A New Year

It’s December 31, only a few hours away from the start of a new year. In some place, 2010 has already started. In others, it will be many more hours. I sit here reflecting back on the past year and everything that has been a part of it – both the good and the bad. Where was I a year ago tonight? What was I doing? Ten years ago? Five years ago? What was it for? What did my life stand for?

The questions are hurled at me by my mind and I struggle to keep track of them all.

Ten years ago (I might be off by a year) I was finishing my first semester at the University of Iowa. I had just left the psych ward and was still mentally pretty unstable, but determined just the same. I was rooming with a wonderful girl. We had a black hole in our room where things went into and were never seen again. We had an espresso machine, and I lived on Napster downloading loads of free music onto my desktop computer. I bought myself a 40GB hard drive just to store it all, and then it got the Love Letter Virus and everything was gone. I had no cell phone. I had no car at school. I was just starting to get into the partying scene and starting to drink, pierce things, dye my hair dark, wear dark clothes, etc.

Five years ago? I was finishing a semester in Des Moines, living alone, driving to Ames all the time to go to CCF. I was deep into my eating disorder, without telling anyone about it until around now. I was proud of how well I could NOT eat. It was an accomplishment to me, when I couldn’t accomplish anything else. I drove a school bus. I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life. I was lost, basically. I fell in love with reading again, and hacked my apartment complex’s internet so I didn’t have to pay for it. I slept on an air mattress in the floor of my walk-in closet of my efficiency apartment.

And finally, a year ago? I was lying in my bed at Mary Greeley, wondering what was going to happen to me. Was I going to die? What would they do to me in Iowa City? Where was God in all of this? Did my friends hate me? Would they stop loving me? And all my questions were answered. Not immediately, of course, because nothing works that way. I was preparing, unknowingly, to spend three months regaining my health, and to spend a lifetime maintaining it.

My friends never left. I gained more.

I didn’t die. In fact, I’m thriving.

God was close to me, the whole time. If only I’d let Him be near.

And now, here I am on the eve of a brand new year. I’m leaving 2009 behind. I’m not leaving my life behind, because there are parts of it I still need. I don’t need the eating disorder, but I need the determination that it made me have. I don’t need the loneliness, but I need the daringness it made me take to overcome it. I don’t need the powerlessness, but I need the strength it took for me to overcome it.

So I’ll leave 2009 wiser. Stronger. Prepared. And I won’t let this year take any hints from last year. This will be different. This year will be better. Not because I made a hundred resolutions, but because I make one:

Stay close to God.

The Reality of Christmas

In between the craziness that is this holiday season, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking. Or reflecting. Whatever you’d like to call it. And I’ve decided to put my thoughts on here. After all, this is my blog, right? Anyone who wanted to judge me would have done so already, so I’ll put this out there in the hope that it might mean something to someone. God will help the right person find it.

We put on a Christmas program at my church today. It wasn’t your typical “shepherds and wisemen and screaming angels and Mary and Joseph” program. Well, part of it was. And it was wonderful. But the kids spent a few minutes walking across the stage holding up “cardboard testimonies” of the things Jesus did while He was on earth, and the youth group students wrote the “real” cardboard testimonies of what Jesus had donw for them. It was powerful, to say the least, even to me, who’s seen the YouTube video of them. I’ve been thinking a lot this Christmas about why we celebrate. The cliched “It’s the day Jesus was born” just isn’t doing it for me anymore. Yes, we all know that, and we gloss over it while on the way to the shopping mall to sit on Santa’s lap. All the while, all we need to do is say Jesus’ name, and we’re closer to Him than we ever would be to Santa.

Jesus.

Came.

To.

Earth.

What does that mean to you? Does it mean anything at all? There’s a song on the radio that talks about Jesus, the King of Kings, coming to earth.

***

Fragile finger sent to heal us

Tender brow prepared for thorn

Tiny heart whose blood will save us

Unto us is born

Unto us is born

So wrap our injured flesh around you

Breathe our air and walk our sod

Rob our sin and make us holy

Perfect Son of God

Perfect Son of God

***

“Tiny heart whose blood will save us.” I can’t describe what that means, really. It’s just hitting me this Christmas like none other before. The whole season is, really. And I’m not talking about the fact that Jesus was born to save us. I’m talking the deep, intense “Jesus is GOD who came to earth as an innocent baby so we wouldn’t be afraid of Him.” I’m talking about the fact that the very GOD of the UNIVERSE stepped off His throne and became one of us. He breathed the air we breathed. He cried when he was hungry. He grew up, first a toddler running around and getting into things He shouldn’t, then as a young adult. And He did this ALL so He could walk where we walk. So that He would know what it is like to be human. He didn’t have to come as a baby in order to forgive our sins. That’s why He did come, right? He could have chosen a lot of other ways. Bolts of lightening, clouds, storms, earthquakes.

But no. He came as a helpless baby to an unwed teenage mother.

He came as a baby because no one’s afraid of a baby. He didn’t want anyone to be afraid of him. He wanted us to feel safe. Secure. Because that’s just who God is.

And then, he grew up and did what He came to do. Forgive us. But there was only one way to do that, and it was through His own blood. He could have decided not to. I mean, he WAS God. He could have said “forget it. I’m not dying. Let the people just die and not be forgiven.” But He chose…CHOSE…to die. To have US, the very people He came to die FOR – rip Him apart. Crucify Him. Nail his hands and feet to a cross. Those perfect hands that used to be tiny.  Push a crown of thorns into His head. that forehead that used to be soft. And then He died. And in dying, and raising from the dead, He gave us the chance to sit by Him in heaven forever.

Christmas? Maybe you just thought of it as the little baby Jesus doll in a manger surrounded by little kids in a Christmas play. Maybe you hadn’t thought much about it at all. Neither had I, really, until this year. But like I said, somehow it’s so much clearer to me this year. So much more meaningful. So much more… hopeful.

Memories

It occurred to me that as a writer, I should probably be doing more writing than I am. I think part of that comes from my sudden confusion as to what I write. Am I a novelist? Should I write short stories? Or am I a poet? That was what it started off as. For the most part, at least. Loads and loads of poetry filling blank journal after blank journal. Each decorated differently, and each having the final number of poems contained in each book at the front. I think from my high school years they total over 400. I remember sitting in the cafeteria during gym class, grateful to my doctor for excusing me for pretty much the whole of the semester. I would sit at a table by myself, penning poem after poem of being trapped in a cave, or of bridges and water and dark, lonely nights. I was emo before the term “emo” was ever coined.

I wrote my first poem when I was seven or eight. On little scraps of paper that I was so proud of because they rhymed. When I was ten, I took to typing a story on my family’s bulky Mac LCII. I don’t remember much of the story – only that it was about a girl my age who ended up in a hospital or something. And that it was about 50 typed pages long. This was very important to remember. I’m pretty sure it wasn’t 50 pages. Maybe 20. And I wish more than anything that I could find that story now. I’m hoping to go through things at my parents’ house sometime to try and find some of my old writing. I think it would be interesting to read.

But now, I think I’ve reached an impass. But I shouldn’t have, really. I should just be doing what I love to do, right? Whether it ends up being expressed in a poem or a book or a memoir. I feel like real writers have a genre. Something they stick to. But I tend to vacillate around and around, putting words on a page and hoping that they are significant in some way.

Tonight, I’m just writing. When I finish this blog entry, I think a poem is starting to form in the back of my mind. I can’t explain how, but it’s just there. Waiting. It’s kind of like myself, in a way. Waiting patiently to burst through and become something.

Because, after all, if I have the stuff in me to make a chrysalis with, then I must have the stuff in me to make a butterfly, too.

Still Here

Yes, I know. It’s been almost a month. I’ve been busy lazy when it comes to blogging, mostly because I’m not entirely sure what to say on here. Right now I should be going to bed, since I have a 12+ hour work day tomorrow. I work at the pharmacy from 8-4, and then at Seven Oaks from 3:30-9. Yes, they do overlap. I am aware. It will work, though. I am SUPER EXCITED for snowboarding this season! I’m excited that I’ll get more than THREE DAYS in like I did last year. That was kinda pathetic, really. But this year will be better.

My Christmas tree is up, my tinsel is hanging from the “wall” over the “bar” from my kitchen into my living room. Wow. Did that make sense at all? Just imagine cool red and silver tinsel hanging most beautifully. And I decorated stockings tonight. One for Otis, one for Alita, and one for me. They are quite lovely, if I do say so myself.

November ended, and my novel ended. I’ve started another short story. I shouldn’t say “another” being that it’s actually the first short story I’ve ever written. Maybe I’ll post parts of it on here if you’d like. I’m not going to be limiting myself to writing in November. I mean, I write other times, too, but now I think I’m actually going to buckle down and get on it. Writing Critiquing. Editing. All of that fun stuff.

And I suppose I should mention the small snow flurries we had in the last couple of days. Also known as the #IowaDeathStorm09 on Twitter. It was quite the fun storm! I was mostly at home for all of it, since I didn’t work Wednesday or today. Wednesday I didn’t leave my apartment. Today I left only to dig out my car (that took a while) and practice at church. Then I made a quick run to WalMart and Hy-Vee. I was craving sparkling apple juice. I usually reward myself with that on December 1 after NaNoWriMo is over, but I didn’t get around to it on the 1st. So today worked.

I saw my doctor on Tuesday morning. He increased one of my drugs and put me on yet another one. This one is apparently supposed to help regulate how much I sleep or something, sinceI told him I’m sleeping too much and he gave this to me. But I think it’s having the opposite effect. Since I woke up at 10 something today, took a two hour nap from 5-7 tonight, and am now going to bed at 11. Hmm.

I ate entirely too much junk food today, too. Christmas treats are too tempting. I should probably do a little better with that before Cathy comes pounding on my door with her Monkey study story or SS story. Sorry. Obscure reference that probably three people will understand, if they even read this blog!

I’m going to head to sleep now. Cuddling up under my four blankets sounds quite lovely to me right now. See ya later!

Not Me

 

I definitely did not forget to do my laundry this week. There’s also no way I left it sitting on my bedroom floor, piling up, without even bothering to put it in the basket. No way. Not me.

There’s also no way I left my clean dishes in the dishwasher for FOUR days, taking out what I needed and leaving the rest in there. And then, when I did empty it, there’s no way I immediately filled it back up with the piles of dishes in my sink. Not me.

I did NOT eat potato chips and dip for dinner. I did NOT wash them down with orange juice. there’s no way I would be that unhealthy, especially when I have frozen leftovers in my freezer that would take 3 minutes to heat up. I would never be that lazy.

And I also did not silently rejoice when I had this Monday off of work, because I wanted to spend the whole day writing my novel. I need the hours at work, so there’s no WAY I would EVER be happy about NOT working for a day. No way. Not me. Not ever.

I should be sleeping. No, really. I should be. I have to wake up early tomorrow to head down to Des Moines, but I wanted to write a little first. Plus I slept a solid 11 hours last night for some reason, so I shouldn’t be tired anyway. I’m not really sure what I should write about in this post. I could write about my beautiful peach rose. It’s sitting on my desk right now, just like every Monday when a fresh one sits there. Except for the week I couldn’t afford one at all so I used a stick instead.

 

Yes, I did say a stick.

 

It’s blooming beautifully and it smells so good. So like spring. Even though outside it smells like it’s about to snow. It’s that smell just after the leaves fall from the trees, but just before the first snowfall, when you feel like you should be smelling logs burning in fireplaces and a cool breeze. I have this thing with smells. You know “synesthesia”? I’m pretty sure I have some form of it in the smelling category. Nasal category? Nah, that sounds gross. Rhino-something. But then I sound like I have three tusks coming out of my face. I give. What’s it called?

 

NaNo is almost here. I’m excited and terrified at the same time. Last year, I knew what I was going to be writing about. I knew it was going to be the sequel from the previous year’s. This year though? No clue. Well, a slight clue. But no plot yet. No anything, really, yet. Just the time in which it takes place, the city it takes place in (which, by the way, I’d like to move to!) and the character is is based around. Nothing else. But hey, I’ve got 5 days, right? Plenty of time! I’m also terrified because I don’t want it to be like last year. Well, I want my word count to be high and I want to have a blast doing it. But I don’t want to become the zombie-like, glassy-eyed terror that I was last year. That was not. cool.

 

So hit me if you notice me sinking into oblivion. It’s going to be a month of writing, and yes, I may miss some things and overlook some things so I can write, but that’s part of what this month is about to me, too. Giving up things that I usually do in order to partake in something with weird people just like me! I mean, when else do I get to hang out with crazy writing folk that find it amusing to shred their fingers in a month long quest to write a novel?

 

That’s all I’ve got. I want to sleep now. But not for 11 hours.

 

On birds and God

It’s 11pm tonight and of course my mind is going a thousand and one places right now. I’ll try to make some coherent sense of this mass of brain activity. (As opposed to the usual lack of brain activity!)

First. Smarties are delicious. Like, way delicious. As in, I’m pretty sure I could survive on them alone, except a lot of people might have an issue with that right now. Like my doctors. And some friends. So I’ll supplement with regular food while secretly wishing I had a pocket-full of Smarties. Watch out, though. I just might have a pocket full of them.

Second. Owls rule. Yeah, the adorable shadow, sketched owls that are everywhere lately. But real owls, too. And falcons. And eagles. But I’ve always like eagles. Did you know the grey owl’s ears aren’t even? Nope. One is higher on his head and one is slightly lower. That’s because if they were level, he wouldn’t be able to hear his prey as well, and the grey owl relies mainly on its hearing to track its prey. Pretty cool! And certain falcons can see the ultra violet spectrum, beyond what humans can see, and that helps them find their prey, because – get this – a vole’s urine emits ultra violet somethings. So the falcon knows where it is! And an owl’s vision, or a hawk’s vision, can be up to 20/70 or better because they don’t have blood vessels getting in the way of the visual lights coming through their eyes!

I love this stuff.

Third. Did you realize that God created the grey owl just perfectly? God put his ears in just the right place so that hunting would be a breeze. Did you realize that he gave the falcon well beyond perfect vision? Or that he created the golden falcon to fly using dynamic flight? Or other birds to fly using thermal flight? Each one was made absolutely perfectly for what it needed to do. That just amazes me. I see things like that and can’t help but wonder how people can still not think there’s a God. Or if they DO say there’s a God, why they still refuse to trust Him with their lives. If God can make a falcon see prey from a mile away, don’t you think He can probably help you out, too? I mean, He DOES say that he cares way more about us than about the birds, and to me, it sounds like he cares about the birds quite a bit!

It’s the same way with a sunset. Or a storm. Or a cave. Or skydiving. I am constantly amazed at the ways God shows His love for us, and the ways He allows us to see those ways. I want to feel God in every element. I want to hear His whisper in the wind. I want to see His power in the raging storm. I want to touch His creativity in a cave. I want to totally surrender to Him, falling from the sky through totally untouched, unaltered air. God’s power and creativity, untouched by us, is what amazes me the most. That’s why I do the things I do. The skydiving, snowboarding, cave exploring, storm chasing. It’s not for the danger or thrill. It’s because I feel so close to God in those moments. Those moments when I am experiencing earth as EARTH, and not as what man has created ON the earth.

Fourth. I cleaned my bathroom.

Fifth. I am tired.

Oooh, back to updating!

What, you mean I’m actually supposed to UPDATE this blog? Ok, ok, ok. I succumb. It’s been a few months, I know. But there hasn’t been TOO much of interest going on lately that I’ve really wanted to blog about. I guess maybe that’s a good thing.

July was good. July was amazing. July was the last time I had a migraine. July was the month when God kicked me in the butt and I finally started really listening to Him. July was the month I became free.

August. I turned 28. Woohoo, right? I don’t think I did much in August other than work some, sleep, and generally stayed boring.

September? Oh wait, that’s now. It’s been fun. I went caving with a friend a week ago. That was pretty awesome. I think I’d like to go again, but at a different caving site – you know, one where I can crawl deeper and lower into the caves and NOT still be able to see the light of day from where I stop. Right now, there’s barely any of September left. The leaves are changing already, it’s getting cooler. Much cooler. Fall is early this year, and I’m hoping maybe that means winter is here early too? Then I can snowboard longer if Seven Oaks opens a little earlier. I need to make up for the lost time of last year! On last year. It’s hard to believe it’s been almost a year. There’s a quip on the radio station I listen to about that. I love when it comes on because it’s so true. It’s been almost a year since my world fell apart, but I’m still here. In one piece. The world is still turning. I am living. Not just surviving anymore, but really, honestly, living. And I have hope. I love it. anyways.

That was enough to get me back into blogging. Maybe I’ll update a little more frequently now. Haha.

Peace out yo!

The Clouds and the Sunset

There is a beautiful sunset outside right now. Gorgeous pinks and purples shimmering around and through the clouds. Did you ever notice that the most beautiful sunsets appear when there are clouds in the sky? In fact, the more clouds, the more opportunity for the sun rays to shine through the moisture of the clouds and create such beautiful colors.

I promise I’m not going all scientific on you right now. It’s just an amazing analogy of life. Of my life. The more difficult things become, the easier it is for God’s light and love to shine through it and make everything around me beautiful. I’m find that out through experience right now. Really, things haven’t been all peaches and cream since I got back from Iowa City. Am I doing well? I think I’m doing pretty well. I’m “stable” at least. But are things still hard? Definitely. Do I still screw up? For sure. But I need to keep on going. I refuse to let this eating disorder take any more of my life than it already has. I refuse to give up. I refuse to let go of hope. I KNOW it’s there. It’s shining through, but sometimes all I can see are the storm clouds around me. But I’m learning. I think. Sometimes I wish I learned things a little faster. Like how to plan when and what I’m going to eat. It’s frustrating for me sometimes, because I need to put so much energy into planning meal times and what I’m going to eat, but at the same time I’m trying to step OUT of the eating disorder and not let it control my life. It’s a never-ending paradox with which I am going to have to find a way to live.

It’s a ridiculous life. But it’s my life. And I need to just accept it for what it is and go with it. Maybe someday things will be different. Maybe not. But I don’t need to waste my today thinking about tomorrow and what could be.

Unashamed

My name is Kate.

And I should be dead.

I don’t know another way to explain it to you other than straightforward. And I’ve been anything but that the last few months. The last eleven years. I’ve lied and lied, and covered up things until I was blue in the face, and it got me as far as Mary Greeley Medical Center and University of Iowa Hospitals. Yeah. Not very far.

I’m anorexic.

Rather, I’m a recovering anorexic. And I’ve been terrified to tell anyone other than my closest friends because I’m afraid of being rejected. I’m afraid that people will look at me differently or whisper behind my back about “that girl who doesn’t eat”. But you know what? I’m done with that. I’m done caring what other people think. Because, like Courtney says (and a few others) my real friends aren’t going anywhere. And the people who do mind were never really my friends to begin with. So I don’t care what you think. I don’t care if you whisper about me. I don’t care if you all stop talking when I walk into a room. I don’t mind if you ask me questions or talk about it, because I’m recovering. I’m getting better. I need to talk about it. I need to be honest. Covering up things and lying was part of what landed me locked up for 3 months. I’d rather not repeat that. I have a life to live.

I know what God thinks of me. I know what my friends think of me. And I’m even learning what I think of myself.

I am beautiful.

I am loved.

I am a child of God.

And what matters more than that?