I've been in the process of building a website through another blogging site. However, this one has options that basically allow me to build a webpage along with my blog, and use templates so I don't have to code everything (which is nice because I'm not great with coding anyway).
juliecblack.wordpress.com
So perhaps this is the end of this blog. But I thought it should end on high note rather than the continual low notes it has lived on.
It's time to reach out. Time to force myself to reach out instead of shrinking inward.
With that in mind, I've been reaching out this past week, trying to stop being so inside my head all the time, and for as alone as I still am, things feel different. Things feel better.
Maybe my time of refinement by fire is coming to a close. Maybe I'm finally where God needs me to be before His plan for my life can move forward. I'd like to hope so.
Monday, January 16, 2012
Friday, January 6, 2012
While looking for jobs, I saw a posting of someone looking for a crew for a short film. Unfortunately, you had to join the site (join meaning pay a fee) to see contact details or anything like that, and the job wasn't paid so it wasn't even worth it. Anyway... the film was being done in memory of the person's sister, who at 30, committed suicide.
I grew up in a town drenched in fear after a record number of suicides in teens in the 90s. It's still happening, even now. Yellow ribbon, for those of you who don't know, is the suicide ribbon. I've heard story after story because of this history, and for more personal reasons, this issue is near to my heart. As such, I've continually heard stories about it over the years, and sometimes I feel like it's following me. A constant reminder of the aftermath of a suicide. People left in heartache for decades, people filled with regret they should never have, guilt that steals years off of the lives that are left behind.
It's my own personal reminder. I'm not allowed to leave, not allowed to skive out early. I read these stories and I hear my family speaking, see their tears, feel their agony, know their despair. In experiencing their pain, I know that I could never do that to them.
There are days when I'm scared, though. Days when I worry that I won't be strong enough. Days when I'm terrified that I won't live out my natural life, that I simply won't have any strength left. I am worn down, I am weak, I am fighting with all I have left to not be vulnerable to what scares me.
Seems strange, to be scared that you might commit suicide when your heart and mind have formed a solid union wanting to live. But there is a part of me that is sick, and has been sick for over a decade now. This part is the part of me that I have to fight against at my weakest, for that is when it surfaces. I'm terrified that someday I won't have any strength left and I won't be able to fight it, and that it will take over just long enough to do all it needs to do.
There is so much I want out of life, so much life I have yet to live. I want to get married someday, I want to have children someday, I want to direct films, I want to tell great stories, I want to grow old and see my grandchildren and hopefully even great-grandchildren. I want to be that old couple in the park holding hands as they walk together, probably at a turtle's pace.
All I want is the strength to always live. I don't mean to live forever, I mean to always choose life, to always win out over the part of me that has wished myself dead for so very long.
I grew up in a town drenched in fear after a record number of suicides in teens in the 90s. It's still happening, even now. Yellow ribbon, for those of you who don't know, is the suicide ribbon. I've heard story after story because of this history, and for more personal reasons, this issue is near to my heart. As such, I've continually heard stories about it over the years, and sometimes I feel like it's following me. A constant reminder of the aftermath of a suicide. People left in heartache for decades, people filled with regret they should never have, guilt that steals years off of the lives that are left behind.
It's my own personal reminder. I'm not allowed to leave, not allowed to skive out early. I read these stories and I hear my family speaking, see their tears, feel their agony, know their despair. In experiencing their pain, I know that I could never do that to them.
There are days when I'm scared, though. Days when I worry that I won't be strong enough. Days when I'm terrified that I won't live out my natural life, that I simply won't have any strength left. I am worn down, I am weak, I am fighting with all I have left to not be vulnerable to what scares me.
Seems strange, to be scared that you might commit suicide when your heart and mind have formed a solid union wanting to live. But there is a part of me that is sick, and has been sick for over a decade now. This part is the part of me that I have to fight against at my weakest, for that is when it surfaces. I'm terrified that someday I won't have any strength left and I won't be able to fight it, and that it will take over just long enough to do all it needs to do.
There is so much I want out of life, so much life I have yet to live. I want to get married someday, I want to have children someday, I want to direct films, I want to tell great stories, I want to grow old and see my grandchildren and hopefully even great-grandchildren. I want to be that old couple in the park holding hands as they walk together, probably at a turtle's pace.
All I want is the strength to always live. I don't mean to live forever, I mean to always choose life, to always win out over the part of me that has wished myself dead for so very long.
Thursday, January 5, 2012
reflections on 2011
Sometimes it takes going 2200 miles away to come to terms with things, to make realizations, revelations, and finally figure things out.
I finally came to terms with a two and a half year relationship that could have gone a very different direction.
Had it gone that way, I would have been married for about six months now. That thought used to creep me out to no end. I suppose I had to get away to finally emotionally deal with all the damage he caused me. I don't know that I ever found the closure that we as humans so deeply crave, but at the very least, I've moved on not in part, but in whole. My singleness has become a blessing--a testament that God has something great planned for me, and that instead of trying to make something happen, I should wait. Wait for the right guy to come into my life. Wait for the guy to make the first move. Be patient. Don't force the issue. I haven't been on a single date since he and I were together. For a while that bothered me, that I was undesirable and that my ex was the only one who'd ever like me, even love me. And then I decided that there is someone incredible (and incredibly handsome) out there who WILL love me. Someday.
I watched my dreams, goals, and desires slip away to make way for something far deeper and pressing: surviving.
Not in the way that someone in a third world country does, but much more in the fact that I had to put everything I loved on hold just to earn money to pay rent and purchase food. On Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, I dropped a few levels. And it has hurt the whole way down. I've slipped from the top two tiers to the bottom two tiers, easily. When it gets to that point, where I am emotionally and psychologically makes much more sense now, the dark place that I inhabit has a reason for being so much darker than I have ever known it to be. I crave the third tier like I have never craved anything.
I learned that being 2200 miles away changes everything.
I've never been scared to do something new, to step out on a limb and take a change. I'm the fearless one in the family. But being all the way across the country from everyone I love has made me realize how important family is. How much I need them and how much I miss them. My priorities are changing, morphing. I don't want to be 2200 miles away any longer.
I lost my sense of home.
It's the people that make the place, and if you haven't found the right people, or barely see the right people, what does that make the place? A living hell. Torture. I have spent a year spiraling downward, craving time with the people that make the place for me, and finding them busy or uncaring most of the time. I'm alone. I'm so alone, and in that loneliness, I have lost all sense of home. LA was supposed to be home. I know more people here than I know anywhere else now, and yet it's anything but. I feel like a nomad, but instead of having a tribe that I travel with, the core people I am never without, I travel on my own.
I've found and lost myself.
That sounds strange, but it's true. I've found more of who I am, and in the same sense, lost most of who I am. I've lost my confidence, my outgoing self, my can-do, conquer all, iron-clad will. What I've found is the part of myself that needs the deepest healing, the part of me that is so very hurt and distraught that I will never escape it. But I've also discovered what my true priorities are now, who I am and who I'm becoming. I've discovered that I am stronger than I ever imagined, and still I am too weak for this city. How can I be so weak? A lot of people would just say suck it up and deal with it, but the truth is, I have. For months. And after feeling like I'm being attacked for months, without end or relenting, my defenses are so worn down that I as a person am disintegrating before my own eyes. I'm dying. One day at a time. And it kills me even faster to know that I'm not strong enough to fight back.
I went home for Christmas, and it was the best two and a half weeks I've had. We really didn't do anything exciting or all that special. Take that back--we picked out a cat, and that was plenty special and exciting. We didn't go anywhere, take any elaborate trips, have any special parties or anything. We were all home and I was happy. For the first time in months, I was happy. I was home. I was loved.
Perhaps it is the lack of love that I feel in LA that makes life so unbearable. I am forgotten, alone, unloved, and lacking purpose. And it hurts because I know I'm so very capable, and I'm not unlovable at all.
My goals are changing, now, in 2012. I'm rethinking my life, and one of the options I've come up with gives me hope. If I don't find a job out here in the next few months, as long as I give it my all, then I can go home to Ohio with my head held high and know that I did not fail, but this was not where God needed me. Perhaps I was needed here for a time, perhaps I needed to experience this in order to go where I need to go. In any case, if this isn't where I'm supposed to be, I go home and regroup. I could write while home, see if I have anything worth saying. And then try to get a job in TV in Atlanta. Four hours from my sister, eight from home.
Maybe I don't know what I want any longer. I think now that's for God to decide.
I just want to go back home. I want to be in a place where I'm loved.
I finally came to terms with a two and a half year relationship that could have gone a very different direction.
Had it gone that way, I would have been married for about six months now. That thought used to creep me out to no end. I suppose I had to get away to finally emotionally deal with all the damage he caused me. I don't know that I ever found the closure that we as humans so deeply crave, but at the very least, I've moved on not in part, but in whole. My singleness has become a blessing--a testament that God has something great planned for me, and that instead of trying to make something happen, I should wait. Wait for the right guy to come into my life. Wait for the guy to make the first move. Be patient. Don't force the issue. I haven't been on a single date since he and I were together. For a while that bothered me, that I was undesirable and that my ex was the only one who'd ever like me, even love me. And then I decided that there is someone incredible (and incredibly handsome) out there who WILL love me. Someday.
I watched my dreams, goals, and desires slip away to make way for something far deeper and pressing: surviving.
Not in the way that someone in a third world country does, but much more in the fact that I had to put everything I loved on hold just to earn money to pay rent and purchase food. On Maslow's Hierarchy of Needs, I dropped a few levels. And it has hurt the whole way down. I've slipped from the top two tiers to the bottom two tiers, easily. When it gets to that point, where I am emotionally and psychologically makes much more sense now, the dark place that I inhabit has a reason for being so much darker than I have ever known it to be. I crave the third tier like I have never craved anything.I learned that being 2200 miles away changes everything.
I've never been scared to do something new, to step out on a limb and take a change. I'm the fearless one in the family. But being all the way across the country from everyone I love has made me realize how important family is. How much I need them and how much I miss them. My priorities are changing, morphing. I don't want to be 2200 miles away any longer.
I lost my sense of home.
It's the people that make the place, and if you haven't found the right people, or barely see the right people, what does that make the place? A living hell. Torture. I have spent a year spiraling downward, craving time with the people that make the place for me, and finding them busy or uncaring most of the time. I'm alone. I'm so alone, and in that loneliness, I have lost all sense of home. LA was supposed to be home. I know more people here than I know anywhere else now, and yet it's anything but. I feel like a nomad, but instead of having a tribe that I travel with, the core people I am never without, I travel on my own.
I've found and lost myself.
That sounds strange, but it's true. I've found more of who I am, and in the same sense, lost most of who I am. I've lost my confidence, my outgoing self, my can-do, conquer all, iron-clad will. What I've found is the part of myself that needs the deepest healing, the part of me that is so very hurt and distraught that I will never escape it. But I've also discovered what my true priorities are now, who I am and who I'm becoming. I've discovered that I am stronger than I ever imagined, and still I am too weak for this city. How can I be so weak? A lot of people would just say suck it up and deal with it, but the truth is, I have. For months. And after feeling like I'm being attacked for months, without end or relenting, my defenses are so worn down that I as a person am disintegrating before my own eyes. I'm dying. One day at a time. And it kills me even faster to know that I'm not strong enough to fight back.
I went home for Christmas, and it was the best two and a half weeks I've had. We really didn't do anything exciting or all that special. Take that back--we picked out a cat, and that was plenty special and exciting. We didn't go anywhere, take any elaborate trips, have any special parties or anything. We were all home and I was happy. For the first time in months, I was happy. I was home. I was loved.
Perhaps it is the lack of love that I feel in LA that makes life so unbearable. I am forgotten, alone, unloved, and lacking purpose. And it hurts because I know I'm so very capable, and I'm not unlovable at all.
My goals are changing, now, in 2012. I'm rethinking my life, and one of the options I've come up with gives me hope. If I don't find a job out here in the next few months, as long as I give it my all, then I can go home to Ohio with my head held high and know that I did not fail, but this was not where God needed me. Perhaps I was needed here for a time, perhaps I needed to experience this in order to go where I need to go. In any case, if this isn't where I'm supposed to be, I go home and regroup. I could write while home, see if I have anything worth saying. And then try to get a job in TV in Atlanta. Four hours from my sister, eight from home.
Maybe I don't know what I want any longer. I think now that's for God to decide.
I just want to go back home. I want to be in a place where I'm loved.
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