacy.

Above all else, this blog is a highly personal experiment conducted for a highly personal reason.  But I also venture into this unfamiliar territory because I sincerely enjoy writing.  These days, all I seem to have time for are compositions for Music Theory and lab reports for science classes.  Don't get me wrong; I love writing music.  I'm a singer-songwriter, and if I could, I would adopt that profession and spend my life following that passion, that dream.  And however much I complain about lab reports, I actually don't mind writing them.  But I miss writing for the sake of writing.  I miss the experience of teasing words until they fit just right, molding sentences into contoured, sculpted ideas...and for no reason other than it makes me a very, very happy little girl.

In my daily life, I am heavily driven by logic, rationality, and empirical observation.  My writing often reflects that.  It's easiest for me to start with what I observe and then to branch off into the abstract, the philosophical, the intangible.  At the same time, I expect that there will be times when I can't resist writing about music (mine or anyone else's), and my brother (who is, incidentally, the center of my universe).  But I suppose we shall see.