Did you think this would all be much easier than it's turned out to be?

So here I am.
just like always. 
Wondering, like always, when it will be my turn.

Dear love of my life, 
Hurry. I want to love you.
I want you to know how much I already do.
please.
Love,
Maren.

left over words

And what if I ran out of words years ago but I keep pulling from my piles and piles of already used thank you's and I'm sorry's and hello's and nice to meet you's and I love you's and goodbye's?
What if you're only getting hand-me-downs out of every word I speak, nothing original, nothing meant for you, nothing fitting just right?
What if I hand you a "hello" with a hole in the side, only big enough for a finger to fit in but that you're still able to see right through?
What if the "you look good today" doesn't fit in the shoulders, almost there but you just need to grow, gain a pound or two to fit in it like he used to?
What if the "I'm alright" looks like everyone in the town has thrown it on the ground and stomped on it before returning it to me, moments before giving it to you?
And what if I ran out of any original words and thoughts and emotions to give you? What if I'm using the left overs, the stuff no one wanted, the stuff they gave back?
Would you take it anyway?
What if it's all I have, and I want to give it only to you?
Can you wear a torn and sewn back together "I love you"?

And what if I'm still here?

What if, when it all comes down to it, I'm still standing in the same place as I was 3 years ago?
While everyone else walks on, passing glances, momentary visits, hurrying off to where they need to be, and I'm still here.
Because I'm too scared to go anywhere else.

but what if once upon a time I felt like this was where I was supposed to be and how do I go against that so close to the end when I have no desire to be anywhere else?
what if I'm just freaking out because I feel like you're looking at me as the girl who never moved.? 
maybe I am just the girl who never moved.

How to be broken Revision (AKA How to be happy)

So here I sit. Completely... happy. 

You know, I knew it would be alright. I knew it would be the most trying thing thrown at me thus far in my life, and I knew I would get through it. I could feel it in every fiber of my being while I prayed. I guess, I just had this undying hope that it would happen sooner, faster. And that hope consumed me.

So here I am to write it out. And the "how to" format seems to have escaped me for two years now as I look at the keyboard. How could I talk about the lessons I learned as if it were simple enough to write a guide to? I couldn't, and can't still, explain any of it accurately enough. I don't even know how to describe it. Where would I start? Would I begin with explaining what it's like to think the Lord has abandoned you completely? Or do I begin by first explaining the answers I received much later? Or maybe I could just start explaining the way it feels to sit in a car and pray and pray and wonder when the answers are going to come or the love is going to be felt or the trial is going to be over. See what I mean? I have no idea where to start.

I've cried harder than I've ever thought possible. I've hurt more than I thought I would.
And I wouldn't take any of it back.

Now, don't get me wrong. Yes, I probably hated it at the time. That's usually how it goes. Although, I don't anymore. Not like I used to. But I understand now how it worked for my life. How it aided the overall plan. But there's something about the way it felt that nothing else had ever felt like before. Like part of me was missing. I thought maybe it was my left leg. Then realized that no, maybe just the left lung. That's what was making it hard to breathe. But in reality, it was my testimony that was missing. My faith in His plan. 

I did learn something from it then. That I'm my own person and I should rely on myself and no one else. That life moves on. That the Lord knows what He's doing. That faith is all it takes sometimes. That time passes even when you don't move. That life is lived better outside of my bed.

I didn't feel like I was learning anything except for that I would never be good enough. But I've reached that level of goodness that I want in my life. Not perfect, no. But a level I'm content with now and a level that is a good enough foundation.

So yeah. I moved on. But I didn't want to. I wanted to miss everything. I want to feel it. I wanted my life to stand still.
But that was my time to be sad. So heartbreakingly sad. (My computer still thinks heartbreakingly isn't a word. I'm still fairly sure it is.) But I was on the mend without even knowing. Life moves on.

And for now, I'm gonna go crawl in bed and dream of days that are waiting on my horizon. And when I wake up, I promise to appreciate every moment that I breathe a thousand times more than I did today. But if I forget my promise... I'll repeat this process again tomorrow night. Maybe one day I'll remember that I am loved.
And I am happy. 

 

Understanding the way someone else's heart breaks.

I want to talk about everything.
Sometimes, I want to sit down with someone and tell them my life story. Tell them everything, just to make them understand.
The nice thing about friends is that they already know most of it. So when something happens now, they should understand.
The terrible thing about friends is that they don't really know. It's not enough.
When a heart is broken... it's very individualized.
No one situation is exactly the same as another. If my heart has been broken, it's not the same as yours.
So when people try to hand out advice, it's easy to turn your head, roll your eyes, and nod. Because it's almost like you could talk all day, explaining every single detail about how you feel and what led up to that and how you think you're going to feel tomorrow and all the little details but no one is going to understand.
No one.
They'll nod and they'll cry with you and they will say "When I went through something similar..." and then try to give you advice. But that advice isn't going to work for you. Not always.
Almost two years ago I sat right here in this exact place with this exact light on with this exact computer under my fingertips and I typed out my heart break. And almost every day for a few months after that I sat right here and wrote.
I wrote to make people understand.
But not just any people.
I wanted my friends to understand in a way that I couldn't express through talking. I wanted them to read it and just get it and know what to say and how to say it and how to fix me.
And I wanted there to be someone like me in the world. I wanted someone to google something and run in to my blog and spend all night reading it and then message me and say "I'm going through the same exact thing." Then we could talk for hours and everything would feel okay because I wouldn't be alone.

"You know how in Once Upon a Time they take out people's hearts and crush them?"

Yes. Yes I do.
And I imagine I know what it feels like. All the little stages. The moment right before when everything is fine. The moment when you're facing the terrible situation and know what's going to happen. The moment the hand is in your chest and is about to rip your heart out. The moment it's out, beating at someone else's mercy. And the moment they squeeze it, just enough to have you on your knees.

Here's the thing.
No one understands. Not like you want them to or need them to.
No one does and no one will.
But here's what you have to understand: Everyone knows.
A heartbreak is still a heartbreak. The stages are the same.
Whether your heart is broken because the world is evil or because you may lose a sick loved one or you're dealing with a death or because you lost the only love you want. It is the same at the core.
And people pull through it.

Two years ago I explained it by saying that I felt as though I had lost a lung. You know, you can live with one lung. But it's uncomfortable, not easy. And it takes a while to get used to. It takes a while to figure out how to get enough air, how to live with one lung when you used to have two. How to get enough oxygen to your brain. How to function normally.
I don't feel like that anymore. But I did for a long time. I felt as if I couldn't walk as fast as I was once able. I couldn't dream far enough. I couldn't live deep enough. All I could focus on was breathing with my one lung.
And it was okay.

I don't know who exactly is reading this. I get a weird variety of people on this blog.
But I need you to know, whoever you are, that you are going to be okay.
I need you to know that breathing is hard at first. Living is hard at first. And that's okay. Focus on that, learn how to simply breathe again. And then maybe next, focus on walking faster. And then after you have both of those down, focus on running again.
A heartbreak is a heartbreak.
Don't expect too much of yourself.
Don't expect to understand it.
Just focus on breathing.

11 days post-NaNoWriMo. AKA I can finally write again so here you go.

Hello again!
I took a break from my blog for a while, which isn't nearly as uncommon and as I would like lately.
But this break was big.
Because this break wasn't caused by my being lazy and not wanting to write. This break was caused by me being so busy with writing (and still not wanting to write...) !!!
This break was not really a break at all. It was an abandon everything you know in life and work harder and write more than ever month.
Yes. That's right.
I wrote a book. 
Starting November 1st, midnight, and ending November 28th, around ten ish at night. I wrote a book.
I'm not lying. I wrote 50,000 words in 28 days. Seriously.
Okay, so you probably don't doubt me. All of the "I'm not lying"s and "seriously"s are mostly for me. I still feel quite a bit in awe over the whole thing.
"Did I do that? What? I wrote a book? haha noooo."
But really. It was.... It was a lot of things.
1. It was exhausting.
2. It hurt my social lie more than I would like.
3. It killed my normal sleep pattern.
4. It made me not watch Doctor Who as often.
5. It made me stop reading. Period.
6. It made me cry.
7. It made me think I'm the worst writer in the world.
8. It made me think I'm the best writer in the world.
9. It filled me with some weird evangelical zeal.
10. It made me go insane.
and.... Yeah. That's a pretty good list. Covers just about all of my weird feelings for the month of November.
It had plot wholes bigger than earth itself, characters with zero personality, random deaths simply because I hated everything, and typos as if I were writing as a 6th grader. Actually, that's a really good description. If someone tried to read it now, they would think it was a really bad 6th grader fanfiction of something.
This is actually the first thing I have written for myself, not for school, since then. Which is kinda a long time.
It was the most exhausting, draining thing I've ever done. I still get nervous and my heart speeds up uncomfortably when I think about it.
But at the same time...
I finished.
I really did it.
And that is enough to make me happy.
“There is nothing to writing. All you do is sit down at a typewriter and bleed.”

—	Ernest Hemingway

this is beautiful.

And although I may be more unsure about everything right now,
I still feel more confident about the way my life is being handled than I have been in a very long time.
And this...
This is beautiful.
(Even if I'm depressed.)