Let the weak be strong, let the right be wrong. Throw the stone away, let the guilty pay, it’s independence day

The teacher wonders, but she does not ask
It’s hard to see the pain behind the mask
Bearing the burden of a secret storm,
Sometimes she wishes she was never born

I suppose two things come to mind on October 31st for the average person. The first is, obviously, Halloween.

The second, primary in Christian especially Lutheran, circles, is Reformation Day.

Before Halloween candy, before Martin Luther being all “TAKE THAT CATHOLICISM!”, another day comes to mind. Independence Day. Now, before you think I’ve lost my marbles, I know it’s not 4 July yet. There won’t be any fireworks tonight, although there will be in my heart. And there won’t be cookouts and baseball, because I really don’t care much for either.

Seven years. I moved out seven years ago. And while it was undeniably the best decision I ever met, it was undoubtedly the most painful. No 18 year old should have to make the decisions I made that day, and no 18 year old should have to live through that.

I was, after all, only 18 years old. And I turned my father into the police. I had people I thought I trusted turn against me. It’s so hard to believe it’s been seven years since all that happened. But there are still nights I miss my Daddy.

Yes, he’s a colossal class A asshat. But we’d watch movies together, or sometimes I could convince him to hook up the SNES or my Genesis and we’d play video games. We’d play “Name That Tune” to the Oldies Radio Station, and I’d kick his ass in Bible Trivia. He’d take me to see the movies. I can’t really name that many good qualities about him and he is, at his core, a drunken pedophile, but dammit, he’s my father. I miss him. I miss what I lost, I miss what I never had, I miss what I never will have. I guess that’s normal and I guess it’s the way it should be. But at the same time… I still deeply grieve.

But I’ve changed so many in seven years, and I will change in so many more. Next Halloween, I’ll be wearing a costume for the first time (and it’ll be awesome). The next year, I’ll continue to heal and grow and change. And who knows? Maybe one October, it’ll just pass as fleeting memories.
Like my father’s come to pass, seven years has gone so fast.

Me at eighteen. Yup. Really, not much has changed.

And with a broken wing, she still sings
She keeps an eye on the skies
With a broken wing, she carries her dreams
Man, you ought to see her fly

hello darkness my old friend

Hello darkness my old friend, I’ve come to talk with you again
Beause a vision slowly creeping, left it’s seeds while I was sleeping
And the visions that was planted in my brain stil remains
With the sounds… of silence. 
– Simon and Garfunkel

I recently came across some details and information that hit me hard. And once again, it traps me in darkness and silence. I don’t want to be silent about it, but for now I have to be. And once again, I’m talking with the silence. Once again, my voice goes unheard. And I don’t know what to do with that. I don’t know how to feel about that.

Details about the past that made me angry, hurt, and confused have left me feeling even more so. While the queestions are answered, the anger rages. WHY is this person still allowed in a position of authority in the church? WHY hasn’t anyone spoken out? The answer is simple – if they do. they will be hurt. And I clinch my fists in anger and rage because, just like I was when all this shit hit the fan when I was 18, I am helpless. I cannot do a goddamn thing about it, and it breaks my heart. More people can be hurt, but I have to stand there wordlessly and watch it happen.

I’ve been asked with all the shit I’ve dealt with within the church, why I am still a Christian. Why I’m not an outright atheist. Why I even want to go into the ministry.

I know that there are people hurt by the church.
I know that there are people who are standing there in the sounds of silence, unable to speak for fear of what might happen.
And I know that there’s another side.

I also have a side passion, but that doesn’t fit with this blog entry so I will blog about it later.

One day… I will leave the sounds of silence.

I said, sometimes I hear my voice and it’s been here…
silent all these years. 

Someone’s waiting to love you

To all the unloved;
One day, you will be loved. One day, you will break free of the vicious cycle of abuse. One day, you will find hope, peace, comfort, and joy again. You may scorn now. You may feel like no one could ever love you. If the people who created you can’t love you, how could anyone? If your boyfriend beats you, why would you deserve any better? You may scoff and feel like you’ll never truly be loved.
I’ve been there. I know what it’s like to cry myself to sleep, feeling lost and unloved. I know what it’s like to be alone in the world, to have no one but yourself to look out for you. I know what it’s like. I’m no stranger to abuse.
But I also know there’s another side. I know that there’s another way. And you don’t have to be here forever. There are people who want to love you, if you just let them. There are people who want to help you. And if your abuse is “just” emotional? Emotional abuse hurts too. There is never any “just” for abuse. Here is a PSA I did on emotional abuse last fall for a class.
If you are a teenager and a victim of child abuse, please get help. It doesn’t matter if it’s happening now or if it happened in the past, if you’re still feeling unloved and in danger, seek help. Check out childhelp.org . If you are being abused by the ones that claim to love you, young or old, check out thehotline.org
You don’t have to live this way forever. You did nothing wrong. You did nothing to deserve it. And one day, you will find someone that is waiting to love you.

i don’t remember the first time i felt unbeautiful, the day i chose not to eat

It’s funny the impact just eating has on me. It’s a natural human process. It’s something we have to do to survive. And yet, it’s something that I struggle with and that tears me apart.

I had a good dinner tonight. Best I’ve had in quite awhile. And because of that, I’m still awake even though it’s 2 am. My brain won’t be quiet. Lord knows it’s a good thing I ate as my weight is the lowest it’s been in years. Lord knows I need the calories and nutrients.  But it’s difficult.

I know I’ve lost weight lately. I know I should care more about getting food into my system. But it’s difficult to muster up the willingness to care. It’s difficult to get food into me. I don’t know what I’m going to have to do to get myself to eat. It’s terrifying, really, the way this disorder, this sickness controls me.

I don’t want to be this way, but I don’t know how to be any other. And frankly, to cross to the other side is terrifying. To recover. To be healed. To be whole. It’s kind of a paradox because I don’t want to get better yet I want to. I want to yet I don’t now how. What if I don’t like being healthy? What if I gain too much weight? What if I flip to the other extreme and start eating too much?

And now it’s approaching 3. And I still can’t sleep. And it’s taken me THIS long to write this short of an entry. But why? I don’t want to finally meet the diagnostic criteria for anorexia, because on one hand while I feel ED-NOS is “not legit”, I know it is. I know that you don’t have to be severely underweight to die or have serious health effects from an eating disorder.

But at the same thing… it’s kind of like a verse in the Bible. “The things I don’t want to do I do, the things I want to do I don’t.” It just feels that I get trapped. Completely Trapped.

And  I don’t now what to do. It’s hard because I’m having a bad PTSD night. It’s well after 3 am, everyone is asleep. Everyone, that is, but me. Because I’m scared to sleep. Because I’m afraid of what will happen if I sleep. Because being scared to sleep as a child is still ingrained in me. because I’m still at my core, terrified.

I focus on the pain, the only thing that’s real

How can you tell I’m hurting if you can’t see any pain?
To wear it on my body shows what words cannot explain

This time three years ago was one of my darkest periods ever. I was deep in depression. For the first time, I had a concrete suicide plan. I was determined to carry it out, but a small voice inside me was pleading with myself to hang in there. I sent the following email to my therapist. And then proceeded to not answer my phone, not check my voicemail, you get the picture.

April 13, 2009. 5:44 pm.

“Why am I emailing and not waiting to say anything until tomorrow? The fear of chickening out. The fear of not saying what needs to be said and that would not be very productive. At all. I don’t want to not say anything and then wind up kicking myself in the butt because that would just be a really bad idea. With the state of mind I’m in and the way I am thinking lately… it is just not good. Not good at all.

Just last Tuesday I was the “happiest” I’ve been in weeks. I use the word “happy” lightly as I wasn’t really happy, per se, but more toward content. Things certainly weren’t the worst but were by no means the best. And then Wednesday comes and I sink back to rock bottom. Thursday comes when I look through the rest of stuff, and I once again go below rock bottom. I’m not doing well at all, and it scares me.

I’m keeping away from people the best I can. Thursday afternoon my anger got the better of me and I was launching stuffed animals across the room. Thankfully, none hit anything and broke, but the fact that my anger got to that state was just a bit scary. I’m secluding myself from people the best that I can. I’m locking myself in my room, not really talking to people, and being very avoidant. I came out of my shell some on Easter (as I was at my sunday school coordinators. Staying in my room by myself all day would have been a Very Bad Idea) but come Sunday night I was back to where I was just the day before.

I know that I’m once again lower then I’ve been before. Lower than Windsor, lower than Harding. This time I don’t know if I can pull myself out. This time I don’t know if there’s a light at the end of the tunnel. This time I don’t know if I’ll make it through. I’m past just merely having thoughts about suicide, it’s to the starting-to-make plans stage. It’s to the it’s-starting-to-take-over-my-dreams stage. It’s to the its-taking-over-me stage. It’s to the point where I’m not seeing any way out, and it scares me. It’s to the point where I do not trust myself at all anymore, where I’m almost scared of myself and that I’ll act impulsively. It’s to the point where I’m trying to figure out a way to get to the store in order to get something I can cut with. It’s to the point where I’m just shutting down, and it’s not a good thing.

I’m seriously considering skipping chapel tomorrow because I just don’t want to be around people. It never fails that someone comes up behind me without warning and lays a hand on my shoulder, which winds up scaring the crap out of me. Everyone I know will be asking how Easter was and if I went home. I don’t want the looks of pity when I say I didn’t go home. I don’t want the looks of sympathy when I say I stayed here this weekend. I just don’t want it. I don’t. I don’t. I don’t. Things are just not going well and I’m not using healthy coping mechanisms at all. I just… everything is taking far too much effort. Eating. Homework. Socializing. Everything is too much right now and I’m very overwhelmed. I can’t lift myself out of this funk right now, and I don’t even know if I want to. Everytime things start to look up and start to look better, I wind up lower than I have before. Why keep fighting if this is what I’m fighting for?

Bah. I’m going to hit send on this before I wind up backing out and not saying what really needs to be said. I’m going to throw myself into tidying my room now so that I’m distracting myself and not mauling on things. Good idea, maybe, maybe not. I just need to do something so I’m not just dwelling in thoughts that I really don’t like…”

The next day I was admitted to the Crisis Home. And I truly believe that email saved my live. I truly believe had I not listened to that voice inside me that was pleading for help, that said “DON’T DO IT” saved me, the inner voice that told me to keep fighting. What worried Joe so much was the fact that was sent mid afternoon, the fact that there was no sarcasm. Student life was waiting for me when I showed up to my appointment and I was told I was not permitted to return to my dorm that night. That they were worried about me. 

These days, even though it’s still dark, I am glad I listened to that still, small voice that begged myself to get help, that begged myself to hang in there. Life is worth living, and it is worth hanging in there for. Suicide is a very final solution to what is often a very temporary problem and rocks countless worlds and numerous lives. 

And so, with that, I close this. I’ll write more later this week, such as how I got one of the quotes on my Facebook wall, how I did there, and various other things. =) 

this is your life, are you who you want to be?

I’m kind of freaked out at the moment. Okay, let’s rephrase that. I’m very freaked out. I very much want to go in the ministry. I want to teach, to reach, to help. But I don’t think that Director of Christian Outreach is right. I’m not made to witness to people! I can’t do these face to face convos, calling people to faith! I can’t help a pregnant woman, because I don’t fully believe that abortion is wrong. I can’t help a gay person, because I don’t know that it’s wrong to be gay and I’ve become more accepting of it over the years.

But how can I be a director of Christian outreach when bringing people into the church freaks me out? I don’t want to bring new people in – I want to help the ones who are here. I go into a cold sweat, panic, puke, cry, clam up, and my mind goes blank when I have to do this stuff – even though I know it all logically. I can do it over a messenger. But if i have to do it in person? It’s a living hell. I’m not made to do this! I want to teach! I want to read about Mark (my favourite gospel) and make it relatable! I want to play with children! I want to do young adult ministry! (I can’t deal with teenagers :P) I don’t want to pull new people into the church! I’m fine with helping the broken, Lord knows i want to help those who have been broken be it by the church or by life or both. But I’m not the one to pull them into a relationship with Christ.

I’ve been struggling with this for awhile. It doesn’t help that my eating disorder is out of control, it doesn’t help that my pain and depression and ADD are not medicated. (I go to pick up my Remeron  tomorrow). It doesn’t help that I’m struggling to pass math. It doesn’t help that I’m trying to find an apartment, move off campus, line up doctor’s appointments. And at times it feels like I’m doing it all single-handedly. It doesn’t help that I feel so stressed out.

It’s like I’m playing Pokemon, and I’m up against a trainer who has the attack that’s super effective against me. We’re down to a grass pokemon and a fire pokemon, and I have no other pokemon left other than my poor Leafeon and they’re kicking ass with Rapidash. I can’t flee from a trainer battle, and so attack after attack is hurled at me until I faint, until I black out.


Ahem. Anyway, I’m struggling with this. This is my life, is it who I want to be? I try to make the changes to make things better but it’s hard. And there are some things I cannot change. I guess it’s like the serenity prayer:

“God, grant me the serenity to accept the things I cannot change,
Courage to accept the things I can,
And wisdom to know the difference.”
It just seems like such a struggle some days. Every attack is super effective, and wears me down more and more. I just don’t know what to do anymore and how to keep pulling through. 

Broken-Hearted Teenager

I’m pulling out some of my younger poetry from, well, when I was younger. It’s terribly written, but it’s who I was then.

Wednesday, Oct. 03, 2001 – 3:17 p.m.
They tell me to make a Christmas Wish
To wish for whatever I please
And the wish for I want
Gets me down on my knees
I do not wish for money
I do not wish for toys
I do not wish for clothes
Or other little joys
My wish is for my Daddy
For him to take time to think
Before he decides to sip
His achocalic drink

Wednesday, Oct. 17, 2001 – 9:56 p.m.
If you had a choice
Between beer and family
Let me ask you a question-
What would your choice be?

Let me tell you my father’s choice
One that brought so much pain
A choice that brought me
Tears that fall like rain

He picked his beer
Over the family
At times I feel
It’s more valued then me

How could he pick
His beer over me
Hurt and destory
His whole family?

I’ll never understand
I’ll never know why
I’ll be able to stop
The tears which I cry

If you have that choice-
Please choose your family
Because I come from
Experience, you see.

Monday, Jan. 07, 2002 – 8:45 p.m.

Even though you hear my laugh
You don’t know what I hide
For as the joyous sound comes out
Tears are flowing inside

A smile may be on my face
But that smile’s a lie
For hidden, deep within
I frankly want to die

I may seem happy
But I am depressed
I may seem joyful
But I am upset

And when the tears
Brim in my eyes
Telling you it’s allergies
Is one of my lies

So when you ask me
“How do you do?”
I might not tell
The truth to you

So remember when you see me….
Looks aren’t always what lays outside
For with every smile I smile
Another tear I cry

Tuesday, Jan. 22, 2002 – 8:43 p.m.
I sit back and wonder
If I would to die
If anyone would care
If anyone would cry

I sit back and ponder
The meaning of life
Why I was given
All this pain and strife

Friendships fading away
Old friends are gone
Time to pack up
Time to move on

Schoolwork is falling
I’m starting to fail
I’m starting to cry
Starting to wail

Family is shattering
My heart is in two
I’m hiding the pain
In my big eyes of blue

Mabye if I just
Curl up and die
No one will care
No one will cry


I was so broken all those year ago. And I’m so sad I was so lost, so alone.
If only I could go back and tell 14-year-old Nora that it gets better.
That she’ll find friends! That she’ll find love! That she’ll find hope!
That she’ll break ties with those asshats, that she’ll break FREE of that pain. That she’ll still fight with PTSD, ED-NOS, major depression, chronic pain… but she’ll find a support system.

And that her life is beautiful.

“I cannot find my voice.”

I have this habit of locking down inside myself. Oh, there is so much happening. Images dancing in my head, sights, smells, sounds, twisting together, tangling, intertwined. It’s safer to stay silent. It’s safer not to speak. I’m afraid to speak out. Speaking out senior year and being shushed solidified that fear. I was only eighteen. I was a senior in high school. And I was heartbroken. I wouldn’t wish the choices I made that cold October morning to my worst enemy. But yet, the choices let me to where I am today.

I’ve grown so much since my senior year. I should hope so, considering I’ll have graduated six years ago come June. Six years is a long time, and even as I got my diploma that warm June evening, I had no idea the changes that would come over the next few years. I had no idea I would legally be declared disabled before 21. I had no idea I would sever ties with my mother as well. I had no idea that I would be called into the ministry. I had no idea I wouldn’t finish college in Canada and that in 2012 I’d still be working on my undergraduate degree. I had no idea I’d live in frick-fracking MINNESOTA where it’s frick-fracking cold. I had no idea I’d still be battling PTSD, cutting, eating disorder… I suppose I thought it’d magically stop, but NEWSFLASH: IT WON’T.

I had no idea that both my grandparents would die before I completed my undergraduate degree. I had no idea that I would make beautiful friendships, meet my future best friends, and go through heart-wrenching grief. I had no idea of any of that.

I had no idea at age 24 people would STILL think I’m 14. Heh. Funnily enough, side story. I was on my way to a doctor’s appointment and I mentioned how I still had a specialist at the Children’s Hospital. “Oh, you could easily pass for 14.” Me: “Mmhmm.” “You’ll like  more as you get closer to your 30’s!” *silence* “I’m 24.” “WHAT?!” “Yeah, I’ll be 25 in June.” “….” “You’re not 18?” 18 is the oldest I’ve been mistaken for in awhile, so I suppose that should make my happy. Anyway. Done with the side story.

Tori Amos said in her song “sometimes I hear my voice and it’s been here, silent all these years.” Problem is, I don’t hear my voice. Sure, I blog and I write and I talk. But I bottle so much up. I keep so much inside me. And I don’t know how to pull it out. There are things about my past that repulse me, that I haven’t told anyone. And it scares me that it’s there. And I don’t want to talk about it because I’m afraid people, even those who want to help me so badly, won’t like me anymore. Will think horrible things. Won’t understand. And so, I carry the burden.

When will I realize how stupid that is?
When will I realize how dumb that is?
When will I find the way to pull out my voice and be strong?

And she fools all of her friends into thinking she’s so strong but she still sleeps with the light on

My bed is soaked with sadness
My sadness has no end has no end
A downward of  spiral of dispair
That I keep falling in 
I need you how, how I need you 
Your silence is like death to me,
so won’t you hear my desperate plea?
-I Need You, The Swift

It’s hard some days to get myself out of bed. My alarm goes off, a few swear words slip past my lips, a stuffed animal may fly across the room. I’m not a morning person by nature, never have been. But when you’re trapped in depression, when your greatest enemy is that reflection in the mirror, sometimes hauling yourself out of bed is one of the most difficult things of the day.

I suppose I make it sound like I’m drowning in depression. Some days I am. Some days I wonder why I get out of bed when I’ve barely slept the night before and daytime is the only time I’m able to actually sleep. When I’m running on two to three hours a sleep a night, and a couple hour nap during the day. Why I bother even trying to hope, trying to dream, when it seems like my hopes and dreams and wishes will just be crushed. It’s hard.

Living with depression is like fighting a monster every morning. My days and nights are reversed. I just want solace – just some relief from all the pain I’m trapped in. It feels like just doing simple things – hanging out with friends, eating, hauling my butt out of bed, doing the laundry, drain all the effort and energy out of me and I’m left alone with my thoughts.

All I want to do is be free from this demon I battle. I want to be truly happy again, and not a person that I want to hide from. But I don’t know how. I don’t know how to open up about the past and allow people – friends, therapists, pastors, et al, help me. I don’t know how to let people understand and even begin to give me a chance to have hope again.

For as much as I want to hope, dream, laugh, love, and carry on with my life, it scares the everliving shit out of me. All I’ve known for over a decade is depression. All I’ve known is bleakness. All I’ve known is living in fear and terror. And as exhilarating and thrilling the other side might be – it’s completely unknown. It’s something I’ve never felt before. What if it’s too much? What if I don’t like it? What if I taste the other side, and I don’t like it at all? What if it hurts? What if I get a sampling of it, and I wind up falling back into depression? Would the relapse be that much worse because I’ve tasted the other side? Or would it be better once I pull out of the funk again, because I know what the other side is like? 

I get sick of trying various antidepressants. I get sick of feeling like this – I don’t WANT to be like this! But how do I attempt something I’ve never tried, how do I try something I just don’t know? How do I even attempt to spread my wings and fly, when every time I’ve tried to fly I’ve fallen?

Depression sucks. I’ll leave you with Adventures in Depression because that sums it up better than I ever could.

It’s a brand new day and the sun is high

I was kind of lame and didn’t even make it until midnight for the first time in several years. Um, oops. Oh well. I hope that lameness doesn’t last into the new year. 😉

I like to reflect on New Years, and what all went down in the previous year. I transferred out of a school that was a living hell for me and I had back surgery. People I loved died. My mom, whom I have virtually no contact with, got diagnosed with a form of cancer. I had many health struggles and many friendship difficulties. I got my official eating disorder DX. I’ve been fighting my insurance. So much has hit the fan this year.

I made new friends, made other friendships stronger, and lost some friendships. But I did learn many things this past year:

1. To quote the Fray: “Sometimes the hardest thing and the right thing are the same.”
2. Sometimes, we have to man up (woman up) and do what is emotionally painful and has dire consequences, just because it’s the right thing.
3. We shouldn’t let petty fights end friendships that one were once beautiful, because life is fragile and we don’t know when that person will die. Petty fights aren’t worth being immature over.
4. I’m learning more about cooking gluten free food. Sometimes it tastes awesome and I make seconds, other times it tastes awful and I have to choke it down. 😉
5. Sometimes, taking a scary plunge into a new horizon is the best possible choice.

Old stuff: some old NYE/New Year’s Day Posts:

December 31, 2005:
2005. It’s almost over.

I’m filled with memories by it. Some good, some bad. This year is one to remember, for sure. My entire life changed this year. Everything changed. Is there a better hope for next year? Is there a better life next year? I hope so.

I mean, this year, I turned 18. Of course, it wasn’t the best birthday, I can only hope my birthday in 2006 will be better. I changed schools, I moved, so much changed.

Will two thousand and six be better?”

January 1, 2006:

“Sometimes I wish it was easier. I wish I could just trust in God. I wish I could just love Him, but I don’t know that I can. I don’t know what I want with my life anymore.

I don’t know what I want to do. I don’t know where I want to turn. I don’t know where I want to go. I don’t know what to do with all these feelings bubbling up inside of me.

I don’t know what to do with this bitterness. I don’t know what to do with this hatred. I don’t know what to do with this pain, what to turn it into, what to channel it to.

I don’t know what to do with this feeling of not being good enough. I don’t know what to do with thse memories. I can’t just shove them aside, after all.

I don’t know what to do with the past. I don’t know what to do with it. I know I need to learn from it, but I don’t know what to do with it. I just don’t know anything anymore.

I don’t know where I need to turn. I don’t know what I need to do. I just know..that I need help.”

2012, please don’t suck.

Dear 2012,
Please kick my ass and make up for all the crapiness I dumped.
Love, 2011.