Friday, April 8, 2011

this isn't from today

and I'm in a much more stable place right now than I was when I wrote this.  And I honestly don't know how much of it is still true.  But it was true for me, every last word.  And there is significance in that.  And maybe I'm just trying to reach out, or trying to procrastinate, or probably a lot of both.  And I know that this is not a real way of reaching out.  And I'm sorry that I tend to get a bit foul-mouthed when I'm upset, but psychological-break-down-anna doesn't have a very extensive vocabulary.  Not that psychologically-stable-anna is that articulate to begin with.  Enough delay.

This is me at my most raw, talking to the person who knows me the deepest.  This is me trying to be honest.
Mattie, lately I go to church for the socializing aspect. I love singing. I love listening to Richard’s sermons and nodding along and taking my little notes. But I don’t have faith. I have right answers and a whole truck load of cynicism. I don’t pray and I don’t want to. I don’t read my Bible and I don’t want to. I don’t think about living in a way that is centered around God and whatever it is God might want for my life. I’m just living – just trying to get by. I’m trying to treat people right by my own moral code, the way I would want to be treated.

And I don’t think there’s anything wrong with this.

Other than the fact that I won’t own up to anyone. Everyone thinks I’ve got my shit together. Man, I’m a good Christian. Fuck right answers.

How am I supposed to tell people that I don’t really believe in just about anything. I believe in people and in love and in stories and goodness and honesty and breathing. But those things don’t need God. I’m trying to figure out how to live in a way that’s not hurting others and that keeps me sane. I don’t know what it means that I just want to be by myself. Maybe I’ll change the world through these words. But I don’t really care. I’m just trying to make it through this life and, honestly, right now I can’t see the point of there being something bigger.

I don’t want to lie to the people I love. And I don’t want to stop going to church. But how do I come clean? Who do I tell and what do I say?

I believe in you more than I believe in my God. And, sweetheart, you’re me. So everything’s a little fucked up now, isn’t it?

Also, I fell in love with the perfect man. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you about it before. He’s the only person I ever talk to God about. Because when I am ecstatic and walking up the hill, and just say, “God, you did an exceptionally good job with that one,” and then I tell him why. I don’t know what any of this says about me. I don’t know what I’m learning about myself.

I don’t know what I’m supposed to change. I don’t want to go back. I think maybe that’s my huge issue. I know where I’ve been in my life and I’ve been growing and learning so much. And my faith was so much stronger and so much more important to me in high school and freshman year. So, I think it looks like, were I to get all fired up about God again, I would only be going backwards instead of progressing. And that’s scary because it looks like stagnation instead of progress. Not that I’m super excited about progress, but I don’t want to stunt myself or be an idiot about things.

Can’t I still believe the things I believe without Christianity really being a part of that?

I think I’m having this crisis of faith a little too late. I feel like most of my friends have already been over this.

Maybe I’m slowly turning into you.

I just can’t handle people or noise and please please get away can’t you see you’re breaking me because I have to keep everything inside because I know that if I got upset and cried you would come and try to comfort me and I can’t don’t touch me please leave me alone and if I got upset and yelled then you would be hurt and cry or yell back and then I would feel guilty forever, which isn’t fair because I shouldn’t have to feel guilty for feeling things because I’m trying to have emotions, I’m just trying to be a normal person and keep breathing which is so hard sometimes why can’t we just live in our own big plastic bubbles so we can see each other and roll around and bump into each other but we’d be cushioned so we couldn’t hurt each other and if we needed to talk we could write post-its and stick them to the sides of the bubbles so we could read each others’ speech and I just need you at an arm’s length because I don’t know who I am and I am a fucking mess but I can never let you see that so please go to bed or go to class and shut the door and let me try and fix this I know I have a problem with control I FUCKING KNOW WHO I AM YOU THINK I DON’T KNOW MY FLAWS stop trying to psycho-analyze me because you don’t have anything figured out any more than I do.

Sweet pea, know that I’m not yelling at you. I love you. The day may come (it probably will) when the person I’m screaming at inside my head or with overly-loud typing is you, but today is not that day. But I need you to know that I appreciate your listening more than you can ever know. And I’m sorry I’ve had to write this out instead of just talking about it in person, but you know how I am. This way I was less distracted, forced to organize my thoughts, and I’ll have something to look back on so I can see how far I’ve come. Because everything is always better in the morning. And when it’s not, take a breath, crawl out of bed and live your life because this day is the only day you have right now and you might as well fucking do something with it.

Thank you for always letting me be the weak one. I really need that because no one else lets me. Thank you for having the most up-close and personal view of my flaws and faults and awfulness in the world and still loving me to death. Thank you for letting me be me, and I mean the actual me, not the person I pretend to be around every single person in my life, because it’s refreshing to not have to pretend, to know that I can be flawed and broken and awful and scream at you and you won’t ever abandon me and will always love me.

When did you become God to me?

I just tried to think of someone who I wanted to share this with ---

Awesome. Great. You heard that, right? I’ve managed to fuck up my roommate, probably the person who I care about most in the world.

Somebody please tell me that we’re all fakers, because if we’re not…

I can’t fix this. I can’t fix any of this. Fuck you, God; fuck you for not allowing me to just be. Couldn’t I have had a day, or an hour, more than five fucking minutes of trying to sit with this before you were all, “See? You’re a fuck up. You can’t do anything without me; everything fucking crumbles in your life. You ruin everything good. This is how you know you need me. This is how you know I’m real.” Fuck you.

How many times are you allowed to say “Fuck you” to God before he strikes you with a personalized lightning bolt? This is only partially rhetorical.

I understand Charlie’s reaching out to a stranger. I want to send this to a stranger, someone who I know is a good person but who doesn’t know me, just so someone knows. Because I’m trying to reach out, that’s why I was originally typing up these words but I cannot think of one person who I can send this to. And what does that say about my oh so highly-prized relationships that I pride myself on? That they mean absolutely nothing because I cannot be completely honest and vulnerable and fucked up little me with any of them.

I need someone to know me, someone who doesn’t live inside my head. I just need someone to know me, all of me, and still love me.


  1. I don't know you and your life nearly well enough to understand all of this. A lot of it reminds me of questions I've been asking (plagued with?), and a lot of it is different. There's a lot I could try to say, but blog comments are a terrible place to try to do so.

    But if this is reaching out, I'd love to listen about this - where you are now, how this is going - over tea and/or pastries sometime. And in any event, you're hardly alone in such questions at this point in your life. There are at least two of us, and I'd wager more.

    And goodness that sounds terribly cheesy and obnoxious and surfacey when I read it. But that's the medium of text breaking everything for you, I suppose.

  2. You know that I love you, right?

    And you didn’t fuck anyone up. We came out of the womb pretty damn fucked. (I almost wrote 'we came pre-fucked' and decided that sounded extremely strange). That’s what life is, trying to live in the midst of a colossal mess. Because, let’s face it, everyone’s a questioning, searching mess. I want to know you, and I want to listen, if you want to process.

  3. I love you.

    Reading this just gave me hope that I'm not completely insane. Or maybe we're both insane, I'm not sure.

    We should talk about this sometime.