7:00 AM Thoughts.

For a while I confused my eating habits with health concerns.

“I just want to be healthy, that’s all.”

That’s what I told everyone else, and myself.

“I’m just going to get in shape, that’s all.”

But I know that in my head, what I wanted was not “in shape”. What I wanted was collar bones, ribs, and hip bones.

“I just want to look really skinny and hollow and have a gap between my thighs and be small, that’s all.”

Being small is something that stalks my thoughts and my actions like a serial killer. It looms over me, whispers to me, and says “You’re too big, that’s all.”

Big translates to unattractive. Unattractive translates to unwanted. Unwanted goes back to some core things I’ve got to work out.

“Nobody wants you, that’s all.”

I don’t know if I’m actually big. I don’t. I can’t trust my own eyes at this point. They say yes.

“You’re just really freaking ginormous, that’s all.”

I fight big with running. And drinking only water. And crunches. And undergarments that are too tight.

And I know, I know, I should not be fighting big. I should be fighting unwanted. I should be trying to do away with that part of me that says, “You’re not enough.”

Who died and allowed someone to step up and declare that skinny = pretty anyhow? And where can I find them, to give them a piece of my mind?

These days there is no confusion between health and skinny. I know exactly what I’m doing when I do it, or rather, when I don’t do it. And I think this might be a very big problem.

It is too early for these thoughts. Or maybe it’s too late, seeing as I haven’t slept at all. I can’t be sure. I should try to sleep. But I think I’m going to go brew a pot of coffee, and have myself a bagel and a good book.

Stay classy, blog readers.

#201

This is post #201 for me. Two hundred and one blogs since I first created this bad boy. That’s a lot, I think. It’s been 2 1/2 years since post #1. That’s in the ball park of 912 days. So I didn’t come close to posting everyday, which might be a good thing. Don’t wanna be too obsessive. It does, however, mean that I have posted every four days on average.

I had big plans for post #200, it seemed like a milestone, something to remember and mark. An anniversary of sorts. I do, for sure, have a relationship with WordPress and Sweet Intentions at this point. Blogging has soothed my writer self. Tricked it into thinking that someone will read this, and like it. And so I appreciate blogging on a level that others might not. Which is why I had big plans for post #200. But do you know what happened?

I blew it.

In a rush of emotions and in the midst of a panic attack I posted a private blog, hoping to calm myself down and gain some clarity. I neglected my plans for #200 for a really stupid reason.

Given, I could delete the private post. And then I could go back down to 199, and move forward with post #200. That sounds like cheating though. I’m not a cheater.

And this is me accepting the responsibility of screwing up my plans because of my panic attacks, because of a boy, because I don’t let myself heal properly.

I panicked, and everything was okay. There was nothing to worry about, at all, actually. Damn anxiety.

Any road, happy anniversary-of-sorts, WordPress. You rock.

Maybe I’ll catch #300 next time around. Until then, I proudly post this as #201.

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So Very Studious

In my head, I have been much more productive at studying for this history test than I actually have here in the real world.

In my head, I was ahead of the game. There was tons of time left, and I had been chipping pieces of studying away week by week, doing little bits of the study guide, and unassigned reading. I was feeling cool, calm and collected about this. I have envisioned a big 97 in red ink with a circle around it.

I’ve heard myself think “I’ve got this.” a million and two times.

The test is on Thursday. And being the practical studier that I am, I sat down in my new study nook to begin reviewing the vast amounts of information I have absorbed over the past few weeks.

Then reality swept in and knocked me off of my high horse when I cracked open my book and my notes. Turns out a lot of the time I spent studying, I didn’t actually study. And I only completed the first section of my study guide. That would be one out of four chapters that will be on the test.

Yeah, way to go, Caitlin. Guess I should get on that. Because, you know, it’s only my future at stake.

Lord, I am tired. And I am raw. Deliver me from assuming that Your mercy is gentle. Change my heart, Father. Help me to recognize the good in, not lessening my struggles, but expanding them. Deepen the pain until I can share it and myself openly, and my needs honestly. Sharpen my fears until I can identify them perfectly and release the power I let them have over my life. Continue to confuse me until I let go of my ridiculous expectations that keep me from seeing the small beauties in life. Lord, expose me in my embarrassment. Reveal my shame. Until I can laugh at my failures, laugh my way toward becoming whole.

Calm me, Father. Give me a peace in Your will and your plan, because I cannot fathom the greatness of it while I’m here, while I’m faced with struggles and worries. Let me rest in Your sovereignty. Remind me of who I am and my place. Help me remember that You are enough. You are always enough.

In Your precious and holy name, amen.

Indecisive Me

My dad had a job interview in person yesterday, and another with a different company over the phone today.

Job #1 is in Atlanta/Columbus/Huntsville. 3/.5/4 hours away. Job #2 is in Dallas. As in, Dallas, Texas. 12 hours away.

I really don’t know what that means for me. Or how long I’ll be here. If I’ll go with them, or if I’ll stay. Or maybe I’ll head off to Colorado like I’ve always wanted. But I suppose my dad has to get a job offer from one of them before I worry about things like that.

But I am worried.

My college friends that are about to graduate, even though not all of them know exactly what they want to do or where they want to go, they are doing well for themselves. And they are going places. And I see that, I look at them, and I see adults. I see life unfolding.

I don’t see that when I look at me and what I’m doing.

I see someone very lost in a sea of possibilities. Things that are possible, are not always things that happen.

Literally, every couple of days or so, I wake up and think to myself, “Why the heck am I not in cosmetology school?” You probably think cosmetology school is dumb, or that it’s for people who couldn’t do college. I don’t know, maybe I can’t do college. I haven’t decided yet. I can do cosmetology. I am good at that. I am passionate about that. I have faith in myself when it comes to hair and makeup, because I love making girls feel pretty. I get a kick out of it, I do. And that’s the difference between college and cosmetology school for me.

I don’t think I ever had faith in myself for college. I had hope, but not faith.

However, blinded by dollar signs and my own insecurities, I am enrolled in Southern Union State Community College, and not in cosmetology school.

Right now I’m majoring in English. I’ve decided against business because I would hate my life eternally if I did that. And as skeptical as I am about school and the real world and if I am capable of anything at all that’s not hair and makeup, if I majored in business, it would be that much worse. And I would probably hate my job. And quit. And never get married. And be poor. And a bum. But English, English garners some hope. There’s that word again, hope. Not faith. English, I love. Writing, I love. These I think I am good at. I hope I am good at.

But is there any kind of productive future for me in writing?

Self-conscious Caitlin says no.

Optimistic Caitlin says maybe, and that I should explore other venues.

So. Why. Am I. In college?

I am terrified by the idea that I am in college because society says I have to. Society says if I don’t, I’ll work at a burger joint. And never get married. But I’ll probably sleep around, and be a single mom. So there’s that. But. Society also says that the man brings home the bacon, and mom should stay at home. So say that I stick college out, and get married, and pop out a few babies. Then I decide, I’d rather not work while I have kids, stay at home mom it is. Did I just spend 20k+ a year at school to meet my husband? Does that sound sensible or wise at all? Even a little bit? No. It doesn’t.

It sounds like crap.

I have no problem with being a stay at home mom. I would love that. I really would. Every time I walk through the home goods section in target, the little homemaker inside of me claps her hands with joy, and wants to spend my entire savings account right there on coffee makers and hand towels and pots and pans.

So then, why am I in college?

I don’t know why I’m in college, I don’t. Some days it sounds like a great idea, and some days it sounds like suicide. But I’m gonna stick it out, because I don’t know what else to do. And if it’s an awful idea, it’s an awful idea. But I’m too afraid to make the change I want to.

So I will do college for now. Maybe I’ll decide that I can’t later, because I haven’t decided yet. My frontal lobe hasn’t connected yet, thus, I am not capable of making decisions. So for now I will press forward. It’s all I’ve got to go off of.

Just pray for me if you’ve got the time please.

 

Rainy Day Reminders :)

It is not uncommon that on these rainy days we’re having to question your driving. How fast should I go? Hazard lights? What exactly will make me hydroplane?

Dear friends, I’ve come up with a list of helpful reminders that will keep us all alert and safe in this precipitation. Because I care.

1. If you are curious about the proper speed you should be cruising at, it is quite obviously the speed of a turtle stampeding through peanut butter. You musn’t make haste in this weather, even though nothing really is going to happen, especially when I am driving behind you. Slow and steady wins the race.

2. You should develop a healthy fear of puddles, you could hydroplane if you drive through one! You should be scared enough of them that your fear of drivers in the other lanes no longer exists, so you can skirt around the puddles while blatantly ignoring me, directly to your left. Who really cares about head on collisions when you potentially could hydroplane for two seconds?

3. Hazard lights. They are a must. It’s noon and relatively light outside, but the other drivers may not see you in the shadow of the looming clouds!

4. It is crucial that you drive in the middle of your side of the street when there are four lanes to ensure you have plenty of room to control your vehicle should you hydroplane. *refer to number one, and remember to drive slowly while doing this, regardless of who is behind you. If they honk, remind yourself that not only are you looking out for your safety, but theirs as well by forcing them to go slow too. You may pat yourself on the back for this one, and call yourself a hero of this rainy day, you charitable person, you.

5. Turn signals are optional today, because all normal traffic laws go out the window when the roads are as treacherous and wet as they are in this almost-hurricane weather.

There you have it. Stay safe everyone!!

My “Get Out Of Jail Free Card”

I relish in the fact that I welcome change freely and openly.

Move to North Dakota tomorrow? Let’s go.

Cut off all my hair? Why not?

Donate my ENTIRE wardrobe and go shopping? Sure.

Paint my walls some bright obnoxious color? I think yes.

College? Bring it on.

Moving out? About time.

New job? Well yeah.

I’m very prideful about being fine with change.

You don’t want to color your hair? Live a little. Come on.

You’re afraid of moving? Inconceivable.

A bright color on your walls is not of the devil, and it will not frighten you daily.

You still want to live with mom and dad? I don’t understand.

I’ve come to find that I hide behind change, like others hide behind not changing. If I’m changing, people and myself are too focussed on the new to be scared of the old. If I have a new haircut, I’m not stressing about if I look pretty or not. The haircut is new! Look at it! Fresh! Oh my! Look at me! I got my hair cut! It’s dumb. I know it is. And in a very human way, I’d rather be saying that than what I say before I get it cut. Which is usually self-degrading and awful. But that’s Caitlin for ya.

I cling to change because it makes it all too easy to not focus on what’s broken. If I change it, I don’t have to fix it!

It’s my get out of jail free card.

(Not saying that my face is broken in relation to the haircut thing. But my self confidence is.)

Broken things scare me.

I have this weird thing, where if I spill something, I usually scream. It’s awful. But think about it, you can’t put the drink back in your cup after that. You have to get down and mop it up, usually sticky and messy and stinky. Unpleasant all around. Plus, stains make me crazy.

Unfortunately, I have yet to find a change that will help spilled drinks.

But I do use change to avoid broken things. Relationships, confidence, motivation, etc.

And if I dared a peek into my past, a glimpse of all the broken I’ve left unattended and shattered for a little bit of change, it would be overwhelming. Friendships that have died. Perfectly good haircuts have been hacked. Progress has been stunted. Projects have been left lingering in limbo. Dreams. I have dreams in purgatory.

Is the get out of jail free card worth it?

Does it solve anything?

Potentially Great

My drafts are full of half-attempted blog posts.

Usually started off with fantastic intentions, where I’m clacking away on these smooth black buttons faster than the words are forming in my head.

Closely followed by my digression.

Similarly followed by my frustration.

Sending me flying through the air in a whirlwind of transition words, trying to stick the landing back in the topic I started with.

Usually failing.

Sometimes working, but then I do that whole, “I can’t post this!” thing.

But they’re all there.

They don’t have titles, they haven’t been messed with since I first embarked on them.

Sometimes I think about deleting them, clearing the slate. Fresh, new, white, blank. I’m all about fresh starts and new beginnings and blank pages.

Sometimes I look at them and I see potential, and I have no time to do anything with them. I’ve got to be here at this time, do this by this time, take care of this before this happens, and so on and so forth.

Sometimes I look at them and am angry. Potential, is nothing. Nothing if I do nothing with it anyway. If I leave it there, it still sucks. If I leave it there, it will always be potentially great. But not great.

They have potential, but do I?

Do. I. Have. What. It. Takes.

I focus on this too often, with writing being the victim of my harsh words. I’m not a good enough writer. I have potential. I could be great, potentially. But am not great. Could be, but not yet. Maybe not ever.

That’s where I get stuck, right there. I tell myself that there’s an overwhelming percentage that says I won’t be.

So sometimes the drafts are comforting.

Unfinished, not quite done, not quite ready, not under scrutiny. The words are still mine. I haven’t released them. They haven’t failed  me yet. I haven’t failed me yet.

This is all very melodramatic for a blog.

The thing is, that this is about so much more than a blog and some drafts.

This is about me.

Wow, I’ve got issues.