When I'm depressed
I scroll through the lives of others
Endlessly
Losing myself in their depiction
Of themselves

Surely something great must be happening
To someone else
On the other side of the world
Anywhere
But not right here

Stuck in a screen
They can't actually affect me
I just suck the joy
The newness
The progression

And go absolutely nowhere

The world is endlessly
Open
Opportunities fly in my face
And I beg my God to guide me
I know He knows my unknown

But it's absolutely terrifying

How do I etch the dichotomy of my soul?
To reconcile that inner demon
To tame the beast
I press on

Can I paint the cognizance of my being?
Am I the potter?
To mold cast iron
I am the clay

To what end do I harness the cacophony?
What decibel suits your fancy?
Shall we now dance?
Satisfied in your comfort

Is it a monster to be loosed?
Or a butterfly awaiting metamorphous?
Should the shit hit the fans?
Do you see my dilemma?
I would spare you from the mess

I have made my bed of tears
I lay in the warmth of my own filthy sorrow
And I am drowning.  

Fumble

Yep, folks. I'm alive... no worries. I just take breaks from my hobbies every now and then. I've been on an exercise/work/actual life kick recently so the blog kinda faded.

The frozen (or not so frozen as of recently) north has been treating me well and while the fight for a regulated, sane life is still on, vast improvements are being made. Or so I'm told. It is funny how the more you learn about life the more you realize you don't know. After a fairly routine disagreement happened to go a little further south than usual, my mother and I were standing in the middle of our driveway and she just laid it out plain and simple: "Catherine, for as much as you think you know, you really don't know about much of anything." And as much as it kinda felt like getting punched at the base of the sternum, (try it sometime... it hurts) the direct, stinging truth of it took a pretty clean shot to that sensible part of the brain that somehow gets buried under ego and emotion while waging war with the parental unit, and stuck. I know it sounds harsh but it was said with love and harsh is usually what gets through my brick wall of stubbornness far enough to actually change my mode of operation.  I am realizing that it is a pretty hard thing to set yourself far enough aside long enough and consistently enough to actually learn a new behavior; to change your automatic reactions to daily life, or things that work against the direction of the grain in the wood you perceive to be correct.
So knowledge, wisdom... these things I have such minimal amounts of, and no idea how to obtain them. BUT! I have Proverbs! Proverbs 2:1-7 to be exact, "My son, if you will receive my sayings, And treasure my commandments within you, Make your ear attentive to wisdom, Incline you heart to understanding; For if you cry for discernment, Lift your voice for understanding; If you seek her as silver, And search for her as for hidden treasures; Then you will discern the fear of the Lord, And discover the knowledge of God. For the Lord gives wisdom; From His mouth come knowledge and understanding. He stores up sound wisdom for the upright; He is a shield to those who walk in integrity." 
So I fumble on blindly in life, seeking with eyes that are shut, screaming for aid with a voice that is broken, and yet thankful for a God who causes the blind to see and makes the dumb to speak.

Brizzle, Brizzle Bum, Shmizz, Moeshy, Shmoe... you know, Eli!

I know most of you also read my mom’s blog so you already know my family, but I figured I would just go through the members and how I relate to them (and the lack of relation at points) since they are all so wonderful and I can’t really think of anything else I want to write about today. We’ll start with littlest.

Don’t be deceived by this ADORABLE little face… this child is a turd. And I mean that in the kindest, most loving way. For real. I love this little man a ton and he is so funny, passionate, and willful. He really loves Thomas the train and makes the cutest “trains” out of cars, animals, silverware, whatever is inspiring him that day. Anyway, it’s super fun to watch him learn new words and activities.

I was actually just thinking the other day about the fact that I probably wouldn’t even be here if it hadn’t been for this little annoying brother. Well, I can’t really say that because I don’t actually know, but he definitely played a big part: You see, when I first met my family, I was working as an LT (essentially a counselor’s helper) at the bible camp that my Dad works at. Eli was just a fat 10 month old baby at the time, and due to my odd absolute love of babies, I always found time to slip away from my cabin group (I was such a prime LTJ) and play with him. Most days of camp that summer were spent looking forward to meal time and the late afternoons when my mom would bring the littles to camp (I wasn’t adopted yet) so I could ditch my responsibilities and go run around like a crazy with the three little boys. Eventually I started becoming friends with Crystal and so it all began... but I totally wouldn’t have given her the time of day if it hadn’t been for that sweet, fat man.  

All that aside, he is definitely the sibling that I fight the most with. I know it is mostly just a great deal of immaturity on my part, but I’m telling you, this kid is evil. He knows what I hate and does it just to drive me crazy… I swear it! J You know that part in Lord of the Rings when Gollum gives that really horrid smile to Sam when Frodo isn’t looking? Eli does that to me all the time. I dish it out pretty thick to him too though… sometimes I just pick on him because it’s legitimately funny. I do try to make it up to him though, I rock him to sleep every now and then and give him candy (the way to every two-year-olds heart). We are usually the last two kids to go to bed so most days there is time at the end of the day for us to hang out… just the two of us. It is one of my favorite times of the day. Even as I write this, he is sitting next to me in our wonderful green chair bobbing his head along to ABBA and eating Ritz crackers. This whole post has been interrupted with “blowing in your face contests” and dance offs, so if it doesn’t flow so well, my bad… but I was just chillaxing with my littlest poopy bro.

On the Subject of Being Home

           I am taking a post to vent. Not about my past or about the things I worry about in the future, but about life now. This post may seem a bit contradictory to my last post, but it isn’t. Both the feelings and beliefs that I state in this post AND the ones I acknowledged in the last are true, however painful the truth may be. I just want to be sure and state at the beginning that I love this family that I live with and I am SO thankful for what they sacrifice for me. Also, I truly view them as my family. But there is half of me that just wants to scream at the world, “ADOPTION SUCKS!” Horrible, I know… and I can’t even believe I am actually writing about this on my blog, especially when there are so many other happy things that I could be talking about, but I just couldn’t get it off my mind… and I feel like sometimes it’s ok to share reality with others.

            Just this morning my mom and I were discussing why it is that I can’t just be content, to the very core of who I am, to view this as my home. Because, to be honest, most days this feels like living with a really nice family for a while, and for ages it has plagued me as to why I couldn’t just make myself feel loved and tucked into a secure family setting. Even now I am at an utter loss as to how I can still yearn so ferociously to actually believe that my mother loves me as her own after all the time and energy she has dumped into me in just the short time I have been here. Yet, for whatever reason, I cannot accept that love.

            After we had finished our conversation this morning, my mom scooped up her baby boy (Eli) who was having some sort of issue and began to care for him as any loving mother would, and I began to watch a common thing in our house: a child being loved. It went something like this:

“Oh baby boy, someday I am actually going to miss these fits of yours, and I’ll say to myself, ‘remember when Eli would throw ridiculous tantrums that could simply be laughed at?’” After some smiles and hugs and kisses and warm gushy feelings, the inevitable reminiscing began:

 “And you just used to be the fattest thing, with all the chubs, look at yourself in that picture; you were only two months old… and soooo little! You were born all skinny, but you just fattened right up because you were the best nurser there. All the nurses were so proud! You just came right out and latched right on like you had been doing it for ages. And you pooped and peed like a pro… all the nurses were so proud, you were just the best baby in the whole hospital, especially because you didn’t even lose any weight, not even an ounce. Your sister Katie lost a whole pound (or something like that)….” And on and on it goes, from one kid to the next, how they did this when they were just a toddler, or how baby-ish Tommi was when he came home and just how big he and Z-man are now. Or even the bad things, how hard it was when someone used to do this or that.

            The worst is when we sometimes look through old pictures on the computer:

  

 “Oh look how skinny Z was!”

“I remember that day… it was such a wonderful summer.”

 “Oh and there is that skirt that Jordan wore every day… I could not get her to take it off.”

 “Look at little Alli… man she was such a baby girl!”

 “And Dan… see those tears running down his cheeks? He was always crying about something.”

 “Look how beautiful my Katie Lady is… man she is so grown up… can you believe how big she is?”

 “Gosh what a runt Tom is… ah but he was so cute, look at his big adorable eyes… he was such a baby!”

 “And my fat baby Eli… oh I love this picture of us!” And on it goes, through hundreds of moments caught in time that I have missed, where my existence meant nothing to those I love most.

            I am by no means saying that I wish my mom would never reminisce about the years gone by, or cuddled up the little ones and oogle over them and how wonderful they were when they were younger. In fact, it is probably good for me to watch how a mother is supposed to love her children, and there are days when it brings a smile to my face. But it hit me so hard today why I can’t settle; why I hate watching this interaction so much: it’s because I have no history here.

    My mother has no idea how I ate when I was born, or whether or not I pooped or peed well. Actually, she was 11 when that happened, and can’t even comprehend how she would have been my mother when I was born… because she couldn’t have been. She has no idea how I acted, the toys I loved most and all the ordinary stuff that mothers know about their children when they are one, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, and seventeen. We have missed so many years… and I am supposed to be home?        

          This is my no means the first time that I have struggled with this, or been saddened by the fact, but I somehow find a way to get beyond it… as I will today. I choose to be thankful for the time I have now… and try and learn how to love my family, while they are almost strangers to me. I love them fiercely, and that is why it hurts. But alas, one can’t get hung up on the “what if’s” of life. Sorry if this post came across as wining… it probably was to a certain extent… but I just had to get these thoughts out of my head. And don’t be mistaken, my mother is wonderful… so very wonderful. And I know, somewhere deep down inside, that she really does love me.

                                         

  

Short and Sweet...

Well folks, it's official: I'm just not the blogging sort. But I am not quitting it. I feel as though I have some what of a valid excuse, as my family has been on vacation for the last month or so and the place we are currently staying in has no Internet. I do have stuff I want to post about... but I'm afraid that is just going to have to wait until we get home. We leave next Wednesday and I simply can't wait. It's not that being down here hasn't been lovely, or meeting Craig's family hasn't been interesting, it's more just that I am ready to be home. I miss my Alaska in an amazing way. I miss the mountains that will all be covered in snow by now, and all the naked trees, ready to take on winter. I miss the icy wind that cuts right to your bones as it blows the left-over fall leaves into their respectable ditches; natures way of tidying things up. I especially miss the anticipation of the first snow and watching for the sky to turn that foreboding gray. The first snow of the year is still one of my most favorite things ever, and I may have already missed it! I hope not.
But I am learning an important lesson: I am learning that no matter how homesick I get for the land, I still have the things that matter right with me... my family! As cheesy as it sounds, it is so true. Being the oldest kid and the newest member, along with a whole lot of other crap, certainly provides its challenges, and there are so many days that I find myself focusing on all the things I hate about being here with these annoying siblings of mine. But when it comes right down to it, and I've had to apologise to several people, I am truly over-joyed to be right where I am, with the people that I love.

Tasting Elation

Do you ever feel so deliciously happy that you don’t quite know how to contain yourself? When your heart is so at peace and your very soul is calm with contentment? I don’t really know that I have ever felt this way before. But today, well, today I do. It is a feeling so completely strange to me that I don’t really even know what to do with myself. Usually when I have an onslaught of emotion I sleep, but that doesn’t really satisfy this deliciousness. Am I supposed to run and scream with delight? Do I even admit to feeling like this over events so seemingly small? Nothing too monumental has even happened… yet I feel so strongly that in this moment the world in which I exist is just as it should be. (For the time being)

Allow me to explain: Today I finally received my High School diploma in the mail, just in time to show it off at a small graduation party, at which I received the gift I have so long awaited: A GUN!!! Ever since I can remember I have wanted one and now I dooooo! Plus, I’M GRADUATED! If I could see my birth mom right now I would take great delight in saying, “up yours,” with that particular finger pointed in her face. She told me I could NEVER own a gun and that I wouldn’t graduate if I left when I did. Today, however, both predictions were shattered. I am now the proud owner of both a diploma and a .44 special.

But it doesn’t end there. My mom is home. Do you even know how wonderful this feels? After 17 days in Taiwan, miles and miles away, she is home. It is hard to explain how or even why it was so hard to have her gone, just outside of missing her a great deal, which I did, but I had this impending fear the whole time that she wouldn’t come back, or, even worse, she would but would have nothing to do with me. I understand that to most this may seem a childish perspective on someone leaving for a couple weeks, but that fact didn’t make it any let relevant to me. But for now she is home, and the world is that much more in the right.