I didn't realize it had cut off part of my post last night. Here's the rest of it.
Upon seeing him in that bed, all that shit hooked up to him I was so close to losing it. I didn’t want him seeing how scared I was. I didn’t want him having to reassure me that everything was going to be ok. He was the one that needed a rock. I’m not going to get into all the medical details of what went down, that’s something that isn’t my personal information to give out. But it was not good. They ended up keeping him overnight; something he was not pleased with. I stayed with him, slipping out every so often to smoke and clear my head.
It was the longest night of my life, watching him. I prayed harder than I ever had in my short praying career. Some were selfish. I wanted him to be ok because I didn’t want to be without him. Many were just for whatever happened to not be permanent or do any lasting damage. I just wanted him to come out of it healthy. I just wanted him to be ok.
I didn’t sleep more than a half hour. I just sat and rubbed his leg, listening to him sleep. I wanted so much to crawl next to him and snuggle him more for my own comfort. It was the first night in a long time that we weren’t sleeping next to each other and that just felt strange. But he needed rest so I let him get as much as he could. It’s part of the reason why I’m writing this now. He’s sleeping and I’d just be tossing and turning.
So now we’re here. It wasn’t a heart attack, and it’s something related to the virus he had a few weeks ago. It’s not serious and it should just go away. Once we got settled back in the apartment, it was like any other night with him - full of laughter and foot slaps. He’s going to be ok.
Sunday, September 20, 2009
Hopefully now I can sleep.
I didn’t start writing this to go off on a tangent about the ins and outs of faith and belief. I started writing this because last night we thought Mack had a heart attack, and while I was freaked out at the time, the whole thing just came crashing down on me and I needed a way to release some stress. Writing has always helped. It might not seem connected, but it is.
I’ve always believed in something. I never thought that there wasn’t some higher power or deity running the show. I’ve toyed with many theories over the years. I’ve gone through many phases, practicing different religions, discussing and reading up on many more. I never wanted to call myself a Christian, due to bad experiences with people pushing it on me when I was looking for answers. Also, because I was one of those people who didn’t want to follow what most people were doing, because it was what most people were doing. I wanted to be different.
What I stuck with for a long time, was never really a defined “religion” I found in most religions I had read up on, what it boiled down to was being a decent person, to yourself and to others. Helping when you can, taking help when needed and paying it forward. If anyone asked, I said I was Agnostic, claiming, “I believe in something, but I don’t know what it is.” A lot of people are of the opinion that Agnostic is not taking a stand either way. Whichever they define it as; I’ve come to realize that it’s kind of a bullshit, middle ground stance. The point of faith is to actually believe in something. To say “I believe in God, and trust that He is going to guide me through my trials, and welcome me with open arms at the end.”
I’m not claiming that if you are X religion, you’re going to Hell. I think that as long as you live your life as a decent, caring person, God will welcome you into Heaven at the end of your journey. If you go against that, but genuinely ask for forgiveness and live your life the best way you can, He will see that.
I never, ever thought I would call myself a Christian. We weren’t raised in a house where we went to Church or talked about God. My parents both had that pushed onto them, and wanted us to make up our own minds about our own beliefs. The few times I willingly went to church when I was looking for some sort of answer, it was pushed on to me the moment they knew I was just kind of “browsing”. I hated that. One church found out I was never baptized and wanted to do it right then and there. Without my family. Without me having any real knowledge about Christianity besides the basics. I thought it was absolutely absurd. That being forced on me angered me so much, I turned away from it and didn’t look back until years later. Even three months ago, I would have told you I was Agnostic. I’ve always believed that everything happens for a reason, and that someone is designing it all, but I would never say, “It’s God’s plan”.
That all started to change a few months back, with a late night conversation with Mack. He pretty much said, “Being Agnostic is such a pussy ass way out of making a decision”. I wasn’t offended, because I knew he was right. At the same time, I knew what I had molded my faith into was Christianity without the commitment or label.
We were going through a rough time, financially. When I moved down here, I was all but guaranteed a job upon arrival. Once I got down here, however, that job interviewed me and never called me back. I had multiple interviews, with nothing coming of it. Mack was carrying me on what he was barely making ends meet before I came down. It finally reached a point where if I didn’t get hired in the next two weeks, I had to go back to Minnesota. I was terrified of that outcome. Here I am, finally in a normal, loving relationship, and it was about to go back to seeing one another via webcam until we could get enough money together to try again.
So I did something stupid. Instead of treating this as a normal relationship where I could go to him and vent out my stress, I started cutting again. I couldn’t sleep; I was getting physically sick from the stress. I waited until Mack fell asleep, went into another room or outside and cried. I would cry until I couldn’t anymore, and then I would cut until my mind was off my stress and on to my pain. Then I would finally fall asleep. There were nights that I would take sleeping pills, and still be up for more than 24 hours. I was unable to sleep until I had cut. I felt like shit for it. I felt like shit because I was down here, burdening Mack. I didn’t want to go to him and vent, because I somehow felt I didn’t deserve to have the right to. I was scared and depressed and stressed.
Then one night, I went outside to do my thing. I sat and smoked and cried. I leaned against the truck and looked up. Something right then clicked for me. I asked for forgiveness for all the shitty things I’d done. I prayed. To God. Not to some chance higher power. I said I was sorry for putting off the inevitable for all these years. I put my life into His hands. Even when I was so sick I couldn’t eat for days, and in intense pain before my surgery, I was never able to do that. A few days later, I interviewed at my current job, and was hired that day. You can interpret that any way you want, but I feel that God heard me that night.
That night solidified my faith. It wasn’t the fact that I got the job. I prayed for peace and guidance and it was something I received that night. I felt that everything was going to be ok, the second I ended my little “Dear God, it’s me, Emily” moment. I put my life into His hands and He guided me to a solution. It was something I knew then, I am Emily-Christian, but it wasn’t something I mentioned to anyone until writing this.
What brings me to writing this all down is one of the scariest things I’ve ever been through. Mack got really sick two weeks ago. Since then, he’d been having chest pains. He didn’t tell me until three or four days ago. That day, they had gotten so bad while he was working he almost called an ambulance. The next day, it happened again, but worse. It was while he was at work, and it actually dropped him to the ground. He had shooting pains in his arm, and his fingers were numb. His boss took him to the ER, and came to pick me up. The second I opened the door and saw Mack’s boss standing there, I knew what had happened and for a long time, I couldn’t think. I heard Darren talking, but it wasn’t registering that he was speaking to me. He drove me up to the hospital and led me to Mack’s room.
I’ve always believed in something. I never thought that there wasn’t some higher power or deity running the show. I’ve toyed with many theories over the years. I’ve gone through many phases, practicing different religions, discussing and reading up on many more. I never wanted to call myself a Christian, due to bad experiences with people pushing it on me when I was looking for answers. Also, because I was one of those people who didn’t want to follow what most people were doing, because it was what most people were doing. I wanted to be different.
What I stuck with for a long time, was never really a defined “religion” I found in most religions I had read up on, what it boiled down to was being a decent person, to yourself and to others. Helping when you can, taking help when needed and paying it forward. If anyone asked, I said I was Agnostic, claiming, “I believe in something, but I don’t know what it is.” A lot of people are of the opinion that Agnostic is not taking a stand either way. Whichever they define it as; I’ve come to realize that it’s kind of a bullshit, middle ground stance. The point of faith is to actually believe in something. To say “I believe in God, and trust that He is going to guide me through my trials, and welcome me with open arms at the end.”
I’m not claiming that if you are X religion, you’re going to Hell. I think that as long as you live your life as a decent, caring person, God will welcome you into Heaven at the end of your journey. If you go against that, but genuinely ask for forgiveness and live your life the best way you can, He will see that.
I never, ever thought I would call myself a Christian. We weren’t raised in a house where we went to Church or talked about God. My parents both had that pushed onto them, and wanted us to make up our own minds about our own beliefs. The few times I willingly went to church when I was looking for some sort of answer, it was pushed on to me the moment they knew I was just kind of “browsing”. I hated that. One church found out I was never baptized and wanted to do it right then and there. Without my family. Without me having any real knowledge about Christianity besides the basics. I thought it was absolutely absurd. That being forced on me angered me so much, I turned away from it and didn’t look back until years later. Even three months ago, I would have told you I was Agnostic. I’ve always believed that everything happens for a reason, and that someone is designing it all, but I would never say, “It’s God’s plan”.
That all started to change a few months back, with a late night conversation with Mack. He pretty much said, “Being Agnostic is such a pussy ass way out of making a decision”. I wasn’t offended, because I knew he was right. At the same time, I knew what I had molded my faith into was Christianity without the commitment or label.
We were going through a rough time, financially. When I moved down here, I was all but guaranteed a job upon arrival. Once I got down here, however, that job interviewed me and never called me back. I had multiple interviews, with nothing coming of it. Mack was carrying me on what he was barely making ends meet before I came down. It finally reached a point where if I didn’t get hired in the next two weeks, I had to go back to Minnesota. I was terrified of that outcome. Here I am, finally in a normal, loving relationship, and it was about to go back to seeing one another via webcam until we could get enough money together to try again.
So I did something stupid. Instead of treating this as a normal relationship where I could go to him and vent out my stress, I started cutting again. I couldn’t sleep; I was getting physically sick from the stress. I waited until Mack fell asleep, went into another room or outside and cried. I would cry until I couldn’t anymore, and then I would cut until my mind was off my stress and on to my pain. Then I would finally fall asleep. There were nights that I would take sleeping pills, and still be up for more than 24 hours. I was unable to sleep until I had cut. I felt like shit for it. I felt like shit because I was down here, burdening Mack. I didn’t want to go to him and vent, because I somehow felt I didn’t deserve to have the right to. I was scared and depressed and stressed.
Then one night, I went outside to do my thing. I sat and smoked and cried. I leaned against the truck and looked up. Something right then clicked for me. I asked for forgiveness for all the shitty things I’d done. I prayed. To God. Not to some chance higher power. I said I was sorry for putting off the inevitable for all these years. I put my life into His hands. Even when I was so sick I couldn’t eat for days, and in intense pain before my surgery, I was never able to do that. A few days later, I interviewed at my current job, and was hired that day. You can interpret that any way you want, but I feel that God heard me that night.
That night solidified my faith. It wasn’t the fact that I got the job. I prayed for peace and guidance and it was something I received that night. I felt that everything was going to be ok, the second I ended my little “Dear God, it’s me, Emily” moment. I put my life into His hands and He guided me to a solution. It was something I knew then, I am Emily-Christian, but it wasn’t something I mentioned to anyone until writing this.
What brings me to writing this all down is one of the scariest things I’ve ever been through. Mack got really sick two weeks ago. Since then, he’d been having chest pains. He didn’t tell me until three or four days ago. That day, they had gotten so bad while he was working he almost called an ambulance. The next day, it happened again, but worse. It was while he was at work, and it actually dropped him to the ground. He had shooting pains in his arm, and his fingers were numb. His boss took him to the ER, and came to pick me up. The second I opened the door and saw Mack’s boss standing there, I knew what had happened and for a long time, I couldn’t think. I heard Darren talking, but it wasn’t registering that he was speaking to me. He drove me up to the hospital and led me to Mack’s room.
Thursday, September 3, 2009
I forgot this blog exsisted.
Seriously, my bad. I know there's a whopping five people who read this, if that- but I still feel kind of bad.
The past few months have been pretty strange. Not strange, really- but lots of highs and lows. Very stressful. I was all but promised a job before I came down here and that fell through within the first few weeks. Since then it's been nothing but apply for a job, have an interview, and never hear another word. I had applied at Kmart, gone to two interviews and had them run me around for a month and a half. I just finally got a job at a motel in town, they called me back the day I interviewed, so that was nice. The second they offered me a job, Kmart called me back. I've also had more phone calls wanting to set up interviews since I started my job, then I have had all month.
So I started the job, and it's going quite nicely. Fairly easy, most of the customers are normal human beings. Not much screaming. They've never hired anyone as young as me, because once I finish training, I will be the only person working and in charge of a 40 room hotel. Yay, responsibility.
So I'm alive, in case anyone was wondering. Incredibly less stressed than I was last week. I'm thinking about writing a little retarded short story and posting it here, but we'll see. I need something to do to be creative because it's driving me insane, not being able to paint.
The past few months have been pretty strange. Not strange, really- but lots of highs and lows. Very stressful. I was all but promised a job before I came down here and that fell through within the first few weeks. Since then it's been nothing but apply for a job, have an interview, and never hear another word. I had applied at Kmart, gone to two interviews and had them run me around for a month and a half. I just finally got a job at a motel in town, they called me back the day I interviewed, so that was nice. The second they offered me a job, Kmart called me back. I've also had more phone calls wanting to set up interviews since I started my job, then I have had all month.
So I started the job, and it's going quite nicely. Fairly easy, most of the customers are normal human beings. Not much screaming. They've never hired anyone as young as me, because once I finish training, I will be the only person working and in charge of a 40 room hotel. Yay, responsibility.
So I'm alive, in case anyone was wondering. Incredibly less stressed than I was last week. I'm thinking about writing a little retarded short story and posting it here, but we'll see. I need something to do to be creative because it's driving me insane, not being able to paint.
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