I deleted Instagram! Needed step, finally taken. Although some people don’t see it that way, and I failed to remember just how many people only use instagram to communicate with me. maybe I should get it back. But maybe I should find other ways of talking.
Blog that I thought I would retire. Back again. Maybe I can have Trevor read it again, since things with that side of my life have settled.
Hmm. What to talk about first?
Good thing first: I am over Trevor!!!! Woooo it only took how many months. *ensue great celebration noises* Bad news, back to liking Will. Sort of good news: I’m not letting it consume me. Like at all. Beyond acknowledging the fact that I have feelings for him, nothing else has changed. I never thought that I would get to that point. Like, the point of being normal about someone.
I am tweaking out about so many things right now, for little to no reason.
The obvious one: the guitar incident. I’m still so incredibly angry. But more than that, I’m hurt, and no one seems to understand why. They keep telling me to forgive, and I have been trying. I have been. I don’t want to be angry at Anna to the point that I can’t even be in the same space as her. Who would WANT that. But that’s not the reason I’m hurt. The reason I’m hurt is because it seems that no one in this entire camp seems to understand how I feel, and worse, they don’t care to even try. I don’t even know what to say. Yes it was an accident. Obviously no one meant to break my guitar. But also, accidents happen, and people responsible should help recover what was lost. (Ugh. Even if I get a fully funded new guitar, I don’t know if all of the anger will leave. I don’t know what to do.) Apparently the whole reason people think that I’m in the wrong for maybe expecting Anna to feel actual remorse about something that would have been avoided had she not been making a fool of herself because I chose to comfort her instead of yell at her. Would they understand me more now if I had screamed at her, yelled, made her cry, made her go home? Would my feelings maybe finally be understood or would I still be made the outcast because of my (un)righteous anger? My first reaction was to lie. Tell her that I’d been looking for an excuse to buy a new guitar. If I had been looking for a new guitar, then why why why would I only want mine back? i don’t want a newer nicer one. I want MY guitar back. The only response I have gotten to me voicing my hurt is that I am being a bad person for not being willing to forgive. If they could see my heart, they would see the war. And they would see how their response only fuels the rage. It shouldn’t be that big of a deal maybe, but because it is, they should treat it more carefully. I don’t know. None of this made sense, and only made me more angry. I guess I haven’t processed it in writing yet. But there is a reason that I no longer trust Shawn and Cheryl as much as I once did.
That’s the big thing that’s plaguing my mind. I would be fine if not for this. Maybe.
I knew how it would end. With missing YWAM. Because I don’t anymore. I don’t want to count down the days until I go back, I don’t WANT to go back. I see pictures of people and I forget why I loved them so. I have to search my mind for why.
I’ll have to leave here too and it will be sad and I’ll cry and make stupid videos and reminisce on the time I spent here. And then I‘ll get over it and be scared to leave someplace else.
My mom called to tell me she reached a compromise about my job. Four days a week. I don’t know. What to do. How do I tell her that the flickers of suicidal ideations come blazing to light whenever I think about going back? How bad it was, how the new scars on my legs, and the lack of readers on my blog are yes a result of leaving a good community, but mostly because of the… I don’t have a word for it. The job. And I know that is 100% something absolutely ridiculous and I am stupid and idiotic and immature for thinking so.
Wow that negative self talk sure does come back in full swing now that I am letting myself think.
Alex shared his testimony, about how he wouldn’t let himself think because the negative self talk was all he could hear when he was still.
I’m older. I’m a D-teamer who’s been to YWAM, who has done cool things and been a missionary and is. Older.
And I feel that way. Now. And I don’t know how to fix it. It scares me.
But it’s not all the time. It’s been pretty bad today, but hasn’t been in a week or so.
I forget that other people are broken. Well, no. Not other people. I forget that people more mature than me, people who always have smiles and energy, are broken. I saw that brokenness in Will. The unfortunate thing about being me is I barely know how to handle my own brokenness. I don’t know how to be there for him. Or even if he wants me there for him. If he was just talking to talk.
It’s a bunch of little things that are stacking up and I am crashing out and lashed out at people who didn’t deserve it and brought back the blog.
And for what. Absolutely nothing at all.
I no longer think something is wrong with me. I know it to be so, I just can’t pin down what it is.
But to end this on a positive note.
Um.
My hammock is real comfy.
And tomorrow is a new day.
Rainy Ramblings 