I didn't sign up for this.

It's quiet right now. As quiet as the city can get. Phone's silent. Well it was until Melissa just texted me. Roomie's gone. Music's ended. TV's off. Three months ago I would have gladly soaked this in. Three months ago, I had a life I thought was put together.

It wasn't what I would have called put together then, but after realizing how worse things could get, it definitely looks put together compared to now.

My days are never easy, nobody's are. And even though this last string of days has been worthy of me calling them "good" and really meaning it, I still feel like I'm about to fall apart. My threads are barely holding me in. Everything's about to burst and I don't know why. I need to let it out, but I can't. The tears won't come. The screams won't come. The words don't exist.

Why won't they come? Has my biggest fear come true:
“Do you not know that there comes a midnight hour when everyone has to throw off his mask? Do you believe that life will always let itself be mocked? Do you think you can slip away a little before midnight to avoid this? Or are you not terrified by it? I have seen men in real life who so long deceived others that at last their true nature could not reveal itself;… In every man there is something which to a certain degree prevents him from becoming perfectly transparent to himself; and this may be the case in so high a degree, he may be so inexplicably woven into relationships of life which extend far beyond himself that he almost cannot reveal himself. But he who cannot reveal himself cannot love, and he who cannot love is the most unhappy man of all.” – Soren Kierkegaard

Have I hidden myself for so long that the real me simply doesn't have the ability to reveal itself? I feel alone, but I know I'm not. I feel unloved, but I know I'm not. I feel unnecessary, but I know I'm not. It's a tiring feeling, but I'm not tired. And there's a horde of other things holding all this in. One of them being that I don't want to share this with anyone because any person I choose is just as tired as I am. I can't add to their load. It's this same reason that leads to the guilt for feeling this way. Every direction I face reveals someone who has it worse than me. Always. Why should I feel sad and tired and want to cry when everyone else has more of a right to it than I do? My problems aren't worth getting upset over. If I lost a child or had cancer or was confined to a wheel chair, then I would be justified in hurt or anger or sadness. But not my petty problems. This is why I don't like the quiet anymore. I'm not strong enough to battle my thoughts.

Oh but it's eating at me. I want it out.

This leads to a daze. You know this feeling, don't deny it. The one where you're driving and you don't know how fast you're going and you don't care. Then you see a light pole and think of how easily a car can veer off the road without any effort from the driver.

The effort goes into keeping the driver alive. It's so hard sometimes.

P.S. This is not a suicide note. I may be conceited, but I'm not selfish.

Accompanied by the scent of coffee

I want to talk about inspiration: a muse, people you love, nature, music. What influences your creativity? What is your inspiration? Or a better question might be: what exactly IS inspiration?

I think all would agree that it's a feeling, something that encourages action to create. I want to say that it's a spiritual power, an energy. It's something that takes you from one perspective to another. Your focus has shifted, and you see something new. The response is to create something new. So that can eventually lead to: what is your inspiration?

I hate cliches, but I'd have to say - anything! I find inspiration in the common things like art, music, movies, nature, my close friends, good conversations, the Bible, and other literature. But I want to propose that the best and most surprising ways inspiration comes is through the little things.

My daffodils, my coffee, the fire crackling, some stranger laughing, the singing leaves in the breeze, random quotes, a fine piece of chocolate cake, driving windows down and tangling the hair, a baby's dimples, clean laundry, church bells, someone who holds my hand. These are just a small number of all the possible things that spur my writing.

I have always believed in the importance of tiny things. I believe that God is in the little things just as much as he's in the big things. I believe that there is a purpose to every bird that sings and every stranger that smiles and every orange that just tastes so good I don't even care about the juice staining my shirt. And I believe that God delights in our enjoyment of it. I think it makes him happy when he can provide us with something and we revel in it. I encourage indulgence of these small pleasures. Because I find peace in them. I know that they are from God, and they are for me. I believe that it makes his heart happy when I smile at something.

Because when I smile at something, I usually will turn that smile into a piece of writing. As a being created in the image of a Creator, how can I NOT create? I think he likes seeing us attempt to follow his steps.

Sanity calms, but madness is more interesting.

My life is full of fears. I fear I'll never find the love of my life. I fear I'll never leave town. I fear I'm wasting my time. I fear I won't pass a class or an assignment. I fear my friends will leave me. I fear for my safety. I fear for my family's safety. I fear I'll forget what I'm supposed to remember. I fear I'll say what's really on my mind. I fear I'll embarrass myself. I fear rejection. I fear vulnerability. I fear humility. I fear community. I fear poverty.

But I love too. My life is full of loves. How can that be? How can the two coexist in me? Perfect love drives out fear (1 John 4:18). Oooohh it's 11:11, make a wish! I think this verse is talking about salvation and how we shouldn't fear because fear involves torment, but there is none of that in salvation. "He who fears has not been made perfect in love."

To love someone, you must trust them utterly and completely. If you fear, then you do not trust and if you do not trust, is that love? I guess it all makes sense now. If I fear, I am not trusting God with my life and everything that is involved with it. I am safe, that's for sure. My soul is secure, so what is there to be afraid of? Everything that depends ultimately and only on me has been done. To fear is not to love. The two cannot coexist. One is always beating down the other one.