Tag Archives: health

Fighting colds and exes.

My life feels like it’s in shambles…but that’s probably because I’m fighting a cold, and not because it’s reality.

My ex is trying to get back into my life and he’s made some fairly convincing arguments. Arguments that I’ve batted away with reminders of all the ways he failed me when we were together.

I’m like venom and he doesn’t care.

He just keeps taking the bites.

I’m rather miserable over it all. I’ve had a cold for just about the same amount of time I’ve had him back in my life.

 

And I’m afraid of being alone, and he makes me laugh, and I can be a horrible person to him and he still wants me in his life.

It’s not healthy.

I’m not healthy.

I’m sick in the short term and the long term.

A bundle of bones that I’ve been trying to protect by ordering copious amounts of supportive dress shoes online for.

I try them on, realize they don’t fit/don’t fit and aren’t something I could ever conceivably wear to a work or dress function anyway, and return them.

Then I pity myself.

 

Things are a million times better than when I spent Christmas in a neckbrace, but why do I feel so much worse?

How does my ex-love keep hurting me.

Why do I want him back in my life?

I need a cup of tea and to have my Christmas shopping finished.

I need Christ in my heart pulverizing my loneliness and empty desires for the people who crush my soul.

I want good people in my life who support me and love me and help me continue on a path to righteousness…and I don’t know what my ex is.

It hurts. I know it hurts.

It hurts so much that somehow I’m left questioning all that I am, a woman, a college student, a daughter – an unemployed bunch of failings.

I’ve rejected concert offers, because I haven’t written anything new in months and because I don’t want to handle the stress anymore.

I’m cutting out music to focus on…drawing it into my life as a future teacher.

Because I’m tired.

I’m tired.

I need sleep. I need some preparation for Christmas. Christ’s coming to my heart.

 

Aye.

 

God bless you all, fight on!

-I got a cold.

 

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How old are you?

Apparently I look like a teenager. I don’t see how this is possible, given that I’m like, 5″10 and I feel like my height alone would make people guess I’m ancient, because according to my niece, age is connected to height. I guess some people have advanced past the thoughts of a five year old, because some recent acquaintance of mine was astonished when they found out we were in the same year of school.

It was kind of funny, he was all chatting on, talking about high school like I was an underling, “Oh yea, I graduated in –this year– ” and after a short pause I was like, “me too!” and he was all “What? I thought you were like, WAAAAY younger than me.” “Uh no…Nope…I’m –this random age that I might have said I was at some point but I’m just going to be vague for the sake of torturing you, while I told him my real age-” And he stared at me in bewilderment.

I don’t know what was so bewildering. I mean, the age that he guessed I was was hardly three years younger than my actual age. Three years isn’t a super big age gap. Unless he thought I was barely the age and he was only guessing it because it’s the legal drinking age and I’ve played music in bars a couple times? Do I really look like I’m a teenager like my brother-in-law said once?

Maybe because I don’t wear make-up?

I saw one of my friends from grade school this year and she said I looked exactly the same, just like I did 10 years ago.

So, I’ve either hit the fountain of youth without knowing it, or people just think I look like a baby because of my face and the fact that I don’t wear makeup. It might be the not wearing makeup thing.

I don’t know. I’m just thinking about it…while I should be asleep, because even if I look like a teenager, I feel like an ancient being.

Oh the irony of having arthritic hips that were once compared to a 70 year old’s, and looking like I’m in high school.

I should go eat some more omega-3 fatty acids.

Night.
 

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Positive side effects.

Heh, I just wrote my first post in nearly two weeks and I already feel better about everything I’ve been stressing about since then… Which would be, school and my relationships and my future…

I mean, maybe I shouldn’t be posting another post five seconds after that last one, but…I feel better than I have for a while, and it seemed to have started just about as soon as I clicked the “publish draft” button on that last post.

See, I’ve been so stressed about what I’m supposed to be doing with my life, and the fact that I am studying how to be a teacher and I don’t even know if I want to be one, and wondering if I just don’t like my classes, or what the classes are about, and I’ve been talking to all my family about it, and the random guy friend and classmates, and I still don’t know what to do about school or life in general, and then of course, being the mountain out of molehill builder that I am, I wondered if I’d ever find anything I’d be happy at or if I’d just have to get a job and do it and be miserable forever and ever…and then I posted in my blog….and I feel better.

Like it will be okay.

Like maybe this semester will be better. Like, worst case scenario, I can struggle through this semester and use my credits to transfer to a different program, and figure out something else, but just keep blogging no matter what, keep writing something somewhere no matter what…Keep writing. Or maybe I’ll find out that while it may seem really hard, and is a bit challenging, I can actually do the teaching thing, and I might actually enjoy it. Maybe I’m good at it…Maybe…

I don’t know quite what to do with my life, but I know that writing about it helps. Blogging about it helps. Just like the singing songs about my surgery and failed romances helps.

Just getting the words out helps.

It doesn’t always help saying them directly to family or friends, or the people who broke your heart by never calling you on the phone when you gave them your number (yeaaa, okay, that was the topic of my first unrequited love song), because they don’t always know how to respond or you don’t want a response, (or you actually can’t talk to them)….But just saying the words, for your sake at least, it helps.

It helps me.

And so this gets posted fifteen minutes after my last post, because I like writing and it made me feel better and now I need to press the publish button again to save the positive feelings forever.

Goodnight again.

-cdukulele

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Bandages

I don’t like blood.

Especially other people’s blood.

Especially my Mom’s blood on paper towels, when she’s asking me if I think it was more or less than a tablespoon.

Especially when my Mom is describing the color of the blood to the advice nurse.

…My Mom’s fine though. Well, I mean, she’s not worse or anything, the blood was a normal result of her wound from last week. Just a little blood, we just had to bandage it up. Well, I just had to bandage it up.

That was unpleasant.

But this is why you don’t climb ladders by yourself.

Or be related to people who climb ladders by themselves.

To be fair, there was plenty of unpleasantness two years back when I had surgery, but I didn’t go around asking people questions about whether my wound was bleeding, and then loudly describe the blood to the advice nurse, and then need other people to bandage me up because I was brushing my teeth when my wound just started bleeding. I merely broke my neck. Broken necks don’t require bandages and don’t cause visible blood. They’re just broken. Other people can’t see they’re brokenness, you’re just in pain.

That’s what’s nice about broken bones, they don’t inconvenience others with their visibility. Unless they’re horribly broken. (Oh I hope I never get one of those frighteningly horrible bone breaks. Maybe I’ll live in a bubble. That will protect me…)

 

ANYWAY, …pray for my Mom. And me. And my family. And that my brother and Dad get less squeamish, so that they can bandage my Mom up next time, and that my Mom keeps getting better.

Thank you!

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

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Faith

My oldest sister gave me a hug the other day.

I was standing in the kitchen, my voice wavering during my attempted explanation of my plans for my life and my future, trying to explain why I’m only working part time, and how I’m doing physical therapy, but it’s difficult, and really everything is more difficult when your body hurts, and she was asking questions and trying to be helpful and encourage me to do more. Then my eyes started to get watery, and my cheeks started to burn, and I couldn’t think of any more explanations for why I was failing so badly at my life, and I started crying, and she ran to the kitchen and wrapped her arms around me and I cried on her shoulder.
She held me and apologized, and said that I could just keep doing what I was doing, and that I was so strong, and she should have never started asking all those questions, but she was just concerned about me, but she was wrong.

She asked me to forgive her, and I think I did, but I spent most of the time thinking about the teardrops that I was getting on her shoulder and whether my part time job was really enough and whether I was too sensitive for crying about the fact that I don’t have much of an idea of what I’m doing with my life and am just holding on to a wisp of it while I hope it gets easier and that I get a lot stronger. I wondered how bad things were if I cry when people ask me about them.

I still don’t exactly know what I’m doing…but…I guess I’m doing as much as I can without having an emotional breakdown.

I guess.

I don’t know.

I’ll just…keep praying and keep trying.

The night before the hug, I killed a black widow spider and the experience kind of freaked me out so much that I started repeating what I remembered from the Divine shepherd Psalm in my head. It was just a spider, and I probably shouldn’t have been as terrified as I was, but then I started thinking about how I was so afraid of a spider biting me, when my neck could easily snap, or need to be fused to my skull, or any horrible thing could happen at any moment, and that’s when I decided I needed to say a prayer to calm down. I was thinking of part of it, “Even though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for you are with me and your rod and staff are the comfort I need to know”, when I picked up my Bible and opened it to a random spot just so I could start reading. It opened exactly to Psalm 23.

…In two days my Bible opened exactly to the passage that I was not only thinking of, but definitely needed to read and know at that moment and always, and my oldest sister hugged me and told me that I was strong, and it was okay that I didn’t have everything figured out.

I needed these things. I’m glad they happened. I hope things like this keep happening.

Because I am weak, and I need God, and I need prayers, and I need love, and strength, and hope, and ten second hugs where the person I’m hugging lets me cry all over their shoulder and doesn’t mind because they’re used to baby spit up, and moments in my life where I am praying and I look down at the Bible in my hands and it is exactly God’s words speaking to me, showing me that he is there and he knows my thoughts and fears but he loves me and is taking care of his daughter.

Except I don’t need the black widow spiders…(Especially the one that I really didn’t want to have to kill, but it was kind of a life or death situation, in my mind at least, and my existence felt severely threatened by its existence. I am quite sorry that it had to die, but it does not get to live in my house, near my light switch, waiting for me to sleep so that it can kill me…)

Anyway, thanks for reading, and feel free to pray for me as my body keeps trying to deal with that neck surgery I had two years back, and my mind keeps trying to deal with the fact that I graduated college and don’t exactly know how I’m going to figure the rest of my life out, or pay for it, and my heart keeps trying to deal with the loneliness and crushes that I keep getting on men that I’m never going to date or marry.

I’ll try to do the same for you.

Thank you,

               Catherine

 

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