Me, Myself, and I

It seems cliched to say that I'm my own worst enemy, but sometimes, I really think I am. I'm self-destructive. It's not really a shocker, or at least it shouldn't be...in my experience, most everyone works against themselves somehow. I have a friend who is a chronic relationship self-sabetour. Point is, I'm not special. I'm not unique in the fact that I have issues and that I sometimes f myself.

I suppose it seems odd that I would choose to be introspective using this medium, but it's easier for me to be honest in a blog then it is anywhere else. Why? I suppose because it doesn't inconvenience anyone. I didn't call them or sit them down or walk into their room while they were watching their favorite House episode. I didn't even e-mail them with some subject line that begged for their immediate attention. It's just me and my lappy. That's why I honestly doubt I'll tag people in this...I would have for anyone to feel obligated to read this...it's really more like a diary entry in that there's no real audience. It's just putting it out there...and like a diary, it remains private...unless someone's snooping around in your stuff or unless someone is concerned about you and is wondering what's up.

I was thinking about self-destruction tonight...as I sat around making bad decisions. It's kind of neat because it's me making a conscious decision to make the worst choice available. The nice part is I have no one to blame but myself, which is usually what I'm looking for in such situations...keeping it to myself. Like I know that there are other options, but they usually involve other people...and I don't want to bother them with my crappy attitude and negativity. It's not their problem...it's mine. So, I try to deal with it on my own, and when it turns out that I made a bad decision (even though I kind of already knew it would be), I have no one to blame but myself. I can't say that I got smashed cause everyone else was doing it or because so and so suggested it or even because someone bought the booze and it was there...Nope, it's all me. I choose it, I facilitate it, I follow through. It's no one's fault but my own. It keeps me from using other people as excuses, but it is a little surreal to know that you're the villian in your own story. I mean, no one can save you because you're not really the victim...because your carrying out your own destruction...you're both the victim and villian...and even as the victim, you let it happen so you're like...an accomplice? Whatever, point is it's a bit weird to know that you're punishing yourself, blaming yourself, and hurting yourself, and then wishing it all would end...I mean, it seems so simple, if the punishment gets to much, stop it. I mean, I am in control...so, why don't I stop?

I suppose it's at least partially because it's what I believe I deserve. I am merciless when it comes to judging and punishing myself. It reminds me on a less grand scale of band lessons. My instructor never really yelled at me. He knew I'd beat myself up over a mistake more than he ever could. So, he did his best not to fuel it. He worked against me and advocated for me...against myself...if that makes sense. He actually told me that one day. I was beating myself up over how poorly I'd just played and angry at myself for having screwed it up. He said flat out that he figured he couldn't lecture me more than I was already lecturing myself and so it wouldn't really be worth it, but that I should know that he knows I could do better and that I would do better and that I already was doing better. Okay, so that wasn't a direct quote, but you get the idea. Point is, I am crazy harsh on myself. I don't really know why. My pastor pointed out once that maybe part of the reason I notoriously keep it to myself is because I was raised in such a way that gave me the impression there wasn't time for my problems; that I had to deal with them as much as my own as possible because my parents were needed elsewhere...my sisters needed them more. Thus, if I was good, my parents wouldn't have to fuss with me and they'd have more time for my sisters and everyone was happier. I don't know how true that is...'cause who can really say, but I think there might be some truth there. I mean, I remember making my own rules for myself at an early age...rules that would make it so everyone else would be happier.

What sucks is I also remember learning early on that I'd never be good enough. Like I wanted to be a good girl. I wanted to be loved. I wanted to be special and appreciated. To steal from Captivating (which I'm reading for the 3rd time now), I wanted to be seen and known. I never really felt like I was. I mean, if I got good grades or an honor or whatever, it was no big deal...it was expected of me to do those things. We celebrated my sister's A's, but when I asked Dad about mine, he told me that we didn't celebrate mine because that's what he expected me to get. My sister had to work harder for hers, so they were a cause for celebration. I remember being extremely hurt and extremely pissed. I suppose I still am. I mean, it was so frustrating to know that since there wasn't anything higher than an A, we'd never celebrate the fact that I was smart and that I worked hard. I could never work hard enough or be smart enough for it to be recognized by my parents. It's just how I was...er...am? I don't know. My parents also told me that they didn't want to talk too much about my grades because it might make my sisters feel bad. I remember getting so frustrated because we couldn't discuss what I was good at because they weren't...but if they almost met the benchmark I was at, we made a big to-do...and at the same time, we'd celebrate their achievements in sports and what not, even though I was only so-so at that. I felt like I couldn't win. I couldn't get my parents to notice me or be proud of me for the things that I was just naturally good at -- the things that I was/am -- but I couldn't get them to notice or be proud of the things I worked my ass off at either. That all just left me wondering: what am I good for? If no one cares about the things that I am and no one cares about thet things that I do...why would anyone care?

I think maybe that's why I've always been able to understand God the Father...I've always been able to understand the God of Abraham...I've always been kicking it Old Testament. That's why I had such a huge problem with Christ in High School, and why I struggle today. I totally understand that I can never be good enough. I totally get that I suck. However, I often forget that the story moves on. I forget that there's something that comes after the part where I suck and screw everything up and deserve to be punished.

That's where I really start to struggle. The thought of someone truly loving me or genuinely caring about me freaks me out because I don't believe it. I can't believe it. I have the hardest time believing Jesus could. So, believing anyone else could is like completely beyond me. I am an amazing hypocrite and amazingly dumb? blind? I don't know. I mean, I know the love of Christ and I am more than happy to share that. I mean, oh my gosh, I love my nursing home residents, but let me tell you, most of the love I show them is God, not me. Because if it were up to me, I'd be cranky and sick of being underappreciated and underpaid and overworked...I couldn't patiently and passionately love them if it weren't actually Jesus loving them. And I tell people all the time that Jesus passionately loves them and has a place for them, that He doesn't care what you've done or where you've been...that He loves you always...I'm often amazed and humbled when I realize tat I have a tendency to read God's promises with a little tag on the end, like you do for a fortune cookie ("You will have great success" -- "in bed"). I read, "I will never leave you or forsake you...except for Takara." It's like I hear, "Jesus loves everyone...except for Takara."

It's a bit weird for me right now. All week, I've been contemplating healing...seeking it, asking for it, what that would mean...I've been close to actually saying that that's what I want and that that's what I need...a lot of times, I feel like it's what I'm being called to, though I seem to want to ignore it. I mean, I hear God in different ways...through the things other people say, through what I read, through music I hear, ideas or phrases that pop into my head, occassionally, even an image...and a lot of those things...keep bringing me back to this thought that I need Jesus to heal me...to grant me wholeness...to fill me up with Him. I feel ike the dad in Luke who asks Jesus to heal his son "if He can". Jesus was all, "If I can?" To which the dad said, "Lord, I believe. Help me with my unbelief." That's been my little prayer of the week. "Lord, I believe. Help me with my unbelief."

Well, with that, I guess I'm off...to bed. I don't know if I'll sleep, but at least it'll be a change of scenery -- staring at the ceiling instead of a computer screen. Hopefully, God and I can have a nice chat about some more of this, as I drift off to sleep.