Assuage my reality

Music, men, food, exercise. . .the list goes on. I'm avoiding reality; I'm running from reality; I'm assuaging my reality. I turn the radio up, I eat junk food, I run till I can't breathe and I kiss those I don't even love. I wrap myself up in the noise to distract. Distract from what?

I can't avoid what my life is, can't avoid what I've done, can't avoid what my decisions are making me into. I sit in silence and my mind races. I run from the silence in order to escape the racing. The racing, restless thoughts lead to the truth, the reality. I've messed up, I am messing up and I'm avoiding true thought, avoiding true feeling in order to escape the reality that wouldn't be so bad if I would just embrace it, make the most of it. Whats my reality at this moment? I keep wanting, keep reaching, keep taking the things that aren't good for me.

I become so wrapped up in the noise, I search for the noise, grasp the noise and run with it, I cling to it. I never know silence. I don't let myself. And yet I can't avoid it, eventually it finds me. I sit in that forced silence and acknowledge that my life is too noise driven. The thoughts I feel in the silence are the thoughts that know me best. They say the Spirit whispers with a still, small voice. How can I hear that voice when I won't stop letting the world pervade every moment I am coherently thinking?

The longer I let the noise in, the longer I fail to truly exist. I begin to live for the wrong reasons and as I live for these wrong reasons I begin to lose feelings, lose emotion, lose sensation. The loss is great and I can't recognize it; at least, not until I am stuck in the silence, forced in silence. I realize how restless I am , I realize how heartless I am.

The noise, the rush, the world; I must push it out, push it away. I keep claiming its not me but I am letting it become me, letting it become my reality. I must recognize that I can't turn to the noise for safety, for comfort because it only destroys what I am trying to rebuild. I must embrace the silence and stop trying to assuage my reality. I must look for silence, give myself silence and then I will begin to find good, to do good. Sensation will return, emotion will again exist and feelings reign where they could not with the noise.

What do I fear?

What do I fear? Deer. One time a deer jumped through my bed room window, would have killed me had I been in bed.

What do I fear? Driving. At 16 I nearly killed my family when I pulled out in front of a car that slammed into our car at a speed of 55 miles an hour. Total number of accidents I've been in: 5.

What do I fear? Being left alone. I used to always think my mother would drop me off at soccer, the library, the store and never come back.

What do I fear? The ocean. When I was little a neighborhood boy tried to drown me.

What do I fear? Men. I used to cry when my grandpa came to visit, I was scared of male teachers; they're intentions to me were always cruel ones.

What do I fear? Storms. I remember piling up in the closet under the stairs during a tornado season.

What do I fear? Yelling. I remember my brother screaming that he would kill me as he chased me around the neighborhood on his bike.

What do I fear? Unrequited love. So many times I begin to give my heart only to have it given back because its just not enough.

What do I fear? The public eye. I was so insecure that I didn't have any friends in high school, except my books.

What do I fear? Failure. I never missed a class, never forgot an assignment because failing wasn't an option.

What do I fear? Crying. I can cry but I choose not to, I fight not to.

What do I fear? Weight gain. I'm afraid that I'll get fat and no one will want to be with me, around me.

What do I fear? Being alone. I always wanted to have the stereotypical married life and now I don't even know if marriage is in the cards for me.

What do I fear? Death. I'm not ready to die, I'm not good enough.

Fear. Where do these fears come from? Some are rational, typical and other irrational, foolish, convenient and selfish. I cannot rely on these fears; I must over come them, I am overcoming them.

I do it for the blessings. . .?

I see you in the last days; I see you huddled in your cellar with your family surrounding you and the door locked, the bolt drawn. I see your face as the door is pounded on, as your friends scream, as strangers plead, as children of God beg to be let in and your face is a cold, dispassionate one. Your reasoning? You have none; at least, not a valid one, you never will.

Do you really want to be this person? I am sorry if you do.

When the end comes--and it will-- I hope that I am swept away by whatever catastrophe is out there. I hope I am swept away while I am lifting a child, stitching a wound, serving those around me. It's not about what we want, it's about what God wants.

What is my reasoning? I have none; at least, I strive to have none. I don't care that any act of kindness, of sacrifice, of love done on my part is done for my benefit. Why do I do it? I hear that I'm supposed to help because its good, because I'll be blessed. Is this why I should serve those around me? Is it because I should see the long term blessings?

If this is what it takes for you to do good then by all means, go for it. But I do it because I want to. I do it because there's this innate need in me to reach out to others. There's no way to describe to it, to put a name to it. Psychiatrists, theorists, scientists fight this idea of a natural tendency built within us to do good.

We believe that there's always a reason, a benefit to ourselves for serving someone else. I don't. I believe this idea to be wrong, to be selfish. I don't want to serve someone thinking, "I will be blessed for this" or "they may prove useful to me someday" or "people are watching and its expected." I want to serve because I want to, because I love naturally.

Age old love

Love. Thats what it must be. He nags, calls her names, stares off into space, forgets everything, breaks dishes and is utterly helpless. He's pushing eighty and she's passing seventy. He's had a few heart attacks and with each one he changes, not for the better. He often doesn't speak and when he does its to snap a command, an angry retort or a cruel insult directed at her.

She smiles patiently. She picks up what he's knocked down. She apologizes to those whose feelings he's hurt. Sometimes at night she falls asleep remembering the smiles, the laughs. She remembers the flowers, the kisses, the adventures, the conversations, the trust, the kindness and most especially their love. She drifts to sleep late and he wakes her early with grumbled words, with aches, with pains. She meets his every need, his every demand with a smile. Her patience has no end.

She doesn't know when her day will come, she doesn't know when his day will come but when their day comes she knows it will all be worth it. Love. Its not the lust, its not immediate gratification. Their love is the kind of love that grows and matures. One of the greatest examples of love is the love shared between a husband and wife. Its the dedication when the going gets rough. Its staying together even when you can't stand each other. You remember that its worth it, that its worth working at.

With this love there's no guarantees except the guarantee of the love you will never stop giving, no matter what.

Booby traps

He wrapped his arms around me, drew me closer and jumped back with a yelp. I knew why, I immediately knew why. My date had been booby trapped.

My date swore under his breath and I began to laugh in embarrassment. That morning my bra had broken. I thought the recently bought, pink-polka dotted bra was extremely cute and so I safety pinned it in the back. Guess my plan wasn't fool proof (literally, fool proof, not full proof because this guy was a fool) because he ended up getting stabbed by a safety pin. But to make matters worse, we weren't alone; we were on a double date.

I went to fix my broken strap but the task was not so easy and the safety pin dug deep into my back. It was then my turn to yelp as I strived frantically to remove the safety pin. It hurt and I became frustrated. I soon gave him permission to do whatever he wanted just as long as the pin came out. In the end my date had to stick his hands up the back of my shirt and fixed it for me. Awkward? Maybe. Funny? Definitely. Who can say that they've literally booby trapped their date?

Do you know what implications the term booby trap has? According to Wikipedia "A booby trap is a trap designed to kill or severely injure people. As the word trap implies, they often have some form of bait designed to lure the victim towards it."

While this story is funny, I have often found men trying to get their hands up/down my shirt. They must be lured in by something. Guess my breasts are the bait for them. Sadly, during these I instances I've never had a safety pin to get stuck in their hand.

My breasts are "bait" for men but I did put the bait there. I hate when men, of all ages, check out my breasts and only my breasts. I hate constantly checking the covering over my cleavage. I hate spending more money on bras than most girls. I hate that running is often embarrassing and uncomfortable -- breasts are just uncomfortable; especially, for more fully endowed women. I hate when men tell me I'm beautiful while staring at my chest, rude.

Maybe I should look into setting a trap. Smacking their hands and telling them "no" just doesn't seem to work. Maybe if I put some rat traps in there, or maybe my bra could shoot poisonous darts? Hmmm, the possibilities.

My breasts are for one mans hands only.The next time a guy ogles me or starts putting his hand up/down my shirt he will live to regret it. Can I get an Amen sisters?

Abuse isn't just for the twisted

What does it take for you to raise your voice? What does it take to set your temper off? How long before you say something hurtful to someone hurting, pestering or annoying you? Will you ever snap?What happens if you do snap?

I recently taught a lesson about child abuse. Abuse can be physical, it can be emotional and abuse isn't just for the twisted. It starts with one angry moment. One angry moment where you strike out with anger. You strike out and then you justify that anger, that striking. Where does the justification lead? It leads to another angry moment, another lashing out. Its one angry word with no apology that leads to more angry words and soon she's crying, she feelings of utter uselessness, hopelessness. It leads from one slap, two slaps, a beating. . .a killing.

But its not just hitting thats abuse. Oftentimes women think its ok for their husband to insult them and play mind games with them. Its ok for them to constantly berate on their self-esteem, to drag them down, make them feel hopeless, ugly, useless and unwanted. It's ok to pick at all their flaws--even the flaws that they can't change.

They often like to cover up their faults by picking at someone else's faults. They pick until they've torn every part of that person to shreds. The shreds leave them to try and piece together a person they can never be. They are not you, nor should they want to be. Recognize differences and recognize that one insult, one condemning comment can lead to many that hurt, that abuse that individual.

Be careful with your actions. Be careful where those actions lead. Be aware of why you are saying what you are saying. Who are those words really benefiting? Who is that angrily thrown fist really helping?

My point: Be aware of yourself and your actions. Remember that one thoughtless action that is left neglected can lead to more thoughtless, more harsh actions. Abuse isn't just for the twisted. We are all capable of committing some level of abuse. Don't let it be you.

Facing down my fears

The nights will be sleepless, the work will be demanding, what am I thinking? I'm graduating from college. I'm moving to Salt Lake City. My family will be 2000 miles away, all my family. Most of my friends will be in Idaho, four hours away. My connections? Not many. Man prospects? None. Money? Hardly any.

What am I thinking? Can shy little Kaitlin do this? How many people could do what I am doing? Or maybe the question is: How many people with my mentality could do this? I'm shy, self-conscious, and naturally an introvert.

A lot of things frighten me, so what am I thinking? Fear. I'm thinking of fear. I'm so afraid of it all. I'm most afraid of being a disappointment at my job and after that I'm afraid of coming home and being alone.

I think of my lonely trips to the grocery store, the library, the park, the ice-rink. I think of all the times I'll reach for the phone looking to call someone for comfort, looking to hear words of love. And then I'll think of all the people I can't call because they don't want to hear from the lonely single girl or because I don't want them to know how dull my life truly is. They're happily married, they have a social life, they have purpose in their life, people to live for. I don't even have a pet to live for.

I think of all this and I feel empty. I feel confused. And again it comes back to fear, fear, fear, fear. I take this internship, not because I have to, not because I have no choice, not because its expected. I take this internship because I fear what comes with it. I fear. I fear. I fear. But God counsels us not to fear and if I have faith I shall not fear.

So what do I do? I push all these fears from my mind. They are put there to slow me down. They are put there to hinder me. They serve no purpose. I don't need a pity party for me. I need to grow-up. Everyone has different trials-- some more than others. This is my trial and if I handle it well then I will be given even more trials. What am I proving to God when I succumb to my fear, when I choose sin over righteousness? I prove nothing. I show no love. I tell him that I can't handle the trials he's given me. Do I want God to take it easy on me? No. I want him to know that its difficult, its hard but for him I will do anything.

I will face down these fears, these trials. I have no right to feel fear, to be ungrateful, to have doubts. This is an amazing opportunity that has been given to me. I need to take it and make the most of it.

No more fear. No more doubt. I simply must rely on God and do what I know is right. The end.

Their hands

Their hands, they use their hands and take something innocent, something beautiful, something that is a part of them and destroy it.

How does a father, a mother. . . how does anyone beat, torture and kill a child? How? I just don't understand. 3 siblings are missing in Ohio and believed that their father killed them. They're under the age of 7. The corpse of a 3-year-old found in Alabama; It's believed his father killed him and the boys 4-year-old sister. Prior to this his girlfriend would tie them up and stick socks in their mouths and perform other methods of torture. You hear about a woman who stuck her new born babies in containers and kept them in a closet until the smell got a hold of someones curiosity. And then there's the woman who drowned her five children in a bathtub. . .one at a time.

What goes through these peoples minds? Is it a slow, steady slide? Have they always been twisted? There is no excuse for beating and killing a child, ever. I don't want to know whats going through their heads, I never want to really understand these people but I do wish there was a way to stop this from happening.

It seems everyday the news reports more and more deaths of children who were killed by their parents. Each time it upsets me, frustrates me, hurts me. I think of the babies I know, the children I know and tears come to my eyes at the idea of any harm coming to them.

I feel sorry for these parents who do this, I really do. But I'm filled with anger and frustration towards them too. Is there a way to make incidents like this less prevalent? Are there signs to look for? What can I do, what can we do to make things like this stop happening? Prevent these incidents? How do we prevent their hands, stop their hands, so we no longer have to bury the tortured, innocent child's hands?