Red Lips

Well, here I am on the last night before the last exam of my undergraduate degree, thinking of a small diner.  I sit there with my hair in an up-do.  Fancy makeup, high heels, and a kick ass body.  Lips are soft and dark as they leave mark on the white tea cup.  I don't know why I am dressed this way.  All done up.  If looks told stories, I'd tell one of lies.  I look like a perfectly kept mansion.  I feel like a slum house.  All is a mask.  I don't know who I am with at the diner.  But whoever it is, I'm sorry.  I don't know what I want, who I want, or where I am going.  Im just a mess in disguise.  I want to be better than all this.  My sickness and sadness are covering me.  I can't wait to get out of here.  I'm scared leaving won't make a difference.  What's next?  Will I ever be that beautiful girl in the diner?  Everything is changing.  But I'm more broken than ever.  I was supposed to be her. My expectations were unreal before.  Now what I have become is inadequate. 

Stay and lie

I'm so tired of being called beautiful and amazing and talented.  Why would you leave me then?  Please spare me the thought of you believing I'm something special.  Instead be honest with yourself and me.  Don't just say things to make me stay or to win the girl.  Don't leave me and come back.  If I wasn't enough for you to stay, then I'm not enough for you to come back. Then you change your mind.   You want me now.  And I'm still a mess, trying to pick myself up.  It's not the same.  I didn't make it hard, you just needed to stay.  Everything you said about how great and perfect I was means nothing now.  This could have been special and real. You decided to leave me.

 I was all broken then, now I'm better.  I can tell I wasn't seeing you clearly.  I was dreaming of a happy ending.  Reality comes seeping in, as it always does.  My eyes are kept open.  I'm no longer in a dream.  Wide awake, I can see you clearly now.  I'm trying to scrape off the images of us. You know when you held onto me so gently that letting go of me was simple.  You barely left a fingerprint. What a skill you have of stringing me along.  It seems your goal was to never make me feel satisfied and to not let me leave. You did just enough to keep me in the middle. Oh no, did you get off balance? Did the scale tip too far? If you ever could give a straight answer maybe I'd ask you. All I know is I'm here writing down all this, and you are in bed probably distanced from the memories of me, the girl you called perfect and amazing and talented. The same girl you left and came back for. I'm still the same the girl, maybe just a little better off. You didn't stay, neither did I. 

Live nursing

In nursing school I find that the things I love are similar to things that my class mates love. Academically we are in the same boat. We have the same clinical experience for the most part. Personality wise we are very different. I bring some good aspects to the table. I think it has little to do with skill and technique as a new nurse. It's more than that. It's how you look at a human being and a sick human being at that. How you respond. What's your initial reaction? What's in your heart about the sick? Do you blame it on lifestyle or ignorance? How can you, as a person, empathize with this person in front of you? I think I've realized that I can do that. I may not always get the nursing diagnosis right, but I genuinely care for that person.

One of the many things I love about nursing is we get to see all types of people. Disease doesn't discriminate. In other jobs I've worked at you see the same type of person or family. As nurses we get to see society, and not just a part. Yes we may see more of one part due to risk factors and such, but we take the drape down and see people, of all types, vulnerable in similar situations. We get to see humanity at the core. And I hope we treat everyone the same. 

I am Saul

I'm trying to repent. I am Saul with the Amalekites. I have disobeyed God. I put romantic love over his commands. "For rebellion is like the sin divination and arrogance like the evil of idolatry." I have rebelled against God. I said to Him, I will date a non-Christian.  I tried to rationalize and bargain. God doesn't want my sacrifices and bargains, He just wants me to follow his commands. It's true, He still loves me.  It's true that I could never measure up to deserve to be His daughter. Everything may be permissible, but not everything is beneficial. I didn't do any good as I disobeyed God. Now I am hurt. How blessed I am to be here with God. My whole life He has been rescuing me, bringing me back to Himself. How can I possibly be so lucky? 

Mailboxes

So it's really over this time. There's not much to say.  There's nothing to figure out.  The envelope is sealed.  I dropped you off into the mailbox and walked away.  You'll sit there with all the other mail I've given up.  You'll be about your life.  All I'll have of you are the memories that are tucked and contained in the confines of an envelope.  There are things I'll miss. There are things I'll regret and lose sleep over.  Ill wonder how your sleeping and if you've been happy.  I'll close my eyes and imagine your face.  But I'll end each thought with how you care more about yourself than me and how your words didn't have meaning.  I'll remember how I felt when you'd leave me and never look back.  When relationships end I feel my chest tighten and I wonder if I could feel as strongly for anyone else.  I feel jealous of all the other girls that will be with you.   I worry about how this disappointment will affect future relationships.  You may forget about me.  You might see me and feel nothing.  I'll have to accept that, and accept that for whatever reason you didn't want me.  I will have to adjust once again, setting my mind on myself.  I'll be trying to sort through all the things I was probably running from when I met you.  Here again I am alone.  I'm just walking, no mail in my hand, no hand to hold.

some good things in a sea of mistakes

Leanne, I like you because you're an honest, genuine person. You're smart, beautiful, hilarious, talented, and just pretty much all around amazing. 

Mmk Nate so, I like you because you use your words sparingly.  It makes me feel important to hear from you. You have very pretty eyes. I like your frame and how I can see your ribs. And your small hands. You're a protector and you value honor.  You are different. And you're generally okay with that.  I'm not looking for the perfect guy or someone who has it all together.  I like that you don't listen to stupid music.  I feel like I can be myself around you. 

Leanne, your face you make when your confused is cute as hell. I like hearing all your facts that you say when I do something dumb or just randomly, even though I don't always listen to that advice. 

dirty hands

Do you realize the wonderful things in front of you right now?  The beauty of your environment? The wonderful company in your presence? Do you realize that I am here?  I look at you and I see something so wonderful.  I feel your hands and wonder all the things they've touched.  I envision them dancing along my body and through my unruly hair.  How do you see your hands?  Do you see them with blood and sickness? You can wipe them clean on my skin.  I'll take your sin and regret, and we'll let it go together.  We can rinse ourselves clean.  Don't be afraid to touch me.  I'm not scared of the things you've done or thought.
You are not who you were.  I see you for what you are.  The things you dwell in are not where your physical body is.  But your mind is soaking in the regrets and things of your past.  I watch as this happens.  I stand by your body, but I don't fit in your already full mind.  You forget easily about my presence.  All your empty promises, resting in my hands.  I am tense.  I wait there staring at your shell of a body.  You aren't really here with me.  I'll touch you just to see if I can startle you back to life.  I fail again.  I feel inadequate.  I wonder what I can do better to meet your needs.
We are together; I get as close to you as possible, hoping that you can feel my warmth and want to let me in.  When I lay beside you I can't rest, again I am tense.  You sleep so easily.  You turn so easily away from me.  I watch as you pull away from me and curl up into yourself.  You do this unconsciously and consciously.  I reach for you, and you flinch at my touch.  I get out of bed.  You don't miss my warmth or touch; you don't budge.  I go for a walk and clench my hands around my arms.  I convince myself that you want me around.  I crawl back into bed trying to form my body around yours.  I hardly fit, but I manage a few hours of uncomfortable sleep.  I just want you to sleep well and to know that I care for you.  That someone cares.
We've seen some of the same things.  I don't tell you though.  I still not sure why.  You tell me of your depression.  I just listen.  You need someone to hear you.  I don't respond, because I relate so much.  I've learned to love the parts of me that get so sad.  They contrast well with my happiness.  I like to think that those who feel great sadness can also feel great happiness in the same way.  I used to want to die, to drive my car off the road or jump of that building.  I used to get close to the edge.  I would surprise myself with how little the closeness of death scared me.  I was numb.  I remember feeling so dirty and gross inside that I didn't bother actually caring about how I looked on the outside.  Life was exhausting, food wasn't enjoyable, I didn't want to ruin my friends time so I hid in bed.  I would cry.  My neighbors could hear me, they knock on the door.  I didn't want to answer because I didn't want to lie.  I was tired of saying I'm okay.  Yeah, I know depression.  I know that part of you.  But I didn't tell you that I did.
I want so badly for you to talk to me; to tell me of your day and the dreams you had last night.  Were they bad?  Could you sleep?  But more than that, I wanted you to want to tell me.  When you tell me things I feel important because you don't say much to anyone else.  I feel special hearing stories from your past.  I am not sure if I am comfortable enough to tell you mine.  I've never told anyone.  I am silent.  I think maybe you are too full of your own problems to fit mine in.  I am easily penetrated with others problems.  But you don't have any more room.  I've learned to live happily with all my baggage, I don't know if I'll tell anyone all of it.
I remember how nervous I was when you asked me to be your girlfriend.  I was right to be nervous.  I can see that now.  I know that relationships are hard, that they hurt, that I am scared.  My hands trembled then, and they tremble now I as put it all on paper. The sky was beautiful then and it still is now.  Nothing changes with my pain, you certainly don't change with my pain.
Things got bad.  My insecurities are surfacing.  I just blurt out all my fears.  You keep looking away from me.  I feel so ugly when you turn your head, I am not worth looking at.  I can tell you are angry, you lie and say you aren't.  I hate myself for making you angry, but I can't stop myself.  I want so badly to make things to work.  I want solutions.  Once the words are out, I regret it.  You were with me then, now you're gone.   Everything I said about school, and stress, and breaking down.  All I wanted to hear from you is I want to be with you.  If you need me at school, I'll be there.  You say nothing close.  I feel sick to my stomach.  The tears keep falling.
From then on, I knew.  You stop talking to me.  I feel sick whenever you are around.  I can feel the oncoming pain of the words you will say to me.   You work inches away, but I might as well be three hours away at school.  I have to struggle to hold back the tears.
You keep me waiting, I grow eager to hear what I did wrong.  I want so badly to fix the problem.  I just want to care for you.  I wish I could be what you want.  I try to convince myself that you still want me.  But deep down I know.  I finally just show up at your house.  I sit outside till you sister lets me in.  Its the last time I'll be in bed with you.  I know it.  The way you look at me has changed. I feel small and annoying to you.  I wish I could cover up my face.  You say you want to be with me, but everything else you say proves that wrong.  I take in all in.  I pace my words so I don't fall apart in front of you.  Everything is stirring up inside.  You sit up in bed.  Its over now, you want to talk about how it will be when it's over.  I feel sick.  I realize you don't want me, the dreaded truth is knocking on my door step.  I hate this feeling.  I get up.  I want to run away from it all.  I hate this.  I want to get out of that house and out of your disapproving looks.  All you want is to not feel guilty. I can't comfort you.  I feel like shit.
I'm in my car and you followed me there. You want me to make you feel better, but I can't to that.  You never said the words "I want to break up".  You ask why I am so upset.  You try to make me feel stupid for being sad.  I realize that you won't be sad over me.  I start to really feel the nausea.  How could I mean so little? Was everything a lie?   I stop.  I realize that I like me better in this situation.  All I want to do is love people.  I care deeply for others.  I love people. I know this world is a shit hole of fucked up people.  But it's home to us.  And I want to help others.  I want their home to be good.  I like that I feel sad in the moment.  Because, you know what, I might be hurt more often, but one day I am going to love people so well.