Turnaround

It's been quite awhile since I wrote in here. I guess that's because things have settled down a bit. I don't have a job right now, and I should admit that I worry about money a lot, but I have been amazed by two things. One is how little it actually takes to live. I have discovered a lot of things I can do without. The other is that God does provide when you put your trust in him, and I really am hopeful that a job is just around the corner.

I think things got more stable a few months ago, as I neared my one-year mark here in Baltimore. A lot of friends had told me that it would take awhile to get truly adjusted in a new city. But I was impatient, and I let the natural growing pains get to me and make me depressed. I was kind of a pain to be around during that time, and I'm sure a lot of people were waiting for the funk to pass.

And then it did. I think one morning I just woke up and realized that my prospects here in Baltimore were actually quite good. I had made a lot of good, honest friends. I had found a wonderful church where I was baptized into a truly loving community that lives for Christ. A lot of relationships that needed healing had found themselves healed. Others were (and are) more-or-less the same, but I have actual hope that they will heal one day, and my life doesn't have to stop while I wait patiently.

Maybe it was because I moved to a new apartment, closer to my friends and my church. Maybe it's because I got more organized. Maybe it's because God finally thought that I had learned my lesson. And what is that lesson? Well, I suppose it's that I can get through anything. Not on my own, of course, but then again, I'm not ever really alone. For the longest time up here, I felt like I simply couldn't do it. If you know part of what I was going through for the first eight months or so up here, you know that I wanted to quit and move back to North Carolina.

But I didn't quit, and even though life up here still has its challenges, concerns and stresses -- money being one of them, grades being another -- I have a lot more resolve than I once had. I trust God to carry me through. I trust that true friends will stand by me, even though I know I can be a high-strung, Type A, aggressive, moody, desperate, temperamental, abrasive personality. But I also know my good points, and the great gifts that God has given me. And I really hope that people will understand and appreciate them, and look past the bad stuff. I hope to love and to feel loved in return. But I know that even if I don't, I'll still make it. Things have turned around, and they'll keep turning.

Awkward

I've been told sometimes that I'm socially awkward. It's a criticism that I accept begrudgingly, but I know that it's mostly correct. There are certain things that I just don't "get" when it comes to humor, and I can put my foot in my mouth very often. Just a few weeks ago, I remember I posted a comment on a dear friend's Facebook status (or it might have been a photograph, now that I think about it.) Either way, the comment was intended to just be kind of a joke, but I suppose it was awkward enough that the friend deleted it. He politely told me why, and I have absolutely no beef with him about it. I know he's a great friend who cares about me, so that didn't bother me. What bothered me was that, once again, I had unwittingly made a social faux pas when I simply was trying to be, well, humorous.

Frankly, it's moments like that that make me not want to even try. Facebook can be one of the more unhealthy things when it comes to revealing one's social awkwardness, because I can easily compare myself to other people. I see friends posting inside jokes back and forth. I see them make comments about how cool they are. I see spontaneous comments about how certain people miss each other, and want to talk on the phone or hang out. None of these folks are doing anything wrong, but I can't help but feel like being left out most of the time, because even though I think I'm a good and loyal friend, that kind of expressiveness is beyond me. I want to be in on the inside jokes, the spontaneous messages, the random hangouts and visits... And yet I'm really not. And every time I try to become that kind of person, it usually ends up awkwardly and poorly. And since Facebook (and the Internet in general) seems very committed to the notion of tabulating and recording who we are and what our relationships look like, that can lead to some pretty heavy feelings of not stacking up to what other people do. Emotionally, but not logically, I tabulate who my real friends are by who writes on my wall, or who jokes around with me, or who chats with me spontaneously. Logically, that's silly, but social networking has become such a part of life in this century that I doubt I'm the only one who experiences this phenomenon.

This extends to my relationship with Christ, as well. Facebook, perhaps more than any other medium, allows us to see how other Christians in our lives operate, and it creates a lot of awkwardness (at least for me) because we also know that we're being watched by our brothers and sisters in Christ. I have some wonderful, expressive, loving Christian friends who daily put up a wise Christian status update, or a link to a Christian worship song, or a relevant quotation of a Bible verse, and each time it's liked by a ton of people and there are comments of "Amen!" or "Well said!" or "You're such a wise brother! I'm thankful to know you!" And it's not necessarily a bad thing, nor do I think it's disingenuous, because these people are wise brothers and sisters and I am very thankful to know them. But I also look at my wall, and see the general lack of those Facebook Christian tropes, and I end up feeling insecure. Just like a knack for witty Facebook comments and inside jokes somehow makes me feel like those who excel at them are more successful in life, socially, a knack for putting up relevant, poignant quotes and Bible verses makes me think of those who post them as "better Christians." And I look at my wall, and my random assortment of funny articles, indie videos and general randomness, and I go, "Oh, man... They must think I don't really care about Christ."

I do, of course. I care about him more than I could ever put into words (which might be a reason I leave it off Facebook, for the most part.) I've often had a difficult time expressing my faith. My testimony, last week at my baptism, had the general feeling of a horrified squeak on my part. I was just so nervous. I don't know the right contemporary Christian songs. I don't raise my hands in the air when I sing. I tend to be really cynical and sarcastic. It's not the kind of personality that really "fits in" to the chipper, emotional groups of evangelicals that I've known in the past. Yet I think Facebook gives us mirrors where we make side-by-side comparisons of ourselves and others. Just like I may look at the banter between two friends of mine and go, "Oh, I wish I could joke around with them like that," I can look at someone's wall and go, "Oh, I wish I knew as many Bible verses or quotes from popular pastors as that guy." The main difference is that I think it's fairly appropriate to try to joke around with someone in an attempt to break out of your shell and insert yourself into the conversation. To post "Christian stuff" on Facebook when I don't really feel genuine about it, but just because I want folks to think better of me, would be kind of gross. I should wait until I actually have something that I genuinely want to say, and I guess I'll just have to accept the fact that that's going to be less often than some people, and I just hope I can survive the awkwardness in between now and then.

Writer

I've never wanted to think of myself as a "writer" in a very serious way. I'm not some literary snob, sitting in some coffee shop in a cardigan and glasses, obsessing over the half-finished manuscript buried in my desk drawer and telling anyone who will listen that it is surely beginning the greatest novel ever. Not that I have anything against cardigans, glasses or half-manuscripts (I happen to have all three) but there is often a certain pretentiousness associated with identifying as a writer, and I want no part in that.

I was talking with a musician friend of mine, and he mentioned that although many of us have these grand ideas that musicians are struggling, tortured artists, releasing their pain and heartbreak through song, the reality of it is a little less epic. Of course musicians do find strength, comfort, expression and healing through music, but as my friend pointed out, it's still a job. It requires a lot of work, practice, patience and sacrifice. I remember in high school, when I tried to learn the guitar, I learned that I didn't care about music quite enough to put in the time and sacrifice long hours to the perfection of that craft.

Writing, on the other hand, is something that captures my interest enough to force me to learn it. It's not a mystical natural ability that I, or any other author possesses. It has to be learned. At the same time, like music, it relies on emotional experiences that can't be learned. The place where the raw emotions and the technical details merge is of particular interest to me. The technical side of fiction writing does require skill, patience and even a certain set of "rules," but it also requires the author's experiences to a large degree, and thus it recalls an ability to tap memories and emotions that other people leave buried.

To be honest, that's the hard part. There are lots of writers -- just as I'm sure there are lots of musicians -- who are all technique and formula. You can write a bestseller or a hit that way. And trust me, I really do enjoy both popular fiction and popular music. I'm not a hipster, and I've never been under the illusion that something is bad because it is popular or good because it is obscure.

But to write fiction that truly resonates means putting yourself in some pretty dark emotional places sometimes. It means living through experiences multiple times, so as to glean enough information from them to inform your fiction. If writing is a job (and it is) then it can be a pretty emotionally taxing one. Still, I couldn't imagine myself doing anything else, so even if it may be considered a pretentious identity, I'm proud to call myself a writer.

Stuck

A very good friend offered to talk today, and I spoke with him while my carry-out pizza got cold on the table in front of me. He's one of the main people who I've been able to talk to about the events that happened in July. The problem, of course, is that that's basically all we've talked about since then. I feel terrible about it, and I can always sense his agitation when we meander to that topic. It's not agitation with me, he assures me, and I do believe him. It's agitation with the fact that, almost a year later, nothing has changed. I still feel the same. In many ways, I feel worse. There has been some improvement, of course. I'm no longer self-harming and I actually can get out of bed, go to work, study diligently and do well in my classes. All in all, this has been a productive semester. I've produced some good fiction, and I've made enough money at my job that I don't feel like a financial burden on my mother -- who has been supporting me until now. Sure, I've had some rough patches along the way. I certainly don't get along with everyone at my job, and sometimes the pressure just makes me snap and say something that is uncharacteristic of me. But overall, my life is calm. It's not exactly happy. I get up, I work, I study, I play video games, I read, I write and I go to bed. That's the essential routine of it.

But it's still very, very hard. I could basically take the last few posts and copy and paste them into this space, with some minor modifications. That's how stuck I feel. I don't think it's wrong for anyone to feel tired of me at this point. My friend was right, pretty much all we've talked about for the past year is the same situation. It's the same person who dropped me as a friend after I had a breakdown, the same feelings of exclusion, the same paranoia and angst when I look at a status update or picture on Facebook: "Did he comment? He blocked me, so I can't see. Am I excluded? Do people still like me, despite everything that has happened?" In a way, the paranoia is a progression. It used to be paranoia that led to horrible, mind-destroying depression. Now it's just paranoia that, well, leads to bad nerves, torn fingernails and crying. I generally know how to put on a good face for my family and the few personal friends that I have, but even some of them notice that things just aren't right anymore. And they're right to notice that.

But what is to be done? I'm waiting for reconciliation, but reconciliation might not come, as my friend pointed out. I did go through a rough time over the summer. I broke down, I became irrational, I dealt with a lot of extremely hard life situations -- the full extent of which I can't and won't reveal, at least not on this blog -- and I hurt and confused people because of it. And one person in particular decided to distance himself permanently. I understand why, I do. Perhaps it's just that I feel like I'm better now. Or at the very least, I'm trying to be better. Or, perhaps more accurately, I so desperately want to be better. But I can't really change unless I'm given an opportunity to change. I can't show that I won't abuse lines of communication unless they are reopened. Based on his past experiences, he has no reason to trust me. No one does, really. But part of the reason I'm so desperate for communication is so I can show just how much better I am, so I can show that I can be humble, I can apologize, I can respect boundaries, etc. Right now, I know I can do these things, but I'm still being treated as though I can't. That is extremely difficult, and sometimes it's a little too much to bear. Like I said, I feel stuck: I know I can do better and be more than what other people expect, but unless they take the chance to look and listen, they won't see that things have changed in me. And since they won't see the change, it makes the change a little less real, even to me. Yes, I do often need another person's acknowledgment to feel like I've truly changed or reached a milestone. Maybe I shouldn't, but that's just the way I am, I suppose.

This started out much more coherent, but it's devolved, I fear. I'm not doing that poorly, I suppose. I work, I study, I go home, I call my mother and siblings a few times a week, etc. The weekend was rough, and today wasn't that much better, but maybe it's just that the weather here is terrible. The friend who talked to me today did sound agitated, but he assured me that he'd always be there, even if I felt this way forever. That was nice to hear.

Used

You know, I've been involved in this online community of struggling folks for about five years, and in that time I've developed some very close bonds. They are, in essence, the closest bonds that I have with anyone outside of my immediate family. This was especially true after joining an accountability group on Facebook, where I was able to "meet" several people I had known on my blog for years, and attach names and faces to situations and personalities that I already knew about in writing. These online friendships led to real-life ones, and I visited several of these people while on a road trip this past summer. In fact, I don't think I would be in Baltimore at all if it wasn't for the fact that the closest of these friends was a student here, and encouraged me to apply to the school I now attend. In short, these have been some very important friendships to me, but I'll also admit that these friendships have been extremely challenging in the past. I don't think it's unfair to say that I go out of my way to please people, and like I've said on this blog, I've had a lifelong obsession with finding a place to belong.

Well, when I first found this online community, and especially when I joined the Facebook group two years ago, I felt I had finally found my place to belong. Unfortunately, my views at the time were rather liberal and unorthodox, and the fact that I have a pretty polemic, abrasive personality meant I was in conflict with folks quite a lot. As tough as I tried to appear, this was pretty much torture to me. Here was my place to belong, and yet I felt like a constant outsider because I didn't go to Exodus conferences, I didn't really buy into a lot of the theories about orientation causation or change and my political views were more libertarian than the standard religious conservative's. So I argued a lot, and if anyone reading this ever got into an argument with me back then, they know that I could get extremely passionate. I still can, really. Why, just the other day I was talking to a friend online, who got tired with the argument and signed off quickly. I kept calling him and calling him after that, until he eventually blocked my number. We've since reconciled and I definitely know that my behavior was out of line, but it's just an example that serves to illustrate this point: I totally realize I can be a lot to handle sometimes.

I am still human, though, and I do think that I have put in a lot of time and effort into these relationships. Frankly, I've put in more time and effort into online relationships and my own introspective, reflective writing than I have to bonds in the real world. Of course, I still have a lot of friends and acquaintances in "real life." I think I can be fairly affable in person, although I'm a little eccentric and not above being awkward. But like I said a few posts ago, I'm a writer. I see myself and think of myself as a writer, and even if I'm not a good writer, even if I'm never published or successful in that particular field, the fact remains that I express myself best through the words that I write, not the ones that I say. Therefore, the people who know me best are those who know my writing. Short of reading all the short stories, unfinished novels, journal entries and other notes I've compiled over the years, the best way to get to know who I am as a person is to simply read both my old blog and this current one, and also to talk to me through e-mails, Facebook messages and chats. You'll get to know me better than you would if you knew me in person, where I think I can be very polite and presentable, but not much else.

The odd thing is that, over the course of the past few years, I changed a lot about myself. Oh, sure, I'm still a lot to handle, but my views on issues really did change. I'm not going to say I'm totally a fan of Exodus, but my position has moderated extremely from where it once was, mainly because I've come to know people who are actually involved in Exodus. In essence, I've become a lot more conservative than I once was. I don't know why, exactly. Examining motivations like this is pretty difficult, if not totally impossible, but I know that I used to share a lot of anxieties with people, telling them that I felt like an outsider in the group because of my more liberal views. I do think that, although I think conservatism is pretty logically consistent anyway, I wouldn't have sought to change myself if I wasn't seeking after approval and acceptance from friends.

That's why the recent situations with several friends who have gotten boyfriends have been so difficult. I felt like I made myself a conservative just to win their friendship, and I went through so many arguments, tantrums, anxieties, etc. Just when I felt like everything was going swell, I feel like I've been rejected again. I'm back to square one, because they're all liberal and I'm the one holding onto conservatism. That's just really hard. I usually try to write a little more clearly, but what else is there to say? It's hard. I changed a lot about myself for other people, even moving to another city for other people, and now I'm left without them. Oh, sure, many may say we're still friends, although others have made it clear that we're not, but the fact remains that the personal renovations I did to myself have now, well, seemed to have been for absolutely nothing. I don't think anyone consciously asked me to change myself, nor do I think anyone consciously used me, but that's how I feel: Spent and used. And I'm very tired. I know I'll get up tomorrow, and things will keep going, and writing this out tonight has helped a little. But, man, I'm just really, really tired. And I'm trying to figure out why I'm still fighting like I do.

Fears

Life has both calmed down and sped up considerably recently, which can explain the lack of blogging around here. On the one hand, I feel that I've calmed down recently, at least emotionally. Okay, I did have one pretty epic outburst (which I'll get to later) but for the most part my days pass by without much incident. I have a few depressing hours every now and again, and I might even be in one while writing this, but I've become quite amazed by the world's unflinching ability to keep going, whether I feel happy or not. I think God has given me the resolve to keep going along with it, and I thank him for that. On the other hand, I have been really busy recently. I work almost every day, I have a lot of things to read for class and I'm already starting to develop ideas for my thesis. I just signed up for summer courses, I have to write two more short stories to complete my coursework this semester, I wish to revise and edit the two that I've already written, I am applying for teaching jobs in Baltimore and I also have a strong desire to go through my old blog and edit each post for grammar, punctuation and precision. I know, my perfectionism knows no bounds, right? Yesterday I looked at the journal that I've been keeping since college. A large part of me wanted to buy a new blank volume and re-transcribe everything I had written in it, word for word, since I deemed my handwriting in freshman year to be too sloppy.

Perhaps that last anecdote is indicative of my emotional state for the last few weeks. Aside from all the busyness, there has been an undercurrent of fear. Oh, sure, I've had great times in the midst of everything. I visited a good friend in West Virginia, and had a great weekend. I walked around Baltimore on a spectacularly sunny day and took pictures with another friend of mine. I've gone to dinner with friends, read great books, had great conversations on the phone with my mother and have basically carried on the routines of a normal, healthy life. However, I can't fully let go of the past. I still have a lot of emotional anxieties related to that horrible month of July, a full seven months ago. In many ways, I still feel like I'm living in the postlude of that month, since the relationships that were lost then still reverberate very heavily in my heart. Even though I know that my mental health has improved greatly, and my life seems to be on track to any outside observer, I still have so many fears and anxieties related to what happened then. I know, I haven't really blogged extensively about that time period in my life. There are a lot of issues involved there, the greatest of which is the desire to protect the privacy of myself and others, and I just haven't had the time to begin the delicate process of examining this past summer in a public way that would be both fruitful and respectful to all parties involved.

To make a long story short, though, I still fear the same things I feared then. Namely, I fear losing the people in my life. When friends who you love and trust, and who say they love you in return, abandon you, it's extraordinarily difficult, for me, at least, to recover. I still haven't. Every relationship that I've made since, I feel that I've only put half of my heart into it. I'm afraid of people getting to know the real me, because I'm afraid that once they do, they'll want to pull away, just like a good friend did in July. Worse, people who I haven't talked to in awhile... I feel that they are avoiding me purposefully. Even though I know that folks drift apart naturally over time, ever since this summer I've been paranoid about my personal relationships. If someone doesn't talk to me, even if they say they're busy, I fear that it's due to an indictment against my personality. I assume they don't like me. This is especially true with regards to anyone who I had conflict with, or who was connected to the issues and broken relationships I had over the summer. Trust me, this isn't a really pleasant way to feel. Cognitively, I know that it's not rational and that it's not even true. Emotionally, however, it's intensely sad and almost crippling at times. I've learned to cope with it and continue living, but I would really like it to be gone, to be perfectly frank.

I suppose in order to clarify what I consider abandonment, I guess I should define what I consider to be personal closeness. That's difficult to do, however. In truth, I've had a difficult time recently trying to bring clarity and precision to my own definitions and premises. I know what I believe when it comes to God, Christianity, the Bible, politics, etc. However, I know that my fear of losing people often keeps me from saying those beliefs boldly and clearly. I'll easily hem and haw about a subject if I fear that the person will no longer want to spend time with me should they ever learn what I truly think. There's no other term for this attribute of myself than sheer cowardice. Similarly, I can keep my emotions repressed for awhile, in order to simply enjoy the artifice of someone's company. However, neither of these repressions can last for long. One example should serve as a model for any. A friend of mine, a fellow struggling guy, recently started dating a guy. Although he had been trending towards this position for awhile, I told him that I would support him and be his friend no matter what. On the surface, those words are still true. I do still consider myself his friend, and I do support him. Naturally, though, I want to support the decisions that will ultimately lead him towards Christ, not away from Christ. That wasn't clearly implied in our earlier conversations, and in fact, I willfully kept it hidden because I feared coming on too strong about the dangers of approaching gay-affirming theology would cause me to lose the friendship.

Ultimately, when I learned that he did indeed have a boyfriend, both my emotions and opinions burst forth, and they weren't tempered in any way. I'll be the first to admit that I made an awful show of it. I was harsh and abrasive, condescending and rude, and even though I do think that heaven and hell are absolute, literal realities and that unrepentant sin is a sign that a believer, well, isn't a believer at all, I think I was more "fire and brimstone" than I ever had been. That's saying a lot. The conversation was heated and I haven't talked to him for the past two weeks. I hope we can reconcile, and of course I have an absolutely crippling fear that we won't. I just realize that a lot of this would have been avoided if I was more consistent and honest with what I believe from the start, rather than letting it burst forth when, really, it was too late to change his mind. Not only that, but I fear for him. I remember a post that was posted on Revelife recently, where the author reviewed the fascinating Lisa Ling documentary about the ex-gay and gay Christian movements. He mentioned something about one of the struggling men interviewed for the show: "After seeing his tear-rimmed eyes, I could never be convinced there's not something Special rooted deep inside him, beckoning him to abandon himself for something far greater."

I have met many men and women who have cried, who were passionate about their commitment to God and the denial of their feelings, who seemed beckoned to abandon themselves for Christ... Many of them have helped me on my own path, and have kept me fighting when I didn't feel like fighting anymore. The friend who broke ties with me in July, and the friend who I recently shouted at for having a boyfriend, they're both very significant to me for that reason. The first, though I know next to nothing of what he's up to, is still fighting, I hope. The second, I fear, is giving up. And if he has, I fear that that love of Christ I sensed in him might not have been there at all. I know I shouldn't judge. I really know nothing about the state of one's eternal soul on this side of eternity. However, I can't pretend that that's not what is at stake, here. God didn't call us out of homosexual behavior simply because celibacy or heterosexual marriage are so much nicer. He called us out because our sins bring his wrath. If we love him, we are to keep his commandments. Sure, we'll stumble. We'll hem and haw about our convictions, we'll sometimes lose our battles with the flesh, we'll have moments of pride, anger, doubt, lust, jealousy... But we'll be committed to winning the war, despite all of that, won't we? To succumb to the flesh in a moment of weakness is one thing. To rationalize and justify sinful behavior, and even claim that it is a gift from God, is quite another, and is a sign that one might not be truly saved, despite how much they tugged at our heartstrings while they were still fighting.

That's why I fear for friends when they begin slipping away from this struggle. There are many things I may admire about them. I have nothing but respect for those who stand in the face of public opposition, and who are willing to be who they are despite the fact that they may lose friends. I know many ex-ex-gays, as they're called, have lost a lot, and they have my fullest sympathy in that regard. And I know that simply having a boyfriend doesn't mean you're bound for hellfire. I think it's pretty established that our stories are complex and tumultuous. I've had a boyfriend once, and I've stumbled more times than I'm usually willing to admit. However, I think there's a genuine cause for concern, isn't there? When someone is driving towards a bridge that you know is going to collapse, you want to hold up warning signs, don't you? You fear for their safety, and you'd rather that they stop far away from the bridge, rather than have a near-miss, right? That's how I feel about this. I fear for those drivers. I don't want to see them plunge into the cold waters beneath the bridge.

The only difference is, by saying this sort of thing, I'm holding up the warning sign. Even if my methods of holding it up are abrasive and rude, and I wouldn't disagree with anyone who said that those are dominant personality traits of mine, I'm still holding it up and doing something that, I think, is ultimately loving. But the drivers who hear it might not see it that way. They might hate me for it, and abandon me as a friend. I fear that, too. I fear it so much.

Belonging

I think one of the most persistent, consuming themes of my life is an overall desire to belong somewhere. It's certainly been one of the most dominant themes of the past few months. While my old blog was focused more on my struggles with homosexuality, and my opinions about gay rights and the ex-gay movement, I think I've finally discovered what I want this blog to be about: The struggle to belong. It's something that I've been thinking about quite a lot recently, and I think it's something that many people who struggle with same-sex attractions, and many Christians in general, struggle with and can relate to.

I've always belonged to several things. I've belonged to my family, I've belonged to the small and somewhat insular community that is my hometown, I've belonged to several organizations and groups in my college days. Most recently, and perhaps most importantly at the moment, I've belonged to this strange but simultaneously wonderful community of online Christians, brothers and sisters who struggle with same-sex attractions. I don't think it's a stretch to say that I've put more effort into belonging in this online community than I have in my real life communities. I suppose there is a reason for that, which I wish to discuss here.

I've always considered myself a writer, first and foremost. Am I a good writer? I don't know. I don't think I'll ever get published. The competition for publication is extreme. But that's a little beside the point. The fact is, I express myself better through writing than I ever could in person. When asked to describe myself, I'll often say that I'm loud, obnoxious, opinionated and outspoken. Real life friends would look at that and think, "What? You're one of the most mild-mannered people I know." I think online friends could nod along in agreement. That's because my writing style is pretty blunt. I don't dress things up and I don't hem and haw. I usually say what I think without many qualifiers.

This creates a certain level of tension. I see myself in the same way I see my writing. When I was in high school, I wrote fantasy novels and short stories. They were horrible by conventional standards, but they gave me worlds I could live in and worlds I enjoyed. They gave me worlds where I belonged. Similarly, I think my journals, blog posts, Facebook chats and comments from the past few years have been, in my head, the world where I felt I most belonged. But that kind of thing can only last for so long... At least, that's what I've been discovering recently.

One of the biggest struggles of the past few months, which have been among the most painful and harrowing months of my life, has been feeling like every place where I once belonged is being ripped out from under me. A friend raised the hypothetical question of whether or not God is ripping everything out of my life in order to get me to rely more fully on him. We'll see about that. Hopefully as I make the discoveries, I can get some good feedback from my friends on here. Thank you all for your support and wisdom.

Goals

So a good friend of mine suggested that I write out my goals for the year. I think it's something that I hinted I would do in my last note, but I never got around to it. And the thing is, I haven't put it off for lack of time. Oh, sure, I've been busy, but I have definitely continued my habit of procrastination up here in Baltimore. I keep thinking about all the things I could be accomplishing if I simply used every minute of every day to its fullest extent. Perhaps that should be the first goal. I shouldn't waste my time on silly stuff. I have books to read, classes to attend, friends to see, jobs to apply for and a lot of other stuff to occupy my time. I could actually be quite productive if I put my mind to it.

Sometimes I feel like I don't truly belong up here. I'm still a North Carolina boy at heart. It would be foolish to quit, but at the same time, I want to want to be up here. I still have a year and a half to go and the concept of finishing well comes to mind. I don't just want to phone it in until I have my M.A. and can move back home. I want to actually enjoy my experience up here, put a lot into it so I can get a lot out of it, grow and change as a person, etc. The last one is going to require quite a bit of effort on my part. Changing isn't easy, and it doesn't happen overnight, and for an impatient person such as myself, that can be very annoying.

Perhaps another goal that goes right in line with that is that I need to take better care of myself. Oh, I don't mean in terms of the physical daily aspects of what that means. So far, I've been quite good at staying healthy, eating well, paying my rent, keeping my apartment clean, etc. But emotionally, I need to start taking time to find things I enjoy, and then actually do them. I also need to figure out what I like about myself. I think I didn't realize until I was a little more socially isolated that I got my affirmation and sense of self-worth from other people. And it's difficult to love others or have meaningful relationships if you're struggling with low self-esteem. Figuring out what is good about me is a goal.

But that actually brings up some theological questions which I was actually talking about with a different friend today. Theologically, I'm Reformed, which means I don't really believe there is anything inherently good in human beings. After all, if there was then we wouldn't need saving. And I don't believe that God predestined the elect to salvation based on their own merits, or anything inherently in them. While the upside to this is a profound sense of God's sovereignty and an assurance in one's own salvation, the downside is that I think I came out of it with some pretty low self-esteem. At least most Christians who aren't of the Reformed streak feel like God created things within them that were positive.

I'm not quite sure if I believe that. Or at the very least, I'm not really sure what those things are. When I am encouraged to write down what I like about myself, I feel like I am engaging with pride. But isn't self-hatred, or at least low self-esteem, a form of pride in itself? Where do Christians draw the line? Most folks do get affirmed in their positive traits from their friends, spouses, coworkers, etc. Is that proper? Is there a way to be affirmed and to affirm others without engaging in pride? I'd definitely be interested in responses from anyone with a theological stake in the argument, and in general, I'd appreciate prayers from folks that I can complete my goals up here. Be blessed.

Review

I wanted to write this the other day, so that it would still be within the realms of 2010, but the library was closed for the holidays and my computer was broken. Somehow, however, my computer has miraculously decided to fix itself -- or the pesky virus that's been bothering it is just biding its time, waiting to strike again at an unforeseen point in the future. Either way, I can write a note about what 2010 meant to me. Because, man, it was a year. A really incredible, daunting year, and in a way 2011 feels like it's gonna largely be about reflecting upon and learning from the lessons of 2010.

I started off the year doing my student teaching in North Carolina. It's kind of amazing that that's where the year started, because honestly that feels like ten years ago now. Man, was that a weird time. I was applying for graduate school, preparing for studying abroad in Belize and generally not focused on my classroom like I should have been, although I think I got it together about halfway through and made sure to finish strongly. I learned that I wasn't as disciplined as I thought I was. I wasn't as confident or engaging with students as I thought I would be. I didn't know as much about English as I thought I knew. In short, I didn't measure up to my own expectations. But that was a good thing. It allowed me to humble myself and actually work on my skills as a teacher and as a communicator, and by the end, I passed easily. It was just a really, really difficult 10 weeks, and one that I don't think I'll be wanting to repeat again.

Now, some weeks that I am definitely gonna want to repeat are the five weeks I spent living and working in San Pedro, Belize. That was incredible. I still can't accurately put into words what that experience meant to me. For one, I was able to subconsciously take a lot of the classroom skills I learned while student teaching in North Carolina and apply them to my classroom in San Pedro, which was an absolutely cool and unexpected method of continuing my student teaching experience beyond the 10 weeks I was originally allotted in the United States. But even more than giving me more teaching experience which I desperately needed, Belize was a magical place that helped me deal with a lot of issues. I had never before really interacted with or engaged with another culture. I have a tendency to be shy and nervous, and I'll often hesitate and not boldly step forward into new experiences due to my timidity.

Yeah, that all changed in Belize. As I wrote about in my travel blog from that time, I really did things there that I never thought I would do -- and probably will never do again. Not only did I loosen up around the students and fellow teachers there in ways I never felt capable of doing in North Carolina, but I also made friends with a fantastic group of fellow travelers, all of whom I miss dearly, and was truly social and outgoing for one of the first times in my life, at least by my own estimation. I still sometimes have a painful longing to go back, and hopefully I will be able to one day, or I'll find another place calling out to me, and I'll be even more capable of throwing myself head first into that adventure.

Speaking of adventures, as soon as I got home my dear sister decided to set out on her own, and I got to be there as she married the man of her dreams and he became a member of our family. Then just a few days later, the biggest adventure of my life thus far came to a close as I graduated college, leaving behind so many amazing friends and memories which I know not only will be with me forever, but which set up the foundation of my character and personality in ways that even I'm not fully aware of at this moment. I'm introspective and talkative, though, so the chances are I'll create the links in my head eventually, and then I'll tell you all about it.

And then I took a 30 day road trip across the United States, visiting various friends -- and even a few minor acquaintances -- all for the sake of adventure. I guess I was still stoked from my time in Belize and I needed to take advantage of it. Besides, that graduation money wasn't gonna spend itself. I had the time of my life, and although it was stressful at points and it certainly revealed some incredible flaws about myself, I enjoyed it, and it added about another thousand mental photos to the memory vault (not to mention real photos to Facebook.)

And then there's Baltimore. That's especially difficult to write about, not because of any particular hardship (okay, that's a lie,) but because it's not over yet. It's only just started, really. What I know so far is that I dealt with a lot of homesickness and loneliness for awhile which were heightened by the fact that I was dealing with some emotional issues and the losses of some close friendships as well. It made the last semester sort of a bummer, but I'm trying my best to be positive and look forward into the new year. I have a decent job, a fantastic small group and an awesome church, some great friends who I am totally thankful for, a beautiful family who I'm able to keep in touch with and a great group of fellow classmates and teachers with whom to study. So really, the time for review is officially over. Here's to a new year, and I'm looking forward to everyone of you reading this (whoever you are) being a part of it in some way.

Obligation

I think a lot of the recent emotional turmoil I've gone through doesn't really make sense unless I give a proper explanation about my personality and my role in relationships in general. I am, in essence, a dutiful person. In fact, I don't really know if I can explain myself outside of that word. To me, duty, loyalty and obligation are not bad words. In fact, they're comforting and soothing. They make sense to me. They give me a sense of stability. I don't trust my emotions and I don't trust for things to develop naturally. This becomes especially evident in friendships.

Like I said in the last post, I don't understand and can't comprehend when friendships end. It simply doesn't make sense to me. To me, once you make friends with someone, they are essentially family. This is especially true when they are Christian. We're brothers and sisters in Christ, and thus we're eternally bonded to one another. I don't think many people -- not even Christians -- view friendships this way. They continue on like even the unbelievers, just talking to who they feel like talking to, and distancing themselves from those who they don't feel like talking to anymore. Everything is based on emotional whim. It's based on desire, trivial details and interests, and a general sense of selfishness that I can't comprehend. If you only talk to those who you wanna talk to, and you're only friends with those who you wanna be friends with, then are you really living up to the standard of self-denial that we're called to?

It's not like I'm a super moral person. I can't take credit for my views on relationships. Whether it was through genetics or upbringing, this is how I turned out. The foundation, the core, of my relationships is based upon feelings of obligation, duty and loyalty. It doesn't matter how anyone else treats me: I'm going to stay loyal to them no matter what. To me, I don't know how to better express care or love. It's just how I do things. I know I have hurt people in the past when I neglected them, and so in order to not neglect anyone and hurt them, I vow to be a loyal friend, even if I don't necessarily feel like it. Of course I don't always enjoy a person's company, but who the heck am I to let my emotional whims determine how I treat someone else? You may not always enjoy talking to your grandmother, but you do it and you make time for her because you have a commitment of family to her. You respect that, and you treat her well because of it. I simply take that same principle and apply it to all of my friendships. It doesn't matter how much their quirks might annoy me. Those are just quirks. I can get over it, and I'll do what I can to be their friend no matter what.

The downside is that most people don't, and that is something that I just can't deal with. I don't think obligation means that you don't care, or that you're heartless. Again, what kind of reality would it be if we had no sense of duty or loyalty? I also feel that we're given conflicting messages about this as we grow up. When we're young, we're told that if we feel bad or hurt about how someone else has treated us, we should tell the person what's up. We should tell them how we feel. So that's what I do. When I'm not being included, or when I want someone to joke with me or kid around with me like they do with others, I tell them. But I'm often told that I'm being pushy, or that people want things to be natural, not through obligation. I don't get that. So you want to include people, but if they ask to be included, you all of a sudden don't want to, anymore? It's frustrating. I don't understand the rules people live by. I try, at the very least, to be consistent, despite all my quirks. The worst part is knowing that I'm totally in the minority. I don't know anyone else who lives by the rules I live by, and it is a very, very lonely feeling. I feel like I try so hard to include everyone, be everyone's friend, and I don't get anything in return, even when I ask. It's just really... I dunno. It just feels wrong.

Gosh, I had so many more coherent thoughts when I started this post, but I'm getting emotional and it's late, and now I'm just rambling. I like how even when I ramble, my grammar is impeccable. I've come across plenty of emotional blogs and notes by people for whom that isn't the case. Anyway, I don't think duty is a bad thing. If someone comes up to talk to me out of obligation -- because they feel that it's right and loyal to do so -- even if they don't quite have the mushy emotional warm feelings that go along with it, I'm okay with it. I'm more than okay with it. Doing something out of obligation means that you still care about the person. In fact, it means you care a lot. It means, "I'm going to do something that I might not even feel like doing, in order to make you happy. My feelings aren't as important as yours. I want you to feel safe, included and warm." That's really what motivates a lot of my actions. I'm surely not selfless. I mean, I'm complaining about a lot of my social efforts not being reciprocated, right? But at the same time, I will never be convinced that a strong sense of duty and loyalty is anything less than a good thing. It is a good thing, and I'll live and die by that belief.

And if anyone wants further elaboration why the events of the past summer -- from the divorce of my parents to the abandonment of several close friends -- put me into a downward spiral like they did, I think this previous explanation of my personality pretty much sums it up. The betrayal of family members and friends, to me, is the most damaging and harmful thing I could possibly go through, because that's simply what I value so much. Maybe I shouldn't, but I've been this way for so long, I don't know how to change it, and I certainly see the goodness in the things I hold dear.

Pain

Pain isn't something I deal with well, mainly because I'm not quite sure I ever really dealt with it before this year. This past summer did quite the number on me, emotionally and spiritually. I did a lot of amazing things -- like go to Belize and take an amazing road trip -- but I also had a lot of horrible experiences that I still haven't gotten over, a full six months later.

I lost some really close friends this summer. Some for reasons I can understand and respect, and others for reasons that are still totally unknown to me. The first is difficult enough to deal with, but at least there are reasons that I can make sense of. The latter are extremely hard to deal with, though. I'd go ahead and say that they're impossible to deal with, because I really haven't been dealing with them. My past six months, despite the good moments that happen every now and then, have largely been miserable.

I'm not okay with the idea of relationships ending. I'm not okay with there being separation or discord. It's kind of sad when you see two people who have stumbled with each other, emotionally or sexually, and you see that they're still friends and God has worked peace back into their lives. And yet here I am, not having stumbled with some of these people, and still being cut off from them over trivial conflicts or arguments that I can't even remember now. With the ones I've stumbled with, I can understand there not being a relationship anymore -- although it still saddens me, and I think about it every day, to be honest. I don't know how to let things go. I want friendships to be restored and for things to go back to the way they were before, desperately.

It's just been a really, really tough semester, and I'm finding it so difficult to write about. Usually my thoughts are much more coherent and I'm able to engage with the situation properly, but recently my emotions and thoughts have just been a mess. Just writing this note is difficult. Losing all the friends I did over the summer, whether it was through a sexual stumble, a petty argument or a reason that still eludes me, has completely destroyed me as a person. I don't really take joy in the things I used to enjoy. I went days and days without eating and lost a lot of weight. I even had thoughts of suicide that ultimately didn't lead to a suicide attempt -- thank God -- but which did lead to a pattern of self-harm in other ways (such as not eating, hitting myself until I was bruised or cutting myself.)

Ultimately, I just haven't dealt well with pain. I haven't dealt well with separation. I want these friendships to be restored, because the fact that these people no longer want to talk to me has basically made me feel worthless. If they want me completely out of their lives, it makes me think they want me dead. And if the people I love want me dead, why should I even be alive? I don't hate them -- I don't think they know how much it has hurt me, and how could they? After all, most normal people get over this sort of thing easily. I'm in awe of my friends who can sit by quietly as friends come and go, or who can go through breakups and divorces like they mean nothing. I wish I could be one of those people, but I can't. I'm a lot weaker than I ever thought I was, and I'm very dependent upon other people.

I'm not dying. I haven't thought of hurting myself in weeks. My life is pretty quiet and stable, for the most part. But there is just this underlying pain and sadness that I can't shake. There are friends who I keep thinking about constantly, and the thoughts just don't leave me alone no matter what I do. Thank goodness I don't have a computer in my apartment anymore, or I'm sure I'd be turning to pornography to aid the pain. At least this way, I'm dealing with it on my own without using lust as an aid. But it's very difficult to deal with on my own, and it's hard to write about, and overall there's just so much pain sometimes I don't know if I can stand it. I know this sounds melodramatic and I really am not crying or anything at the moment. But it's been a culmination of six months of misery and I figured I should start being honest about it and actually writing about it, and seeing what, if anything, can change.

Waiting

I have come to the recent conclusion that most of my life revolves around the idea of waiting. It seems that way, at least. In high school I was waiting for college. In each year of college, I was waiting for the next year. Waiting until I could be an R.A. Waiting until I graduated. Waiting until I had a boyfriend. Waiting until that relationship fizzled out. Waiting until I traveled to Belize. Waiting for my road trip across the country. Waiting for graduate school. My life has, up until this point, seemed to revolve around waiting. I have great difficulty living in the here and now. Every situation I find myself in, I quickly become bored and begin looking for the next stage. I mean, I was looking at graduate schools fairly early in my college career.

And of course there is the sense that I am a Christian, and I am waiting on Christ's return. I have His grace and forgiveness for my sins (and boy, do I need it!) But I am still waiting on His promises. We all are, to a certain extent. Perhaps I'm thinking about the subject heavily because I've been going through a book called "Waiting" with my small group. Or that I've ordered (and am currently waiting for) the incomparable Wesley Hill's new book about the homosexual struggle, aptly titled "Washed And Waiting." It seems like waiting is a subject that is constantly on the mind of twenty-somethings. We're in a process of having officially "grown up" in the eyes of society, but we're still waiting on the day when we will feel that sense of adulthood and maturity.

I know I sure as heck don't feel mature all the time. Yes, I'm currently holding down a job (waiting tables, natch.) I'm pretty darn emotionally stable at the moment -- which is an accomplishment after the roller coaster year I've had -- and I'm paying bills, doing well in class and staying away from things like sex and pornography (for the most part) that tend to drag me down and start all these emotional issues in the first place. But even now, I don't feel quite like a grownup. Perhaps being at such an esteemed institution has me intimidated. My small group is full of medical students and surgery residents. My graduate classes are full of people who did their undergraduate coursework at Yale and Harvard. Just tonight I hung out with several students at a fellow student's house. They were in their early thirties. One used to be a lawyer before she decided she wanted to be a writer. She's also married to a neurosurgery resident. The other was once an editor for one of the biggest fantasy and science fiction publishing companies in the country. It's intimidating, and to be honest, I'm waiting for the day when I feel like I have my life and career as together as these people do.

And I'm also waiting for the days when my ramblings are more coherent and less spastic. But then again, this is a blog, and I don't think I owe anyone coherence and essay quality writing. And if you do want that, well, I suppose you will have to wait for it like the rest of us.

Move

Well, it's been about three weeks since I moved up to Baltimore, officially. I'd say that it's been nothing but one awesome adventure after the next, but really, life has been a little boring. I took one amazing road trip up to New Jersey to visit a friend of mine, and I have to say that was one of the best weekends in recent memory. No matter what those dumb brats at MTV have done to it, the Jersey shore still is rather beautiful. Other than that, I've been doing pretty normal, boring things. Like finding the grocery store, or going to IKEA with a friend to find stuff for his apartment. By the way, I love IKEA.

Amazingly, I actually do love my neighborhood. I grew up in a small southern town and I went to college in a pretty quaint beach resort town. Baltimore isn't either of those things. It's gritty, crowded, and I'm living in a small studio apartment, tucked away in an alley (even though I totally admit that it's an alley in a pretty nice neighborhood.) I don't have a job yet, even though I put in applications for teaching, assistant teaching, and substitute teaching with the city school system two weeks ago. But beyond all of that, I actually like being somewhere that's a little more diverse and noisy. There always seems to be something interesting to see and do, and that's quite different from home.

One thing that the move up here has revealed is my severe perfectionist streak. I think my road trip over the summer was supposedly a good lesson about how life is never perfect, even when it's amazing, but I'm not quite sure I totally wrapped my head around that before I moved. I was totally caught up in the moment of having a second chance, and I really expected every day here to be perfect and for every single aspect of life to fall in place immediately and neatly. I think I'm pretty talented and prepared, most of the time, but I still sometimes think that it's possible for me to start something and leave my flawed nature behind.

I think that can be best exemplified by the fact that I got into a car accident five minutes into the city. It's ironic, in a way. I had several people praying for a safe trip, and even though I got into an accident, the damage was mild and I still ended up at my destination on time. So I suppose those prayers were answered. Still, I was personally really upset, not just because there was a potential for rising insurance, but because my "perfect" transition to Baltimore, well, didn't even start perfectly. At all.

And I suppose nothing ever does. I noticed throughout the next few weeks that pretty much every car up here seems to have a dent or two up here. Flaws are a necessary part of human nature. We're all extremely flawed, and frankly the moments where we are at our best are few and far between enough to be labeled "precious." I'm still having a difficult time removing my perfectionist streak. Just the other day I wanted to completely delete every note, blog post, and status update on my Facebook, and my old blog, that didn't include consistent grammar and punctuation. Even though I've grown and learned over the years, I like to eliminate the evidence that I was ever faulty.

And yet, while I'm here, I have to realize that I'm not perfect. Embracing my fallibility doesn't mean that I shouldn't attempt to change or grow into something better, but it does mean that I will be able to accept things when they aren't absolutely the way I had hoped or expected them to be. I may not get the teaching job I wanted up here, but I'm sure some form of work will come along -- right now I'm actually applying to be an administrative assistant at a temp services company, so wish me luck about that. And maybe I won't enjoy my graduate program as much as I had hoped, but I'm still going to get that degree at the end of it.

I have to start recognizing that none of us can ever be perfect, and none of us are ever in control of our lives. Even the control that we think we have is little more than an illusion. God really has supported me a lot over the last three weeks, and I'm praying that He continues to support and comfort me as the next two years reveals a lot more of my imperfections. I have to rely on Him, while accepting that the chaos may not always subside, but I can have a certain level of peace in its midst. As always, I'm excited for the adventures that are to come.