God said to march

For months I have despaired. Years, maybe. My heart and my mind have almost ceased to work, absolutely pummeled by depression and suffering. I've struggled to to escape fear's grip on me, but to no avail. The depression spawned fear, and fear spawned hopelessness, which in turn spawned a sort of paralysis. The physical illnesses and financial struggles have not helped.

For quite a while now, scary thoughts have taken hold of me. When I drive, I pass telephone poles and trees and I think to myself, "I could do it. I've just got to take my seat belt off and I can do it, and then things wouldn't be so hard." Fortunately, I recognize these thoughts for what they are: twisted, sick, effects of depression and anxiety. And luckily, after talking with my doctor, we agreed that these thoughts don't make me suicidal. It's not "I want to kill myself," it's "I wish I wanted to kill myself." It's wanting an end of suffering, but not in that way. This is all hard to admit, especially because I grew up in a really bad situation, and I feel like I've become weak; back then I was able to tell myself things would get better, but now I feel like "things will get better" is just wishful thinking. But maybe I haven't gotten weaker - maybe the reason 15 year old Charlotte could feel hopeful was the fact that there was an endpoint: graduating and leaving for college. But me, now.. I have no such comfort. 

But what I actually want to focus on is the possibility of change. 

A couple of days ago I read Rome Sweet Home, a story of conversion to the Catholic Church by Scott and Kimberly Hahn. As I was reading, I was struck by how earnestly they both prayed - for guidance, for help, to give thanks. Now obviously I've prayed before. But, if I'm being honest with myself, I have never quite poured my heart out to our Lord. I've said plenty of Our Fathers, but I've never been very personal in prayer... and I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I never gave God my full trust. I think this lack of trust likely stems from two decades of being let down (to put it very, very nicely) by parents, parent figures, and most adults I tried to trust as a child and again as a teen. Mind you, while this makes my lack of faith in God understandable, it doesn't make it justifiable. Going forward, this is going to be one of the three main tasks I've set for myself to get better. The other two: becoming physically healthy and in shape and; becoming mentally healthy and seeking more help. These three tasks were decided two days ago... after I prayed - really prayed - for guidance. 

I had finished reading the Hahn's conversion story, and I wondered why I had never prayed like them.. and I knew I wanted to. Both Dr. and Mrs. Hahn had described moments of "sensing" God's responses to their prayers. I know this isn't the proper or good way to react, but I was downright jealous. 

Several hours later (or maybe the next day), I found myself sitting on my bedroom floor, balling my eyes out. I was in the middle of sorting every single item I own and attempting to organize them in the little amount of available storage space. I was doing this because the clutter was overwhelming me, so much so that I couldn't write, couldn't read, couldn't paint. And I desperately needed to do those things; I've started a small (very small) business just so I can earn ten bucks here, ten bucks there. And I know creating things to sell would alleviate some of my depression symptoms. 

So there I was, unable to make anything to sell. All I could think was, "I could be making money. Not a lot, but when there's no food, $20 is a big deal." I felt pathetic. I was so angry at myself for letting a messy room stop me from doing something that could really help me. 

And if you've ever been depressed, you know that one bad thought leads to another, and soon you're unable to move, unable to do anything.

I just started crying. Crying and crying... and thinking about Rome Sweet Home, and feeling as though now was the moment, now I needed to trust (or tell myself I trust - fake it til you make it) and I needed to humble myself and earnestly pray. I said a lot of things in those moments, one of them along the lines of, "When the Hahns prayed for guidance, they sensed your response. Please, please let me sense your answer to just this one prayer. Just this one - I'm at my breaking point and don't know what to do."

And at first I felt nothing. My sobs had subsided, but that was it. I started wondering if I had done something wrong. Maybe I put too much emphasis on the Hahns? Maybe pleading for an outright answer was akin to trying to command God, which no man can do. And then I felt an all too familiar stabbing pain from my liver and lamented: I can't keep doing this. Hunched over and reaching for my bottle of ibuprofen, I had to pause and gather myself, because as suddenly as I felt that stab, I felt the word "march." Whoa. 

"Wait, wait."

"Really?!" 

"Wait! ...was that actually you?"

It wasn't as though I heard another voice other than my own. Morgan Freeman didn't narrate. Angels didn't appear, the heavens did not open, the earth did not shake. Really, I didn't hear the word "march" but I felt it. I felt it everywhere and I knew (and know) that it did not come from me.

Needless to say, I felt like a kid at Christmas. I was elated. I was giddy, overcome with joy. God had, however vaguely, answered.

For the last two days I have pondered this. I have spent nearly every waking moment wondering what was meant by this command to march. Part of me wished for more specific instructions. At the end of the day, though, I think he meant to say that I am not weak (how can I be, when I am baptized and he dwells in me and I in him?), and that I need to push forward. March into war, do battle with depression. March, continue to march, even when everything around me is broken, even when I am broken, like soldiers must do even when things seem bleak. March with my head held high, don't cower out of fear that others will think me fat, sickly, unattractive. March like Joan of Arc. March like the archangel Michael. March like Dorothy Day. 

I believe I was told to march in faith. Set goals, have dreams, and lean into Jesus to achieve them. Most importantly, continue marching forward, even when cloaked in misery. In the end, maybe the suffering will stop, maybe it won't. Maybe I'm living out my time in Purgatory while still here. Perhaps I'll reach old age and still be battling these demons. But if that's the case, I will remember the oft-evoked truth: joy cometh in the morning. So if I don't escape suffering in this life, I will find joy the moment I arrive in the next, as long as I'm steadfast in my convictions, marching toward the ultimate goal of joy: everlasting life with Jesus. 

Or maybe God meant something important will happen next March. Who knows? 

Charlotte  

Moments 2.0

You might remember the post I wrote back in September that goes by the same name. It's a nice little collection of some funny and happy memories, and whenever I think of them, my mood improves. Hot little trick. 

Well, I promised a second post. I sometimes keep my blog-word. (Procrastination is a problem. Yes.)

1. My pal Liz and I just discussed this, and I cannot stop cracking up. One day in high school I needed a pad. I had my period and I really needed one. Up until that point I'd always been prepared OR I'd ask a friend. I was really embarrassed to ask the nurse, but I did because I had no other options at the moment. So I work up the courage to go ask for a pad. And she says, "Hm, we might have one around here. Let me check." And starts going through drawers and shit. 

And then she pulls out a piece of paper and goes "I can't find a whole pad, but I do have paper. Do you also need a pen?" 

THE F IS THIS? So then I had to overcome even more embarrassment to say, "No, I have my period and I need a pad."

It hilarious now. Less so then. 

When I just told Liz about this, I couldn't stop laughing. (She was like, "BUT DID YOU GET A PAD?" and "Omg I thought you were gonna say she gave you like an open pad.") Ah, friends + funny stories. 

I swear, we don't hate each other. 

2. My friend Joe and I were at Fridays for lunch one day. It was great. We ordered food and chatted. I don't love Fridays, but I do enjoy their appetizers quite a bit. Their flatbreads are especially tasty. So I order a barbecue chicken flatbread. 

He and I are talking for a little while and then the food comes. I'm hungry. I'm almost always hungry. So I just start eating it. We keep talking and having a good time. Then, when I'm like half way through the meal I realize............

There's no chicken on it. 

........or bbq sauce. 

My barbecue chicken flatbread came without bbq sauce or chicken. Oh my God we both got a kick out of that one. And since I had already devoured half of it (um, pepper and cheese bread?), I felt like too much of an idiot to send it back or even say anything to the waitress at that point. Could not stop laughing.

3. I've told this story before in this post, but it's worth repeating because it's sort of my shining moment. 

My friend Dana and I were in Borders (RIP) and were just browsing around. We came across the Greek/Roman section and we saw a collection of Euripides' plays and grabbed it. We had read some of his plays in school, and it was nifty to recognize something in such a fancy ~intellectual~ section of the store. So I'm holding the book and I'm thinking, "Euripides. Euripides. What a dumb name - 'Euripides.' Who names their kids you-rip-a-deeze?" And then I laugh and turn to Dana because I've just had a rare brilliant (I'm normally more humble than this) thought. I look at her and say, in a ridiculous voice, "Hey, Dana - Euripides pages, you buy-a da book!" 

brb peeing myself. 

I love puns and I still can't believe I was clever enough - if only for one brief moment of my life - to come up with that. 

4. When my friend Stephanie, the most determined of us all, decided to make some sort of hair product out of some kind of seeds. And it looked like this:

5. On our way back from Disney, we were followed by a creepy, creepy man. The police ended up putting us in a hotel for the night while keeping an eye out and patrolling the roads. It was terrifying, actually. So we're in the room trying to sleep and we hear a knock on the window (the police specifically told us they'd call before knocking on the door). Everyone was freaked out and I jumped out of bed ready to throw down. My aunt also got out of bed and started walking toward the door. And then my cousin tells us it was my sister. The little effer was on the side of the bed closest to the window and decided it would be funny to scare the crap out of us. 

She was not wrong. It took everything in me not to laugh (didn't want to encourage her because it was a serious situation and the joke was on the borderline of not appropriate). She was yelled at. But every time I think of it now I crack up. I'm so proud every time one of the kids does or says something hilarious. This particular sister is somewhat unsure of herself and just really starting to show her personality, so it took balls to carry this joke out. 

That's all for this time! Good mood? Yes, ma'am. 

__

Charlotte     

Moments

Whenever I’m feeling a little Scrooge-like, I try to fake myself into a good mood.  Does that sound horrible?  Wouldn’t it be better to be, I don’t know, an emotionally intelligent person and just actually change my mood, genuinely, on the spot? 

Prob to the lee.  

Alas, that’s not (usually) in store for me, so I stick with my tried and mostly true motto of fake it til you make it.  If I’m in a shit mood I’ll go watch funny Youtube videos or read one of the happier blog posts I’ve written or eat pizza rolls and watch Gilmore Girls while sending messages to Liz to tell her I’m eating pizza rolls and watching Gilmore Girls.  

And sometimes, it’s enough to trick me into a good mood.  Like magic.  Hermione Granger ain’t got nothing on me. 

(Okay fine, Hermione Granger could probably take me if not for her fictionality.)  

Back to the topic, Char. 

One of these tricks is thinking of some of my favorite moments.  

“Oh, won’t you please write down your favorite moments?!  We want to read all about your favorite moments!”
– None of my blog readers. 

But my word of the year was “persevere” so let’s do this thang: 

1. Olivia and I went out to eat a few months ago.  We were sitting at our table and could overhear the conversation at the next table.  Sadly (but beautifully), someone’s family member had died.  But being a horrible person, I suppose I thought it was okay to joke about.  They said, “Yeah, well, 101 years old, you can’t beat that!”  I texted Liv and said, “WATCH ME.”  And she kind of gave a stifled laugh (make the joke, yeah, but don’t be outwardly rude) and said, “102!  102!”  

This is all nice and good but what I remember most is O’s face when she got the text and then responded.  Liv and I are essentially family, and I don’t know.  Remembering her stupid sparkling eyes and genuine happy face makes me happy.  

I just called her eyes stupid because I felt like I was treading into the waters of “Too Sentimental for Emotionally Unintelligent People.”

2. I guess because I've known her forever, Olivia's going to go ahead and take another spot up here. 

Her family has this awesome blue house with an awesome porch and a big yard (at least for the area) and have had more parties than I can remember.  Her family is a big Irish family and some of them are ridiculous.  In the best way!  I vividly remember sitting there eating something during a bbq and cracking up because her dad and uncle were talking in absurd voices to each other.  And because they're the kind of jokers that find themselves funny AND each other funny, they couldn't keep straight faces.  So it's just two massive guys cracking up and making everyone else crack up.  This happens at basically all of their family gatherings, but every time I picture it again it makes me smile.

3. Olivia is here yet again.  What a greedy B. 

We were camping and it was her turn to do the dishes.  A guy who was at the spot next to us and had talked to us before said something like, "Hey, you're already done with dinner?  I haven't even started yet!  I'm envious."  

My main B replied, "...I'm Olivia."  

Then she asked me if "envious" was a word or a name and I'm dying laughing just thinking about it. 

4. In high school my friend Dana and I were a doubles team in tennis.  We were so good.  Our trick was eating Taco Bell before each match.  Our coach didn't know this, so the one day he walks by and sees us sitting on the sidewalk, each of us with two tacos and a Coke, he gave us the most surprised/angry look.  We explained that we always did this, and that we always won.  He was in disbelief. 

We won the match that day. 

5. When I went to have surgery, my asshole friend Lizette was there.  I was super paranoid about an air bubble in my IV so my much nicer friend, Alison, went to get a nurse.  Before they came back, Liz looks at me, looks at the air bubble, and starts saying, "tick tock tick tock" as it gets closer to entering my body.  IT WAS SO MEAN. 

But thinking about it cracks me up and usually puts me in a better mood.  

There are so, so, so many more of these!  But it just occurred to me that I can bunch them in groups of five, that way I can write a post like this whenever I need a little non-alcoholic pick-me-up.  (Also I'm getting lazy and don't feel like writing anymore.)

Cheers for years. 

__

Charlotte