I had a dream once...

I had a dream once and in it I wrote the most amazing piece of poetry ever. The words fell upon my soul and said exactly what I have been feeling these past months. The dream was only a week ago. It is frustrating to wake up and not recall the words in any form. It makes me wonder what power of creativity lurks beneath my waking moments. That if I could harness what I create in my dreams who would I be? What hearts could I touch? Could my own be at peace?

Questions without answer. This is part and parcel of my life these days.

Today my anxiety and panic manifested itself in the belief that my nerves in my leg (which felt they were on fire) were creating a blood cot and sending it to my brain to give me a brain aneurysm to bring my death. Sadly, this one isn't new. But I was so, completely, absolutely convinced for about three hours of my imminent demise. (Which is much better than two months ago when it would have been from the moment I woke up until the moment I finally fell asleep.)

This week my therapist and I discussed mortality and my fear of my own death. We are working on using it as a positive force in my life. We talked about how as one becomes more aware and in tune with their death that person CAN become less petty, more loving, more honest, more tender. When faced with the reality of each moment not being a given then the fact that our spouse or friends or parents do something annoying diminishes in the light of the importance of here and now being possibly the last moment shared with that loved one. He wrote a blog post saying pettiness shrinks in the light of death. I like that idea. I like that my panic and my anxiety CAN give me the power to be more aware of my moments with loved ones.

I used to get angry at my parents when I was younger and without fail would get over my anger within an hour. And every time I would pray, hope, will it the best I could that my last interaction with them would not be one of anger. I was obsessive with stories about people's regret and deep remorse over losing a loved one after an angry fight. It terrified me and fascinated me. It has always kept me in line with my interactions with people. My fear of death really has guided me far more than I ever understood until the past couple of weeks.

Right now I'm rolling around in my mind the idea of pettiness. How terrible we treat each other as human beings. How fleeting everything really is in this life. I'm thinking that if we could harness the reality of today not being promised, let alone tomorrow, then perhaps we'd be more kind, quicker to forgive, more patient with people's questions, gentler with one another's hearts. I know I'm a bleeding heart for the world at large, but it burdens me deeply that WE are so insensitive and rough with the lives of others, with the souls of others. And I do say we, for I am not excused. It burdens me deeply that WE always think WE are right and THEY are wrong. It kills me that we are quick to accuse and slow to admit our own failings.

I had a dream once that I wrote the most amazing piece of poetry ever. If I could, that's what I would share with you instead. Something tender, uplifting, beautiful, positive. But since it was but a fleeting moment in my subconscious I can only share with you what my waking mind finds itself doting on. It's something at least.

My deep joy of the day: Dinner and movies with friends. It's odd and so refreshing that Newberg is FINALLY feeling like normal life. A place where I'm not on edge. With people I feel comfortable and cozy with.

My surface joy of the day: Cinnamon Whiskey and Ginger Ale is a surprisingly delicious drink.

If I'm being honest, it's tough being honest.

Most of these days I don't know any longer what exactly I believe about God, Christianity, the Church, or myself in relation to all of those things. It's terrifying.

I've had answers for as long as they've been fed into me. I am realizing now, there are answers... but then there are questions. Deep, longing, beautiful, painful, honest questions. Questions I am not allowed to voice to most people because their answers would be quick, sharp, commanding. What I need now are the answers of silence, understanding, patience, and listening.

Very few people, perhaps actually only three, know of my questionswithoutimmediateanswersthatperhapsrequirelongtermexamining. Already, I've been confronted with the worry over my soul being lost. I can only shake my head in wonder that this has become a cruel form of Christian "love" and "concern."

I need time and I need space. Oh and by the way, I have neither.

I'm not living the life I want. I work 57 hours a week when you count in my drive time. In addition I am taking 14 credits of classes. In addition I am trying to be a good fiance, a good friend, go to therapy and grow to accept my anxiety, clean my house, grocery shop, cook, eat well, working out has become a distant friend, actually being healthy is becoming secondary to what meal do I have time for today? And it's just NOT WORKING. It's not. And I don't enjoy it. There's no balance. It feels like I'm trying to capture the wind.

As I drove home tonight, trying to accept the anxiety I was feeling, I thought to myself that if I were just getting a normal amount of sleep each night I'd be better equipped to handle my panic, my questions, my broken and shattered heart. But in order to do that I'd have to stop working so much or stop school. And it just doesn't feel like there is a way out, I feel trapped in my own life. How is it that I got here? How have I lost myself so thoroughly. I know the answers. I know the reasons. They are varied and plentiful. And it is what it is.

Can I get out? Can I become peaceful again? Can I find time to sit and breathe just once without thoughts of what I should/could/would be doing instead? (For example right now I should be cleaning up dinner, I could be cleaning my house, I would be doing homework if I didn't feel so unsettled.)

UGH.

A big fatty, ugh. I hate that my thoughts are so negative.

My deep joy of the day? Meeting for coffee with a new friend while Lia slept peacefully beside me. We talked of books, schooling systems, our lives, our hobbies, our joys, our sorrows. We met in the silliest/craziest way imaginable (cue a terrible man who hit on both of us at Starbucks.) And it's been a beautiful friendship. So, for that, I am thankful.

My surface joy of the day? Eating red wine hamburgers with caramelized onions and goat cheese for dinner along with roasted cauliflower and a glass of good, red wine.

There are things to be thankful for, things that keep me going. And to these I nod my head in deep gratitude and hope for the best moving forward.

Acceptance

I just had my first "accepted" panic attack.

Two weeks ago I started with a new therapist. He is a Zen Buddhist of Jewish heritage. We are working on a mindfulness therapy called ACT or Acceptance and Commitment Therapy. It is absolutely opposite of everything I've tried doing and have read these past 11 months of personal hell.

Instead of trying to control my thoughts of panic and anxiety, I am learning to accept them as a normal part of my human experience. Instead of narrowing the lens of what is an acceptable experience, I am expanding it.

So. I sit and I experience the panic attack. I experience the flooding of blood throughout my body. I experience the drastic increased heart rate. I experience my stomach dropping out from me. I experience the dry mouth. I experience the multiple and rapid thoughts of death, dying, emergency room visits. I experience the numbness that comes from experiencing shortness of breath. I experience the lightheaded and dizzy feelings from experiencing shortness of breath. I experience being unable to talk for fear of making things worse. I experience it and accept it as a normal range of what is human behavior for me.

It's honestly a lot less stressful than trying to push it away and keep it at bay. This panic attack (which generally tips into a prolonged anxiety attack) lasted for only 15 minutes. And now I am calm. Tired, because panic attacks are exhausting, but calm.

My therapist wants me to become bored with having panic attacks. He wants me to have so many that I'm literally saying, "Eh, whatever." I know it probably seems insane to be so accepting of something so intensely damaging and painful to my emotional state of being and my physical state of being, but there's something about it that works.

Acceptance. It's a beautiful, beautiful thing. It is the powerful drive of any relationship... We know we are loved when we are accepted into someone's home, someone's embrace, someone's life. We know we are loved by God for he accepts us, as we are, into his Kingdom, here and now.

I feel at peace when I accept myself and when I accept that I am accepted. I am learning that it takes me a little longer to do my homework, my housework, my life because I have panic attacks, I have anxiety. It makes me no better or worse than before or to come. I just am. Who I am. Right here and now. That's a beautiful thing to accept and know.

Here's to a process. A lifelong process.

And the world, spins madly on

It seems as though every year, perhaps multiple times a year, I use the above song lyric as the title to my post. It's so wickedly true though. Madly spins the world and even though I strain with all of my might, I can do nothing to stop it.

Last week was the BEST and WORST week of my life.

Sometimes I wish with every tiny atom that makes me up that for once, I could enjoy beauty and whimsy without strife and chaos. But these are fanciful wishes of a girl gone.

There is a ring on my finger. A symbol of a love that swooped in, surprising two stunned human beings. He and I are to become one. My excitement can hardly be contained.

On top of that amazing, fantastic, crazy, perfect next step, I had a friend from Baltimore visit me over the weekend. We had literally the most genuinely enjoyable time together. She is an anam cara and I am so grateful.

Perhaps there needed to be something to contain my excitement. For not 48 hours after my engagement I was yelled at by a "best friend" for not choosing her as THE maid of honor. My heart feels equal parts dead and upset as well as joyful. To say that it has been a whirlwind of a week would be an understatement.

I'm overwhelmed, in pain, shouting from the rooftops, grinning like the Cheshire Cat, sobbing in a corner, barely make it from moment to the next, dancing through my days. It's a bit exhausting, these extremes.

Tomorrow is my second therapy session. I am going for all the right reasons, I'm scared for all the wrong reasons. Becoming friends with my anxiety is something I wish I didn't have to do... I wish it would go away and stop haunting my life. Instead, I have to extend my hand and welcome it into my life, learning to abide with it day to day. It will be my other lover, my constant companion, one day it'll be my dear old friend. Hopefully then it won't be such a burden. But rather a comfort.

Off to hopefully sleep some. My body and mind seldom slow down enough to sleep more than five hours a night these days. Hopefully the therapy will help with that.

Good night world, goodnight friend.

Anxiety, my worthy foe

If ever I imagined that I would have to battle something as I got older it was never this. Sure, perhaps I would have anticipated ugly break-ups (though thankfully, this is not the case,) terrible financial difficulties (you can scratch out the word terrible,) diseases (which ironically I think I have a plethora,) fighting for women's rights, fighting to be heard... those battles I anticipated.

Never, ever, would I have guessed my worthy foe would be anxiety. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Exhale. At any given moment, this is all that I can do. Sometimes I go frighteningly silent in the middle of conversations and I simply breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale 5 seconds. Exhale 7 seconds. Inhale 5 seconds. Exhale 7 seconds.

Sometimes, even more fun, are those moments the anxiety turns into panic and I jump up from sitting down or run away while standing up, terrified that I am dying at that. exact. moment. Considering I am still here and writing this down, you can probably imagine that I've not yet died.

This is the darkest of worlds. Hell on earth. I wish I were exaggerating but as I've experienced and also read countless stories of other sufferers I have concluded this is a terribly, taxing trial. To think that there is constant, impending doom every, single moment of a day. To think that you are going to die every, single second. To think there is absolutely no hope. To think nothing will ever get better. To have your body experience symptoms of heart attacks, brain tumors, infections, and countless other maladies. To barely be able to function alone, let alone interact with people. To be expected to get up and go to work, to be kind, to show up at parties, events, gatherings, coffee dates when all you really want to do is hide in your room and wait for the next panic attack to pass. It's the most miserable thing I've yet experienced. To want so desperately to die, but to be so damn fearful that that's exactly what's happening. Well. Well.

And please, let me assure you, neat little Christian platitudes do nothing to fix anxiety of this measure. Believe me, were it easy enough to simply read my Bible, pray, or have others pray for me I would be 1,000% better. Now, I do not blame God for what is happening, though I do submit that He allows me to suffer in this fear, this pain, this shame of what people must think. He allows me to go through this fear and suffering and knows that I will never get better unless I go to therapy and remain on medicine for a long time. Our God, who is Love, allows this. And honestly? I am okay with these things, are you?

This journey has taken me deeper into the world of science, psychology, faith, and religion more so than any other thing or combination of things in my life. My understanding is much different. My boxed-in God who is always on my side, is now also a God who allowed Job to suffer immensely at the hands of evil. My boxed-in God is not only God who calls us to take care of widows and orphans, but also a God who orders the killing of every single man, woman, and child in villages, my boxed-in God who invites all people to the banquet table also allows terrible events like the Holocaust and the Sex Slave Trade continue to happen though by all measures he is powerful enough to stop it. This is the truth of things. This is the reality of God and Christ and Holy Spirit. I am angry, but also okay with that.

Tony Jones believes that the cross helps Jesus and God and the Holy Spirit understand firsthand our loneliness and our sense of abandonment that we all experience at one time or another on earth. That is perhaps why I still believe in God even though so much has slipped away.

Oh, writing, wherefore have you gone?

I beg the muse to come to me this night. Quietness instead invades. Perhaps a better friend, muses are often mistresses that cause much grief and I, being no stranger to said grief, could use reprieve.

Though I miss the words that used to flow forth from my fingers. I miss the thoughts that more easily came when pen was in hand or hands were on keys. These days everything stays bottled up inside until the dam starts to crack and then slowly explode. Explosions are not delicate. I guess I'm not either.

Starting Fresh in Fall

Leaves crunched beneath our shoes as I walked Lia down a quiet street in Lake Oswego. The vivid reds, yellows, oranges, and even the browns brought a joy to my soul that is normally so far from me these days. It's been a long summer. Before that it was a long spring. Before that it was a long winter. Both the best and worst seasons of my life. But here we are, it's fall. Fall brings death, with death comes life.

I think I've unknowingly been ready for the death of the world. I have always loved fall, but this year there was a hope, a slow burning ember of hope deep in my gut that just felt like if I could make it to fall... it'd all be okay.

I want the world to die. Is that such a bad desire? Metaphorically of course. I want people to draw inward. I want there to be contemplation. I want there to be long monotonous days. I want there to be reflection. I want sadness to come upon the world at large, melancholy perhaps a kinder word to use. I want people to really think about who they are in this world... think about what they are doing.

Fall is here, death is happening, and I am happy. Occasionally. Certainly more so than these past months. I have started school. I am ever more falling in love with that little 13 1/2 year old that I spend my Mondays through Fridays with.

I am in a good spot. It seems like I am finally catching more breaks with my anxiety. It's no longer constant, I am adjusting to my medication finally, and the terrible dreams are slowly dissipating. My panic attacks are far fewer (though admittedly more startling now.) I have a fantastic roommate. And of course, I have much to be thankful for in my constant companion on this journey of life, Jacob.

In a way, I have died over these last several, painstaking months. The Samantha that once was carefree, happy, fun-loving, Christian with lots of answers, believer in humankind is gone. Replaced with a scared, vulnerable, tired, distressed, bitter, anxious, unbearably sad Samantha. The whimsical Samantha feels so far away. I am not sure who I am anymore and for once tired cliches aren't cutting it.

I still passionately believe in God, the presence of the Holy Spirit, and the Risen Christ. But it all looks differently now. It feels different too.

The crisp air brings death, but I feel I'm coming alive. Rebirth in fall. Who would have guessed?

the truth is...

This is a big, giant, enormous world we live in. Extremely diverse. Extremely scary. Extremely safe. Both/and.

In December I was sexually harassed by a former co-worker. In December, January, February I wasn't taken seriously by my former employers and was even partially blamed for what happened. This is the great secret of my life. The Great Hiddenness. The Great Pain. The Great Hole in my story of life.

It's something I shouldn't tell you because we must keep quiet about pain and sin in the church. But it is the reason I moved, it is the reason I have panic attacks, it is the reason I am so sad, it is the reason I have God problems.

I am but one voice though in this torrential terrifying planet, so really, my words go into a void of nothing and change nothing. I am simply tired of keeping my secret.

And yet, also, there is a story I want to tell regardless of my words drifting into a void. One of a faithful and abiding love in my boyfriend. A story of sweet words of encouragement from friends near and far. And a slow redemption that maybe doesn't look like how I or anyone ever expects, but I think the Spirit is behind it.

However, I want to recognize the strife and chaos and honor that part of the story too. It all fits, don't you know? The pain happened and is important. We must talk about sin. We must talk about how we hurt each other. This isn't perfect, anything we are doing on the earth. Pain helps us to grow. And hopefully not just those in pain, but those who inflict the pain.

This is a big, giant, enormous world. Extremely painful. Extremely beautiful. Extremely hateful. Extremely loving. Both/and.

Flat Tire

"Hey dad! Dad! DAD!" Screamed the young girl, likely 8 years old. "I have a flat tire!"
The father turned around and saw that his daughter has fallen behind. With a frown he replied, "You do?"
"Yeah," said the little girl as she inspects the tire. "I'm going to go home to take care of it." The young girl then proceeded to hop on, calm and happy, and ride back toward her home.

In so many ways I resonate with this young girl. I feel like I was on a pleasant, Sunday afternoon bike ride which was quickly interrupted by a flat tire. These things happen. There are nails on the road, pokey things (what the heck are those even called?) and these are the things which lead to interruptions. The father was concerned but let his daughter do what she needed to do. It was a simple interaction overall.

Just as I resonate with the young girl, I feel there is much I can learn from the young girl. She was so calm about everything. She didn't let it hold her back. She also knew she was going to be able to take care of it, she let her confidence shine through the situation.

The worst thing about the interaction was that my first response was sadness and jealousy. I was upset that she knew she had a home to return to. If I were a crazier person I might have stolen that little girl's bike and rode to her home. Her problem compared to mine seems enviable. And the idea of a home... I want that. A safe place to go and fix things.

Luckily, Jacob was with me and I tend to care that it appears I have some of my sanity intact still. So no, I didn't steal the girl's bike, her problems, or her home. Instead I allowed God to use the simple interaction to get my attention. It's obvious I am craving stability. The whole living out of a suitcase thing isn't quite the best thing for me. Not having a routine or a job to dictate time the past few weeks has been challenging.

And really, the heart of the matter? I just want to go home.

But I'm not sure where home is anymore. Home used to be camp. Home used to be Boise. Home used to be Lewiston. None of these spaces quite fit as home anymore. Newberg is becoming that said space but it will take many months for it to fit the bill. All I can do for the moment is make do with what I have.

So, what is it that I have? Friends and family in Boise that know me really well, have been distant enough from the situation that I will be able to relax, forget some, and remember too. Remember who I am, who I was before all of the kerfuffle. It's a space I no longer fit particularly well, but that welcomes me and loves me all the same. I'm taking my flat tire to Boise with the hope that I will find a friend that can remove the tire from the bike, another friend who will be able to find the puncture, another heart that will patch it up for me, another soul that will put it back on the bike, and a group of beloved people to go on a ride with. Simple things with people I love.

And then I will return to Newberg. I will return to Jacob, to the man that has been my constant friend and love through the suffering, the pain, and the sorrow. The man that prays for me, makes me laugh daily, holds my hand and my heart. I will return to a community-new and brimming with possibilities. I will return to a land full of beauty, a landscape that can nuzzle me in safely and provide stability eventually. I will return to friends I know and hope to know deeper and friends yet made. Those are good things that I have.

Victories of note:
-I am going to Boise
-I only thought I was dying one time in the span of 48 hours and have felt only the slightest anxiety!! :)
-I am blessed by people texting me, calling me, and messaging me to provide support and encouragement.
-I allowed myself to burrow in without guilt.
-I am 95% certain I have a job!!!! (More on that to come.)
-God is good :-)

Here I come Boise!!

Lucy, You've got some 'splainin' to do!

Well hello there world, and by world I of course mean the handful of people that will read this. ;) It's been a very long while. Let's do some catch up and explaining. As a disclaimer this post is a bit heavy, the posts to follow will be more light-hearted and playful. If you're having a good day, maybe steer clear of this for a bit. ;-)

Last you knew I was a girl living on the Oregon Coast doing a second year internship at a camp. I was taking a couple of classes, working, happily dating, growing. All of those good things. My life is a bit different these days, though admittedly similar too.

I am still happily dating and I am most assuredly growing (in the most unanticipated of ways.) The biggest change is that I no longer work at camp. The other striking difference is that I'm currently on hiatus from school (hopefully for only a couple of weeks longer.)
I had something personally devastating happen to me in December and though I tried for a couple of months I couldn't overcome or heal from it at camp (due to the nature of the situation which caused me strife.) It was with a very heavy heart after multiple conversations that I had to resign.

Personal tragedies happen, terrible things happen, wrenches get thrown, dead ends are happened upon on the road. I know that. And now? I really know that. Deep down in the most vulnerable parts of me, I now know. I know that events cut you sometimes pretty deep and it takes a long time for gaping wounds to become scars. I know that sometimes you are forced circumstantially to move on from something you once loved. I know that sometimes a dream of yours that is so close can be put on pause.

This journey of healing is a tight rope act high above an audience. I feel like I'm slowly making my way from one "safe" platform to the next, while people observe me with fascination, wondering how I'll handle everything. As the one performing I know that the people are there, but they can not help me. As the one performing I know that people are watching mostly to quench their curiosity-will she make it or will she fall? I want help, but I know it isn't feasible right now. And in the meantime I'm dealing with anxiety, a looming feeling that I'm going to die at any moment from a blood clot, or a tumor, or an aneurysm, or (the list goes on and on.)

There is a sweet, comical, sadness to the things which I count as victories these days. If I make it through a day without crying, it's been a day where I've had a break. Yesterday I only thought I was dying twice and that was a really good thing. Yesterday I felt hope and peace for the first time in weeks. Yesterday I wrote down five things that I found beautiful and found joy in that. It all feels a bit elementary, and yet thoroughly victorious.

You know what though? I'm learning and I'm growing. It's a bit fantastic really. I had to learn to quit a job that I loved, but just wasn't going to be good for me. I had to learn to move from a place I thought was home and I'm starting over. I'm learning that God isn't always in the safe, sunny spaces we create, but He is found in the margins of nights quiet and fearful. I'm learning that Christian-isms don't fix things, that time is a good God-given healer, and the church is really messed up (and that's okay.)

I'm writing and journaling more and those are helpful, necessary pieces of putting myself back together. And I will be updating more frequently. For it is with sarcasm, vulnerability, laughter, and awareness that I will heal. Feel free to join me on my journey, maybe even shout a few encouraging words to the girl on the tight rope.

So that's the explanation (as vague as possible) to you my dear friends, my loving family. This is why you've not heard from me as often as normal. This is why I've mysteriously stopped posting as many upbeat and whimsical status updates. This is why I've moved, why I'm looking for a nanny job, why my life is different. I am sorry that I have seemed cold and distant. All I ask is for some grace and understanding during this time. :-)

Bring it on world.