Now that this hellish cycle (more an ! than a .) has passed, there are more important things at hand than staying sane: classes, success, trying to get poetry published, and building friendships/close relationships. There are things to do, people to love. I am sick of pretending to be Juliet, and believing that romantic love is, in Rufus Wainwright's lyricism, "the copious prize." I suspect this yen for romance is nothing more than the cleverly disguised attempt of my body to find another dopamine producing addiction. This is never the right reason to get into a relationship, it's "usery"; for God shutting this door to me, I can muster up at least a little gratitude.
Though, to be honest, while this is "OK" and I know that God knows what He's doing, it would have been nice to have a guy around; It would be nice to have an opportunity build a healthy, respectful relationship with a guy and to also shed the stupid, unfair stereotypes of men as horndogs and/or shallow dolts. I have to be careful to remind myself that Mr. Progressive Christian Guitarist Guy is not insulting me personally. And that, well, on paper, it's good to know that what I'm looking for could conceivably exist.
This rest of the week has been such a high, and it's slowly sinking in that really huge things have happened. First, there is a fledgling relationship forming with my dad, and then, I am realizing my ability for assertiveness, especially with R. It hasn't been perfect, the walls are still high and fear is still there but at least, steps have been made and change is coming. God has seemed intensely close, and I'm getting to know Him better. Once, He "told me" obedience in breaking up with R is simply "remaining in His love." It is true, doing the right thing removes shame and self-blame and enables me to get closer to Jesus, "look Him in the eye."
This weekend was good, too. The family went to Nag's Head and we all sat around at the beach house, eating and talking. Gretchen and I got into a long conversation about religion and politics, and with her, unlike with assorted other ideologists in the family, it didn't devolve into a dramatic pissing contest. The one-on-one was really good because my family was beginning to trigger me, as a group, you know.
And. Oh my goodness. At night the ocean is beautiful. On Saturday night, I stole outside for a smoke at three a.m until six when Aunt Barbara woke up and opened the door (which was locked me out from the outside). For three hours, I watched the horizon cleft into dark ocean and dark sky. The wind was up so the ocean was loud, a roaring thing. The only light was from two ships "passing in the night." It was transcendent, watching my soul and night converge in the distance; knowing God is "in here" for sure is nice, but becoming aware he is also "out there" is astounding when you've forgotten. "The skies declare the glory of God." The scene was an icon, a mirror, and a door. It spawned some poetry and some major gratitude in me.
Who knew getting locked out could be so amazing?