sleeping on my own

dear future husband

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Dear future husband,

I took you to church with me a few weeks ago.

I have a confession to make. I really don’t know how this works. I thought I did. But what I was doing wasn’t working. And I have asked God for help.

The truth is, as difficult to believe as this sounds, I used to think you were walking beside me in spirit this whole time that I’ve been looking for you. I used to think you knew who I was and you were waiting for me to wake up. I used to believe I was not doing something or doing something wrong that was keeping us apart, and I thought you were right beside me with your arms crossed except for when you tapped your watch with your right forefinger.

You’re a righty, right? Or is that crazy to believe because of an image I see in my head?

The truth is, I have believed that you were angry with me for taking so long. I thought you saw my fucked-up-fumbling-through-life try as yet another inconvenience you had to endure.

The truth is, future husband, I believed you were watching over me like some kind of sky knight warrior, a person who has mastered the laws of metaphysics and uses those skills as a sort of low key Batman to answer the calls of women in distress.

Weird, right? I mean, that doesn’t even exist. But I believed it just the same.

And because of this, future husband, I thought I knew who you were.

So, when I took you to church and asked God to show me your face, and He showed me a face I did not expect, I was understandably shocked.

I know your face, but it wasn’t the face I expected to see.

And that is why everything I’ve been doing to find you was wrong. Why nothing I did seemed to bring me closer to you for so long.

When I first had a dream where God showed me your face, my waking self overrided your face with the face of another, someone I had believed truly loved me.

I’m sorry.

In that sleepy shore state of rising consciousness, my disbelief wouldn’t let me hold your face into my waking life.

See, we’ve met.

And when we were talking, you gave me no indication that you loved me.

Or, my head was stuck up my ass (which was only partly my fault btw), and if you did love me back then I couldn’t see it.

I don’t know if God has told you about me. I’m a weird kind of driven and tenacious with a die hard attitude toward commitment.

You might hate that about me or you might love it… I guess it depends a bit on how you feel about commitment.

So, I’m so ride or die that when I believe something with my mind and my heart, I focus on that, whether it’s a person or a defence or a moral view or a way of life.

Keep this firmly in the front of your mind as I tell the rest of the story of how we met.

I walked into your life believing that I was taken. I was committed to my future husband, no matter what he might be going through or how long it would take for us to be ready for each other.

And because I believed my future husband was walking with me in spirit, so much that I swear I was able to feel his presence some evenings when quiet fell over my apartment, I took this idea of committing to our future seriously. I brought it into the present and I believed that letting any other man in was equal to cheating, to betraying him in some way.

I’m so fucking weird. But I’m starting to think that will be why you love me.

In my mind, I wasn’t available when we met.

Here’s the part of the story that’s sort of a miracle. Because I ‘wasn’t available’, I had blinders on to every man who crossed my path.

Nobody had given me reason to doubt myself.

Somehow, future husband, you reached right through that dense fog that kept my head down and you did it just by being you.

That’s all you did. You were just fully and undeniably you in that moment we first met.

And I loved it.

Future husband, you made me doubt myself. You made me doubt my view of the world.

I looked into your eyes and I thought, “Maybe I was wrong. Maybe he’s the one.”

No shit.

That’s why I kept finding reasons to bump into you. I know you would have no way of knowing this, but that made me feel guilty. And I’m one of those people who actually believe an anvil or a piano will fall onto my head the minute I do something wrong. So I didn’t spend time finding reasons to bump into men other than you.

I wanted to keep looking into your eyes. They told me something that I deep down already knew but wasn’t ready to face yet.

I still didn’t believe you loved me. Maybe you didn’t. idk.

Either way, all those times we spoke, we never formally introduced ourselves. It got to the point where it would have felt almost rude I guess to ask, what was your name again?

And you didn’t say anything. Okay, I’m not saying you didn’t do anything to show me you wanted to keep talking, because you did. That’s why I started to feel nervous and completely unsure of myself around you, like I was going to lose my guard and do something that was going to change my future.

But you didn’t say anything. Listen, this might be a completely wrong assumption, but to me you seemed like a man who knows what he wants. A man who decides things with ease. A man who makes it known when he wants something and asks a woman out for a drink or a real date or whatever men who still date do.

I was so filled with self-doubt when it came to what I would do if you did ask me. I was undecided because it felt like I had already committed to a decision about that part of my life before I met you, not because I was unsure about wanting to spend more time with you, and not because I had any doubt about how you would affect me and likely change my life in some way if I let you in.

I was unfairly weighing my certainty about something I had decided before we met with the uncertainty that comes with anything new.

Plus, you scared me. I couldn’t figure out how you cut through the fog. I was so used to males who could only do that with some kind of night trick that I wasn’t sure getting through without tricks was even a thing. And if it was real, I thought, that was even scarier.

You made me so nervous that I actually flapped my arms like a bird after one conversation. I’m not joking.

I hope you’re laughing in an ‘oh that’s adorable’ kind of way rather than a ‘phew I ducked a crazy chick’ kind of way.

To be fair, it was more like a sparrow than a baby chicken, but the pun still works.

And then I had to go. I didn’t really have a choice. Hopefully I’ll get to tell you the story, though it isn’t very cheerful.

The farther from you I was, the more I fell back into my old certainty that I was right the first time.

The short version of the rest of the story is this:

My world collapsed out from under me. I stopped believing in love. My heart became a bit jaded in the way that any tenderness can be ‘a bit’ jaded. I focused on my own hell for a few years. And then I found God.

I think it was the beginning of 2016 when He told me that if I gave Him my broken heart He would fix it. This was before I knew it was God. But that’s another story.

A few weeks ago, God showed me your face. And I’m starting to believe that our spirits have been walking beside each other in a way that is mending my heart.

I want to write a new ending to our story. Before I can, though, I want to know if it’s something you want.

nothing left to say

i’m sorry i give up

Well, it’s all over now, and tbh God, I’m a little scared.

I tried. I really fucking gave it a good go, you know.

I prayed. I wrote. I healed. I surrendered.

But no matter what I did to find my future husband and make my way to him, God, the obstacles that came both through natural consequence and wicked interference were just too much.

Now that I have nothing to lose, there’s no reason to keep it in anymore. There’s nothing holding me back from writing the truth that I asked you to follow me down winding country snowy roads bc one of my crazy exes has been tracking my all-wheel drive.

I don’t need to hide the fact that I have a crazy ex (bc let’s get real, the only thing worse than a fake high maintenance woman is one with a crazy stalker ex who has nothing better to do with his time than fuck around in his invisibility cloak up in the low sky chasing me, fucking with me, using his knowledge of me to trick me, and doing whatever it is he does to fuck with any man who walks too close to me on the sidewalk) bc it’s all over now and I’ve given up and surrendered to the fact that no matter what I try, no matter how well I think I’m following God’s instructions, whatever evil runs through that man and has made a home in his blood, his heart, his bones, whatever that evil is has won.

If you can call this some kind of competition. A game. Maybe an obstacle course.

I want you to know, future husband, that I really did fucking try. I don’t want you to wake up some morning when this is all over and done with and he’s forgotten your name, to wake up and see my face knowing it’s not possible for us to be together and believe I didn’t do everything -everything- in my power to at least give us a chance to try.

Yes, I walked through charnel grounds for years, forty days at a time, (in heels some rounds, no less) just so we could have a chance. Knowing after everything I’ve learned as I fought to survive and heal that there are no guarantees.

Even before all that, I had to fight to learn to fight in a way that would have some impact on the daemons running him, these are spirits that have no moral compass, you know. They don’t give a fuck about anything but destruction.

And before that, I had to fight to believe I was worthy of love in the first place. bc what’s the point in fighting for anything you don’t believe you deserve, you know.

I give up, God, I’m sorry. Forgive me for my weakness. Have mercy on me not bc I failed but bc I tried. I really did. Forgive me bc I just didn’t have what it takes.

Especially through the sleepless nights being dragged through the muddy past, being strung up in trees, fighting panic as I was thrown into a glass box in some low sky version of the red light district.

I begged them to look into my eyes. I begged them to ask me how I got there. But there were few who even knew how to hear me.

And I prayed. Oh, I fucking prayed every single day. More than that. I woke praying. I prayed as I made tea, as I walked to school, in the grocery, the laundry mat, standing in front of the stove making dinner, by the sink doing dishes. I prayed whenever I felt my side cave in with fear. I prayed when I woke not remembering my dreams. I prayed to be of service to God. I prayed to be an instrument of peace. I prayed for my life and my protection and my daily bread and I prayed that divine blessings and protection and healing be granted to each person I was connected to in some way. I prayed for healing in all directions of time. I prayed for God to send me a mentor hand-selected by Him. I prayed for the Lord to send angels ahead of me to light my path. I prayed, Your light upon my feet, Your light upon my road, I prayed psalm 23 every fucking day.

And most of all, what I thought was going to be the key to success, I prayed for God’s will to be done. With each prayer, I added, Your will be done, God.

God brought me some heavy hitters to help me, future husband, people with power and influence and hearts of fucking gold. But even this wasn’t enough. Even all of this divine help couldn’t help me get out of whatever mess I’ve been tied with.

Truthfully, things did start changing when I prayed that way and with the help that God sent. But it wasn’t enough and I’m sorry.

I surrendered everything and everyone involving each situation I faced up to God. But that wasn’t enough and I’m sorry.

I’m sorry that I blamed you when things got bad. I’m sorry I blamed you for not being here to protect me, to cover me in Christ when I was too fucking exhausted to keep myself covered with prayer. When I was so tired that even the words I tried to form in my mind for prayer came out jumbled and wrong.

I’m sorry I never learned to code.

I’m sorry some of the things I’ve experienced have made it too painful to do things I would have had to do in order to get to you.

And I know that, if you ever do find my songs, my stories, my novels, my poems, my prayers, all of these sorrys won’t mean much.

I know that everything I’ve done and tried to give you so that you would have something if I didn’t make it won’t mean much to a man who wakes one morning from a nightmare of having lost something he can’t quite make sense of right away.

I know sorry can’t hold you when you’ve lost your job. Words on a screen can’t climb into bed with you after a long week and kiss your forehead. Sorry can’t make you smile. Sorry won’t be able to hold your hand as you struggle to stay upright on the worst days. Sorry can’t listen as you talk about your fears, or even about the good things in your day.

Sorry will leave you alone. No matter how well intended it is, sorry isn’t much of anything at all to give.

I can’t even cry today. I can’t face the grief that will come when it fully sinks in that I have lost you. And that, no matter how many times I blamed you for not being here, it’s my own fault. I’m the only one to blame. And I’m not blameless only bc I tried but it wasn’t enough. bc I failed.

I couldn’t even make it to you to try, you know. I tried that too, and I just couldn’t do it.

The only thing left for me to do now is succumb to the fact that I’m doing the rest of this life alone. Not alone, alone bc friends and mentors and God. But I can’t be with someone I don’t love. I can’t be anything but fully my true self now. And other than you, I’ve mostly found people who aren’t looking for real connection.

This is my fate, not yours. The only thing I can think of is that I am cursed by my fate and God’s plan for you doesn’t include this kind of suffering.

bc it’s not that God isn’t all-knowing and all-powerful. It’s not that anything has the ability to stand in God’s way. God’s will be done on earth as it is in heaven, just as it says in the prayer Jesus gave us when He came to be with us.

I can only believe that this has all been a lesson somehow, a cautionary tale for anyone who might stumble, by God’s design, upon my words that I’ve written for you. This story of us as told by me.

I didn’t want this to be a breakup song. But this isn’t about what I want. I’m just a child of God not quite understanding why I failed, but knowing I did and that my try is over nonetheless.

Maybe there’s a purpose greater than I can imagine. I can only hope that something good comes out of this love that I have for you.

Now I pray for your happiness, health and protection, even when that happiness and health will have nothing to do with me.

I’m sorry. I love you.

Limits of Fear

via Limits of FearĀ 

I wrote this early 2016 and started submitting it to publications. It is one of those pieces that doesn’t seem to really fit neatly anywhere. Genre-crossing, disturbing content written in minimal style. I tucked it away on my blog, publishing it privately in September 2016, not sure what to do with it or how to edit it based on feedback. Two years later and this story is ready to be read. Awkward length, themes of trauma and mental health, dorky story within a story device and all. I hope there is some sentence, paragraph, character, or other part of this story that lights up your heart.