A Depressing (But Non-Valentine's Day Related!) Post

Oh Blogosphere-

There is so much that I want to say to you, yet so much holds me back. I know that underneath it all, though you seem really friendly and welcoming, you really are an interweb portal to all sorts of unknown people and absolutely anybody in the world could access you at any time. Knowing that keeps me from spilling my guts to you, though I want to. You aren't my diary: I have to remind myself of that often. In fact, I have a diary, or a journal, if you will. I have several of them. I don't need to spill my guts here.

But what can I say, when my life has been spiralling completely out of control, when these past 5 or 6 weeks have been so terribly difficult, when I have spent every day treading water, simply trying to keep my head above the current, and getting splashed over and hit square in the face with another wave of salty sea water every time that I think I've started to make some progress.

Am I drowning?

Is God trying to tell me something?

I feel that usual frustration return to me, the frustration directed at everyone in my life, most especially God, and none of it toward myself, the person that really deserves the brunt of it.

Why are they doing this to me? I ask. Do they mean to be mean? Do they care that they are hurting my feelings? And- why did I do that? It was their fault. They made me do it, by making me feel this way. It's not supposed to feel this way. Why doesn't he like me? I need him to like me, but he'll never like me now, not after what I did. I just want her to be my friend again, my best friend, but the more I hold onto her, the more she starts to slip away. I can't even look at myself in the mirror. I feel sick. If I pass this semester, it will be a miracle. I just want to go home, to get out of here. I need something, something to make me feel okay. I thought I was doing better, I thought I was feeling better. Why, God, when I just walked out of that desert, would you lead me back into yet another one? Will I ever be out of the desert?

It's all falling apart, but when is it not? I feel ashamed, about almost everything about me, everything that I have done, everything that I am. I told a friend Sunday night, "I thought I had more self-respect for myself than this." I really did. But it turns out, I don't.

Why do I feel exactly like I'm fifteen years old again? I'm nearly nineteen; life wasn't supposed to feel this way anymore.

What do I even have? I look down at my hands: they are empty. What do I even have anymore? "It really hits me now/ If this is all I got/ Then I'm alone with nothing."

Monastir said it right. "Life Is Long When You're Lonely."

*I just finished writing this and then realized it was Valentine's Day. I truly didn't mean to be so depressing on V-Day. That's honestly just really hugely coincidental.

*One very good thing about my life recently: one of my most favorite friends came to visit for the weekend, from Buffalo, and I got to see her lots and it was absolutely wonderful.

Second Semester Blues

Ah, here I am back again. It's been a fairly typical Friday night here at Houghton. Spent most of my evening with some friends, watching The Fellowship of the Ring, which was a pleasant change of scene/company.

In other news, I rang in my second week back here in New York with a gut-wrenching, completely debilitating, all-out miserable stomach bug. It only lasted around 24 hours but then I pushed it by eating "normal food" (and by normal food I mean some goldfish and a bowl of Lucky Charms) too soon and so was out of class Tuesday and Wednesday both. Not the most promising way to start off a semester. But it seems to have passed now and I spent my down time in bed watching heaps of movies of a certain genre which I won't embarrass myself by relating here, and all in all, if that was the only time I got sick this school year, I'd be pretty alright with that.

I've had a few post ideas marinating in my brain over the past week or so (still haven't forgotten about the much-awaited tattoo post) but I'm afraid this particular one will only be a bit of rambling about my week, the semester, my life...as usual. In the future though, we can look forward (I hope) to some more interesting, varied topics. I have ideas! I promise I have them.

Starting off this semester has been confusing, exhausting and, well, lonely. I talked to a friend about it for a long time last night, why I was lonely, how I could get past it, what was the deal with me and all that- and while I didn't come to an immediate solution, the talking helped. Talking always helps guys. You might want to revert into your shell and just let it stew in your own head, keep it to yourself all stoic and tough guy-like- I know that's my personal tendency- but when friends are available to talk, take advantage of it. And be as honest as you can, even if it's tough. It helps.

I've been sad, lately. I know that's ironic considering I posted so adamantly recently about having a happy New Year. (Note that I also bragged, in that post, about how awesome my immune system was...) I can't explain exactly why I'm sad. At this point I think it's just a part of being me: inherent to the individual that is Lizzie Spaulding is a certain tendency to melancholy. Just how I am. I suppose if I were to really try to pinpoint my sadness it would be, as I said, loneliness. A feeling that something is missing. This could be attributed to a few different things: lack of a best friend here at college (something I have not gone without since the sixth grade really), the absence this semester of a few of my closer friends from this school, and not the non-existence of any sort of romantic relationship in my life, but really the non-existence of any desire or plausibility for such a relationship to come to pass. A realization that to live harmoniously, co-dependently, vulnerably, lovingly, and most of all interminably, with another human being- for me- is just...not. Not me. I don't think. But anyway.

So, yes, it's been a rough two weeks. Contemplating a lot of things. Friendships, missing people, emotional attachment, the ever-changing concept of home, of belonging, of self, conditionality in relationships, sexuality, psychological well-being, medication, our duty to share the gospel, purpose, responsibility, morality, Biblical teaching...to name a few. Also, there's been a lot of schoolwork and work-work and writing, writing, reading a bit, writing some more, and then a bit thrown off by that virus. But I'll get back on my feet again guys.

It's hard getting back into the routine of things. But I'll find it again. And I don't expect to have all the answers by the end of the semester, far from it, but I hope I'm somewhere farther along the road than the place where I am now, and most of all, I hope I make some friends along the way.

Until next time mes amis.

Listening

Son of Sam- Elliott Smith

Did you know that Elliot Smith is dead? He is. I did not know this until a few weeks ago when I happened upon Jon Foreman's blog or something and he wrote about going to an Elliott Smith concert where the power went out and Elliott came on stage with candles and played acoustic till the power came on and then he finished the night with a bang and a light show and it was beautiful. And then Jon Foreman talked about hearing of Elliott's death and the profound impact it had on him.

To be honest, I read that blog post and I thought, huh, the name Elliott Smith sounds awful familiar, and I checked my iTunes and there it was, a hidden gem of a song, Elliott Smith's "Son of Sam". I've always loved that song. It is the only song by Elliott Smith I have ever heard but it's one of the most lovely.

Elliott was depressed. He died at the age of 34, and, considering that at the time he was working on his 6th studio album and was world-renowned with a dedicated fan following, I'd say he did pretty well for himself. Success-wise anyway.

But when he died, who was there? His girlfriend? Who else? Anyone? Was he glad? Or surprised. You know like in action films when a character gets stabbed, they fall back almost instantly and die with an expression of shock still frozen on their faces.

I wonder why. Why people who make things so beautiful are always so sad. I hope that isn't a non-negotiable. Like how art and angst go hand in hand, you can't have one without the other. I hope you can be happy and still create things that will speak to people's souls.

It feels odd to be listening to Elliott Smith now, to hear his voice so close to me singing lyrics so, potent, and know that he is no longer alive. That this piece of him I hear is just a fragment left behind, something he couldn't even take with him. That the thing that made these sounds that croon me to sleep at night- that body is decomposing in the dirt somewhere.