Tag Archives: Love

It gives us butterflies in our stomach

Why You Are Better Than Me

The author weaves a story with voices, both in out of the characters awareness. The narrator may bring much to the table, lest the characters exclusively take his role.

Even so, the character’s mind brings more to the scene than we might in our own. Are we the characters in our story? The heroes and champions of our novel like non-fiction? Or are we the writer, putting much of our heart into what happens, subtly manipulating events in hopes to achieve a goal. Do we reach that goal? Or perhaps our audience misunderstands and under-appreciates our efforts, instead casting their own ideas, blanketing all that we prepared. Or. Perhaps we ARE the audience, interacting with this entertaining display to reach our pleasures. Or, perhaps we feel the narrator is more in keeping with who we are someone else dictating our thoughts and impulses, feelings and motivations.

Maybe we like move around. I think people are fluid like that. But even so, when we change from author to audience, how much really changes? Don’t we have something characteristically “us”? Don’t we bring our own inescapable perceptions with us no matter the role?

I’m…. inadequate. I have an inferiority complex. I need to show others why I am smart, and then act humbled when I am complimented on my efforts, ideas, and results. I need that constant validation to remind me that I am who I want to be. I don’t look down on others, most of the time I truly feel that they are worth more than me. When I dissent with people, I am frustrated, but often relent, both because that feels the right thing to do and because they may have more value in this world than I.

An example: We have a very strong-willed and agitated neighbor. She has a couple of children, one of which is autistic. I don’t rightfully know the age of these children, but the autistic one seems to probably be around 3 years old. We ran into a huge confrontation with our neighbor, our yard was continuously being flooded. This was because the water would run in their yard directly from the faucet for hours at a time on occasion. It did not appear our neighbor was consistently watching her kids, seeming to rely on the older child to keep the younger one safe.

During our first confrontation with our neighbor, we did not know the child was autistic though we had suspicions he might have some sort of special needs because of the sounds he made while playing. Finally when we were enduring the immense flooding (our entire yard and spilled across to the opposite side into our driveway, hard to really explain, but it was an extreme amount, not just along the fence we shared) for the fifth time I think I politely asked whoever was out there to keep the water in their pool because our yard was being flooded. My glasses were off because I had just finished setting up a bed frame and was under it, I could not see who was out there clearly but I got a nod and thanked them. When I first started requesting the water be turned off, I had not reached the fence either and was instead assuming an adult was out there watching the child (at the time I also did not know there was another child). So I go inside and say to my fiance I am not sure if that was an adult or an older child, but the water was turned off and I felt relieved that a solution seemed to have been reached.

A few minutes later our neighbor, the adult one, walks up to the fence we share and starts shouting at us, and yes we are inside at this point. She yells about how dare we talk to her kids that way and how they can run water all the way to Japan if they would so like. My fiance went to confront her after enduring a few minutes of verbal abuse and the situation didn’t really improve. I freaked out because I felt like I did something wrong. “How dare I talk to her children. She’s right, I didn’t even CHECK for an adult first. Shit, I messed up.” My brain is stuttering trying to right itself, reminding me that I was extremely polite. “But I really messed up, fuck.” “No, children are just easily intimidated, I you remember being a child right?”

All this time of this panicking and mixed dialogue, my fiance is engaging this wrath. I finally realize that I need to go address and say something, anything. I can’t leave her out there. That’s also messed up. I go out and the first thing I say is an apology that falls apart because I start tensing up again. I try to explain I didn’t know an adult was out there. The situation de-escalates a smidge and we go inside finally. Following day, my lovely fiance delivers cookies and little plush cows, “mini moos”, from chick-fil-a. They seem to be accepted and so we feel our olive branch mended the situation.

Fast forward a couple weeks, the yard is flooded again. HUGE confrontation. Way worse than last time. At this point we are informed by the woman that her child is autistic and this is the only way he really seems to have fun. Although that information is disseminated quite violently and with a great deal of vulgarity. I somehow remained calm, I don’t know how, God gave me some sort of stillness in the moment. Our neighbor seemed to punctuate her insults and exclamations by pounding her hand on the brick wall. She insisted she was pregnant or she would be “beating the shit” out of my fiance. Also if my fiance’s man (that’s me) weren’t here, same thing. I keep trying to return to the issue of compromise. We don’t want to take her son’s playing in the water away, but she will interpret this conversation as nothing else. Amidst her rantings and screaming about how my fiance should be “fucked up the ass with no Vaseline” she laments that she doesn’t have the money to regularly take her kids to the pool.

Rationally I feel that was a deflection, because that water bill can’t be less than trips to the pool. My fiance storms off while I try to calm our neighbor down. But afterwards I felt like I still owed my neighbor something. Rationally I knew this not to be true. Anyway, to shorten the story, I bought summer passes to the city’s pools. $100 out of my pocket to give to this lady who may not even use them. But it brought me peace of mind. I felt I went out of my way to right a wrong, which didn’t even exist. We truly did no wrong. But also, it felt like I was called to do that, as Christian/good person sort of thing.

But in the end, I remind myself, she’s just a person, like me. I laugh about how my neighbor is crazy. And then internally chastise myself for saying (and thinking) that. We are all the same I force the idea on myself, sometimes more easily than others. We are all the same, except that I am a little less.

I am the author, not the hero, I have an active role in the story, but I have no glory. I merely aim to keep the character’s stories alive. I don’t like sad stories, but things often turn to sorrow. It’s the little details that I cherish and make it worth it, the ones that other characters don’t observe or understand. The intent behind the writing, the motivations, not the actions. I aim to fill my heart with goodness and love, and spread that to others. I find myself relying on the author more and more. It’s okay that the characters are better than me, I enjoy this part of life more often than not.

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Still Around

I owe myself a proper commitment to this blog. To the time set aside for breaking down things and putting them into proper perspective. I wish this was the time that I would truly hold to that. I don’t expect it though.

I’ve been around a lot lately. Just as much watching life happen as being a participant (sometimes unwillingly). What can you say when you’re troubled and have a list of bad things happen one after the other. I still am not over my mom’s death. I suppose that’s human. I’m not destroyed every day, in fact I can even listen to The Beatles most times without crying again. But there’s a lot up there in my mind. I lost my job because my sleep was practically gone.

I’d wake up and start passing out at the wheel almost immediately on the way to work. I’d pull over and just be right back into unconsciousness, struggling to come to for hours. Occasionally seizing awake to call work and update them on how late I’d be. Really endears you to employers (don’t try it). I’d spend up to five hours in my car, not running, in Texas heat, with just the windows cracked enough to ventilate. I would be frequently drenched in sweat before I fully came to a functioning place.

It’s strange. I guess I have always had sleep troubles but they’ve gotten a whole mess worse since my mom died. I remember lots of dreams. In particular I remember the one I had the day of my mom’s heart attack. And the number of nightmares I have had since involving her only continue to grow. But it’s scary when you find yourself passing out at the wheel regularly. I didn’t even always know I was passing out, I would actually feel my eyebrows straining my face before I realized my eyes closed. Just a reflex my face was making in an effort to open the damned things. Strange feeling, that.

Now I’m jobless. A year ago I paid a visit to jail. Shortly after I met a wonderful young woman who still somehow stands by my side. My one constant through this it might seem. I’ve seen the inside of a funeral home more than I ever care to for the rest of my life. I’ve been dealing with demons for a very long while and that has left some pretty nasty scars. They won’t be the last, but I’m not going to fear them.  In spite of all this disaster, I know I have God on my side. And He’s not always going to give me what I think I need, or maybe he will but not in the package I expect. But He’s never going to let me down.

I know that’s why Aaron means so much to me. She’s my best friend and excellent spiritual counsel among other titles. I’ll never be able to convey what she means to me, and maybe she’d say the same. So I’m glad I have her on my side too.

I sorted out some things that have been plaguing me a bit this week. Feel like I have a clear head today, can’t say I will tomorrow. I have a huge task list and not the least of which is find a new job. But I guess at least for now I have found some sense of peace, and just thought I’d like to write that down again. Maybe it’ll be months again before I post. Hopefully not. Maybe I can actually have interesting stories or something actually insightful instead of just vague words to match a vague mind.

The Good Decision…

So much we think about how we got here. Or there. Or will be somewhere someday. I think when you’re someone with a lot of burdens in your life, or someone with a lot success, you may find yourself asking these kinds of questions more.

I had a hard time, still do, with people saying the homeless have made poor decisions and using that as some sort of argument why they are lesser people, why they don’t need love or care. I don’t think most people intentionally or considerably make what we would all regard as a poor decision.

Recently another novel idea occurs to me. Most of those, for one reason or another they thought it was a good decision. Their morals and philosophy led them to believe that, even if just for a moment. I feel that everybody in a position that would be considered less than enviable, abusive relationship, homeless, jobless, or maybe physically impaired. I think we could all consider there to be one decision that begun it all. Even if it’s far back.

I’d like us, as a species, to consider our “one decision” that got us here. Wherever that is.

I’ll go first. I’m Grant, I’m a drop out, who’s trying to get his act together to eventually develop a career. I have bipolar disorder, and some other health issues. I’ve got a pretty great girlfriend though, who helps me grow as a person and in my faith.

So. Not too bad right? I’m enviable to some at least I bet. That’s a summary of where I’m at. So what got me here? Now. We can consider this in means of comparison, how did I get from point A to point B. We can also consider a generalization. I feel either is fine as long as you are honest.

What got me here? Desperation.

Now for me, I’m seeing the large part is the last turning point was my suicide attempt. That’s when everything started changing for me. Interesting right? I got to a good place out of desperation. If you want to pin it on one decision, that’s to say my suicide attempt. And I don’t condone that one bit. I came out of it with a better mind set having survived, not because death was so close. I can’t even convey how important life is. But that was my personal turning point. It’s more complex than the one thing, I know, but it hinges on that.

Now here’s the lesson I want to really impart. A bad decision led to good things to come. Just as a good decision can lead to bad things to come. At the time my bad decision seemed like a good one, it certainly wasn’t. But I encourage people to think about their one decision. Is it good? Is it bad? What were the outcomes?

I see a homeless person, I don’t immediately jump to they did drugs and don’t deserve help. I embrace my empathy and hope. I think “Who did they trust or love that it ended up this way?”. It’s time we started loving one another regardless of difference and background and beliefs. There is time for anger. But it’s so tossed around eagerly in our society, I don’t think we even understand the difference between anger and hatred anymore, the two are hand and hand. And we justify it as being necessary. No.

Next time someone says they aren’t bad people, they just make bad decisions. You tell them, “Or maybe it was a good decision that got them into trouble”.

 

You could not even fathom

Or maybe you could. Bipolar is hard. Recovery, treatment? Often just as hard, maybe even harder. I’ve really always been faithful. I’ve not always been holy or “good”. But I did a lot of things because of how I saw the world.

In high school during lent. I would try and fail to give up masturbation. Or pornography. Heads up, if you knew me in high school, there would be days I did not eat then. Or days I minimized me food. That was fasting. That was my repent. I would try to keep going with the idea of no masturbation.

I think the most I ever made it was 10 days, and you know what? Not during lent. But each day I broke that vow. I paid for it with fasting and prayer. And often I would drift from this during the rest of the year or during tough times. But I never lost my faith. I just kinda grow a bit differently. I see the Truth in other religions, but also know that my Truth is the Truth. It is not for me to judge. I love Atheists, Muslims, worshippers of the spaghetti god freak me out a little, but I can love them too. I mention those two in specific because that is the social or cultural concern, I don’t mean for it to feel as though I am calling out Atheists or Muslims. Just those are some of the things I fear are more common on the list as much as I wish otherwise, but them and all, I can love. I feel that is what I’m called for. Love. And maybe it’s taken a while. But also, if you saw my expected post death words, maybe you’d see that’s all that matter.

But I’ll be damned if I’m not rewarded now for it. My girlfriend, is probably the best thing to happen to me. Or at least hell of serendipitous moment. I prayed. She answered my prayers, or rather she was the answer, no way around that. When someone brings more God into your life when you ask for it, they are the response.

Back to the post title. Maybe you can fathom. The spiritual health I am growing to have. The happiness and well being. Even if I’m not so well just yet. It’s immeasurable, to me, I cannot fathom it, but maybe there’s a lot of us out there, unable to fathom, still raptured with joy and content. It complements my desire to love all that much more.

So maybe masturbation and porn still happen, not proud of that. I succumb to physical and natural things, but at the same time, I will not judge myself for that. I am held to the same standard as every other being. And if I am not to judge others, which I don’t, then also that same favor is reserved for myself. I have to be able to forgive myself. That’s the biggest chore, and truth be told, socially and otherwise, most people will tell you, I’m a good man. It’s not their words that matter though, it’s the impression.

Others see a good man, I see a guilty one. I see lost people, angry people, hateful, and I can forgive them. I can pray for them and love them just the same. But I cannot for myself? Since when do I bear a burden when I have such allowance for others? Perhaps that is the trade. But it doesn’t matter, I can forgive myself, it doesn’t mean I’m enabling or encouraging. I know my goals, values, beliefs, but if I break them, I can pray, I can refocus or make different decisions next time. I can be guilty, but what good does it do to never let an ounce of guilt go.

My girlfriend spoke tonight of being free from bondage. That’s my guilt. Whether it’s deserved or not, it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m new. I’m the same. I love all, they don’t have to believe what I believe. I am a good man. But I am not a better man than any other. I am a servant, even if not evangelical in style. I serve in my own way, I think that is respectable.

She said she did an exercise. And I’m not going to apologize to any of my friends of different beliefs for this, I don’t think less of you, I can not stress that enough. She was told to think and reflect on how would our Savior introduce us to our Father. I’m in tears as I am writing this with a million things clashing in my mind that I can’t even begin to record. The words loyal, strong and caring, if a bit distracted. I guess that’s me.

I am in a place, I don’t think I really ever considered I’d be in. No thoughts of harm. No impending what ifs or strong desire to control and micromanage every bit. Even with my recent health issues, I can lay still at the end of the day and marvel at the life I have, will continue to have. At the gifts I have been given, and a woman who I hope to never stop sharing them with. And that, ladies and gentlemen, can be the power of Faith, but understanding as a man. The two are not mutually exclusive, and I think that’s a great thing.

A Thing

This is a thing. Those other things? They were too. I’m tired, partially over caffeinated and somewhat delirious.

I don’t live with my mom now, so that will be nice, some space is definitely needed. I see my psychologist tomorrow for the first time in months, since starting this new job (which is great by the way). My girlfriend is starting some additional education, and altogether I’m blessed with great and accepting friends.

So why do I feel like crud? And why the Hell do I not get the motivation to write more often? Latter, actually, I have several times, but my new place does not have grounded outlets, I risk my game system enough, but maybe not my pc, it costs more.

Anyway, the crud bit.

First off, I am writing, the aforementioned passage might make you wonder on what? My PC. I’m at my mom’s. The lady damn near had a conniption of some sort. I’m here, as always mom, to save the day.

Truth be told, she’s a strong, if not obstinate woman. I couldn’t do what she does, she deserves to let off some steam, but I would appreciate her finding another way to do that.

My wonderful girlfriend suggested writing earlier to which I replied the same excuse as listed here. So when I came “home”, I felt obligated, and maybe itching a bit to hammer some thoughts out.

We decorated my mom’s a little bit for Christmas. She hasn’t done that since my brother passed away. And don’t get me started on how he might be rolling in his grave. But it was nice, my girlfriend and I, just doing something thoughtful. She puts a lot of effort into being with me, or maybe not? I don’t know. I feel like she does, but it’s not lost on me, I really do love her and appreciate her for that.

She’s been a great and positive influence on me. Really. I couldn’t be happier. I get to call her nerdy pet names and say dorky things. I love seeing her smile especially when her eyes get all squinty and her face scrunches.

So why the crud?

I’m sick again. I think when I was sick this bad a while back, I remember wanting to welcome the destructive thoughts back over the pain. I don’t want that. Those really were much worse. But it still hurts to get up. My sides hurt right now, my muscles all the way up my right side scream and my hands have a slight burning and I’m cycling through various infections again. I’m waiting on my new insurance to see a doc. I did this once before and it solved nothing except how to spend all my cash and ding my credit, didn’t know I had that problem, but I sure fixed it!

So yeah, been getting the symptoms for a few weeks now, been getting progressively worse. Not sure a doctor is going to tell me anything different either. But something is wrong to be sick off and on as much as I am. Seems it happens in waves. And when in a wave, I get a few low grade fevers, UTIs, upper respiratory infections, lots of headaches, joint and muscle aches. I’m not wanting all this to keep happening. It’s frustrating.

But, if I had to pick a lesser of two evils, this one is safer than my bipolar being untreated.

I don’t know if I have or should use my girlfriend’s name here, feels weird to keep just saying “girlfriend” when I know her by a few names. But she’s been good to me. I just recently shared with her what’s going on. She’s handling it pretty well I think, being supportive too. So now our date nights are spending time inside watching anime or something. That’s ok, I like that.

Even with how great she is, I wonder about my previous relationship. I don’t long for it back, that’s not at all the thoughts. Just some bittersweet memories. Sometimes they hurt, sometimes I can smile at them. My girlfriend understands though I think. I can’t just erase 6 years of my life and she wouldn’t want me to. It helps make me who I am. But, I find myself wondering if maybe I was more in the wrong than I was willing to admit. In the end, I think we were both kind of shitty to each other in different ways. I don’t think we were meant for each other, and that’s ok, but she is still a close friend and I want her to achieve more. I hope she does well in her education and all that, but I hardly talk to her anymore. Especially since getting sick and needing my current support, who has been there for me, letting me be clingy. (Thanks Aaron (I’mma use your name dammit)).

Just a lot working through my mind lately. And being sick hasn’t helped. My job is cool though. And I don’t feel crazy. I feel loved and important. Aaron I think gets me in some ways that I used to be very insecure about. I just don’t find myself worrying about it with her. I ought to do something nice again soon. Maybe flowers or something.

A lot of my friends are more or less falling out of my life too. So that’s a thing. But it’s not bothering me as much as I thought maybe? I think I have the people I want in my life there in some fashion.

If this is my new low, I can deal, it’s all good haha. Just wish my body would meet me in the middle.

 

They Scratch.

The thoughts. Aching to break loose, manifest and be digested. They itch. I should let them out. But every time I set about to do so, they fail me. Like people that were interested in your birthday when that really popular kid was going, but then they realized it was just a ruse. (I didn’t know until my birthday that James wasn’t coming, thanks mom for lying).

No. Seriously though. I need to let loose some of this energy. Whatever the reason. I just about ran out of meds and had canceled the last doctor’s appointment the way it conflicted with my schedule for my new job, which is great by the way. But now I go in Friday to touch base and get a new prescription, life is good.

More than that, I realize how quickly my girlfriend has become an inseparable part of me and my day. I look forward to those brief disgustingly cute exchanges we have before we both settle into the thought that we are glad we found each other. Things moved fast, in lots of ways. But, I can’t say it would have done it any differently, and I think that’s a beautiful thing.

I had a minor depressive episode lately. In it, I took up a random rhetorical analysis and disagreement online. One of the ways my depressive episodes manifest is obsession, and I was obsessed with the idea, I was going to prove somebody wrong. I dropped it. Because I’m better than that. My morals somehow triumphed, and I just walked away. Only after spending almost 2 hours to write 2600 words of why I was correct and they were wrong. Breaking apart their own words and providing an analysis of my own. I just never used it, deleted the words and mostly put it out of mind.

That’s good. That’s progress, haha, no matter how small. I’m a good person. I am. I’m tired of being so terribly humble and convincing myself that anyone would do these things or offer these things, when the fact is, I am in a minority. Everyone likes to believe they are a good person. But so few are.

I used to be Catholic. Now? Not so much. I still go to church. A Christian church, but not a Catholic one. Mass so inconsistently connected with me. Even though in high school, going to a Catholic school afforded me opportunities to go into church often and pray, sometimes by myself. But now I’m closer to God. And it’s none of my business what anyone else believes in terms of being spiritual. I do not care except for the fact that some people can be brought to a better place with that in their life, no matter the focus. I do think that’s ok. I don’t push my views on anyone, I don’t judge for anyone not believing in mine. I do get frustrated when on a surface level I think about the various arguments in policies. As a country we will always be divisive, that’s part of how a democracy operates. It needs to shift back and forth to maintain some level of balance before it inevitably crumbles from some other type of strain.

But for now. I just need to be a good person. I don’t need to incite my fellow man. I don’t need to tell everyone or even think when some people are wrong. For the most part, I can’t change that. Those people won’t change the way they think, and to be honest, if it isn’t hurting somebody, should I really care?

There’s this odd amorphous shift in the way I start viewing things. I still wince when people say something about kids need to toughen up because bullying was worse in their day. I think it’s mighty shitty of adults to straight up put blame on the victimized children. To compare themselves is inconceivable to me. Now, I do agree that if kids that are being bullied, were better equipped to deal with it, it could go better. That could mean martial arts, it could mean confidence, a lot of things. So in some ways I see the hypersensitivity, but adults simply saying bullying is part of life and that kids should just get used to it is a frustrating mentality. So there are a few things that set still set me off. I was bullied. A ton. It sucked. No one stood up for me. Eventually I stood up for myself.

There’s a lot more to that story. I wanted to kill my bullies. Literally. Firearms and the whole shebang. Not every kid can be backed into a corner and come out ok, and I think adults shouldn’t be so asinine. Now I forgot what I was originally going to talk about. It was gonna be about my shift in philosophy in an individual level. But I hit one of my triggers I guess haha.

Using that word, “trigger”, another one comes to mind. And suddenly this entire post starts devolving around me. Let’s try to bring it back.

I work in a call center now. I don’t mind dealing with people on the phone. I thought it would stress the bejeezus out of me, but it doesn’t. Funny thing happens when you empathize, truly empathize. You can understand the person on the other end. They may be weird as Hell, or have a problem, you never could, but that’s their role to call you they feel, and it is your role to assist. I don’t get the people I see as I walk around who make violent pantomimes or flip the birds to the phone after a call concludes.

No one is being hurt. And if you can empathize, the job isn’t hard. I still get angry. I still have a cauldron full of social issues that boil over, but even in the people I can’t disagree more with, I cannot harbor an anger. Again, the caveat, that their actions or opinions are not hurting anyone. I am finding the ability to love people no matter what. As I find the inclination to love a woman more than I would have thought possible with the way things have been. And as I find the strength to love myself.

I deserve to be here. I deserve to be more. I owe it to myself. But what is more? That’s my call. Right now. That’s a wonderful boyfriend. A patient son. A damn good charitable soul and someone who can turn a call around. It doesn’t need a lot of money for me to be more. It doesn’t need a fancy paper telling me I’m qualified. My success is my happiness. And I’ll be damned, but I’m bloody happy.

Anytime I write that. You can’t begin to imagine how wonderful it is to stare at those words knowing the truth in them. Or maybe you can. Maybe that’s something you know all too well. Or believe that you could never know for any reason. I’d be right there with you half a year ago. Wondering when I could just let it all go. No life is worth losing. As someone who has been all sorts of dark places in their own mind, I consider it a statistical anomaly that the only real problem I seem to have is random binges of porn. I should be a drug addict. I should be an alcoholic. I shouldn’t be alive. I shouldn’t be happy. But, just listen to me. I am.

Now, I know I don’t carry the weight in my words I would like. And I know there are so few who will actually read this. But I’m a good person, and I love people. No matter how weird. So, if you ever need an objective opinion, a person to talk to, somebody to console you. I’m here. Don’t hesitate. I don’t expect anyone to ever take me up on this offer, but it is sincere, I won’t material needs, but I will do what I can to help. Consider that my gift to anyone who needs it. I was crazy once. Still am by some standards. But, doesn’t mean I can’t be stable, doesn’t mean I can’t be happy. I would love to help someone achieve that, so I’m here.

That may have taken an odd turn I guess. I should write more. To try to support people who might read this but not have that bit of courage to say something. Maybe I will. I certainly want to. The dark times have passed, and even should they return, I shall not fear any longer.

It’s One of Those…

One of those nights where I still find myself up at past 3 in the morning. It was, IS a good day/night. I just find myself wanting to write. About anything. I still have a plans for a couple posts, but this is one of those spontaneous bits. In fact, I half believe I’m going to succumb to exhaustion midway and just click my light off and roll into bed, letting this be one of the now dozens of drafts I have adding up.

My girlfriend is awesome. Maybe that’s what I want to write about. Who knows? I gotta say, it’s damned remarkable to be how I am right now. It’s so wonderful too. I’ve never been a person very close to God. And I’ve always seen spirituality and religion as a personal thing, I still do. I don’t believe in the judgment of others though, even if the leader of my local doctrine does. (Not saying anything about my church now, just a general statement)

But, I have always known God to be “there”. Something I inherently believe in. There were times I would doubt. There were plenty. There were times I questioned it and prayed for an answer, some divine revelation. I feel I got it. Maybe some people can write my experience off as coincidence, but it’s meaningful enough to me, and that’s all that matters. And now my relationship with God is getting better. This is in part to my girlfriend, a big part, in a non-pushing sort of way. She knows that much. And I’m confident she’ll be thrilled to know the next, because as far as I know, I haven’t told her about this yet.

A while before my suicide attempt I made a prayer. To ask God for a “guide”, for someone to help me walk a more “righteous” path, a holy one. I immediately took shelter in a “sign”. It was just me rationalizing though. Explaining why it was a sign to get what I wanted. It ultimately went no where, and I have nothing to show for it. But just in the days leading up to when I met this wonderful woman, I started to recall the thought. And I once again, prayed for someone to help center me and help me be a more holy person. (I’m sorry if people not of faith find this off-putting, not the intent, this is my path, and everyone else has theirs, I respect and welcome that).

Within all the days that I spent informing my friends and self that I was not going to date. I was going to sit it out for a bit, I did a short prayer one day. I asked God for a guide again, not knowing what to expect if anything. And then I met her. And our first date, she got excited and talked about a personal and holy experience. I think she thought I would think it was weird. I shared mine. Already being filled with the energy that maybe there’s something here in response to my prayer.

We haven’t known each other long. There’s a lot about her that is mysteriously enthralling. There’s some about her that’s obvious as to why I can fall so easy. She’s a nerd. Smart, beautiful, absolutely silly, gives me the impression she just loves life. She’s empathetic, and wisened, but she’s got room for error too. All in all, she’s a person I can truly connect with on so many levels. And. She’s an answer to my prayer.

I just know it.

I hesitated to mention or write this, because I wanted it to be clear I wasn’t idolizing her or placing her on a pedestal. That’s not what this is though, and I’m certain she can see that. This is just a very good answer and exploration in my faith. While also being a really rad lady I can spend time with.

You know, I thought I was going to spend time writing about how she makes me feel and explaining, or trying to explain why I could fall in love so fast. That it was scary and exciting and that I had no regrets.

But. I think I like what I wrote there. I think that’s simple, and maybe not the most interesting thing to just anyone, but it speaks to my healing. And it speaks to my current placement. As well as how great she is. So I think that’ll do.

Yes. I definitely love her. I’ll be damned if love isn’t the most scary/wonderful thing I know of.