Do You Have a Moment to Talk About Our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ?

For Brian: Thanks for not letting me dip a toe in. 

Something tells me this will be one of my less popular posts. As I am not going to dwell on heartbreak, laugh through embarrassing one night stands, or call out the people around me for doing things I don't like. What I am going to do is talk about my relationship with God and how it has grown and changed over the last 3 years; as I have transitioned from a very angry atheist to a slightly less angry Christian.

I was born and raised Catholic under an agreement with my parents that I would be baptized, communionized (right?), and confirmed. After that us kids were allowed to decide where we stood in our religious beliefs. By the time I had gotten confirmed, my belief was that the Catholic church made me feel like an awful person for everything I liked doing, was doing, and was planning on doing. So I spent an awkward teenage summer attending a few churches of different denominations of Christianity and reading a few books on Buddhism before I ultimately decided that none of it made sense. That I liked the idea of having religion, but I needed tangible evidence or who we were and how we got here. One that religion couldn't provide - hence the word "faith". Didn't have it, didn't understand it, and I became pretty intolerable of those who did.  In hindsight probably out of jealousy more than anything. 

When my father got sick I started to question a decade of outward opposition towards religion because I hated the idea that when he did pass he would just die. That he would be worm food and that's it. I needed to know that I would still feel his presence, that he could still hear me when I cried out to him, and that he would be able to see me grow up, get married, have babies - all the things I was so torn up about him missing. Even though I was beginning to consider finding a God, or a spirit that I could grasp onto, I was so conflicted about believing in something that would give power to taking my dad from me in the first place. I needed that power in my life - but fuck that power if it's real, ya know?

Once he died it became easier for me to pray. It became easier for me to let go of that anger and start looking at what I really needed out of faith if I was going to utilize the benefits of it like talking to dead people. I remained in this spiritual gray area for the last 2 years as I discovered what life would be now that my father was gone and I was to begin moving on. 

Over this spring/summer I began visiting my friend's family church. Her father is a pastor there. And even before I had seen him speak, he had come down to visit me in Aurora to pray with me and discuss religion. His candor and patience was the first glimpse into a religion I understood, because he didn't claim to have all the answers. And he didn't rush me into feeling or believing something. We talked about things that I will always disagree with the Christian community about, and how you can still fit into that world without sacrificing those beliefs. It started to become clear to me that I have this amazing presence in my life, that has always been there, regardless of how hard I worked to suffer through every bad experience on my own. 

The one realization I had that really opened the door from curiosity to starting to feel like I understood what faith was was this: I wasn't scrappy and resilient in life because circumstances had made me this way. I was made scrappy and resilient in life so I could survive the circumstances that I have. God wasn't fucking around when he made me. He made me sharp as a tack, quick as a whip, and gave me a heart that is probably two sizes too big, but can believe and fight it's way through anything. 

My friend's father used to tell me that I couldn't just dip my toe into religion. That once I was going to believe, I would jump in head first. You can't partially have faith. You have to decide it's what you believe and let it change the way you face each day - not only because you know you are loved and have something amazing in your back pocket. But because you have found something special and it gives you the strength to give back more and do more for others than you ever thought possible. 

Last Sunday I stood in front of a church and prayed that I was done living for me. That I understand where my heart is and what it's good for. And I am going to trust in God's plan and do everything I can to love the people around me as much as I can for as long as I can. This faith has given me strength. This faith has made me less afraid. This faith has restored a heart that was very heavy with hate and anger. 

I am still me. I am still Katie Mother Fucking Keller until the day I die. I will say outrageous things, I will get too drunk, I will make people uncomfortable sometimes. But no matter what happens I will never be as sad, as heartbroken, and as sore as I have been made to feel in the past. Because I am not alone, I have something amazing in me, and I will be okay. 

Exes, Engagements, and A Case of the Eric Slendermans.

This past New Year's Eve, I sat a table at a bar surrounded by friends, drinks, and the best love I have ever had in my life. My boyfriend and I kissed at midnight, and then he drunkenly confessed that we would be engaged by the end of the next year. My heart was overwhelmed and everything felt right and I knew I was going to be okay. 

Two weeks passed and everything had completely turned around. He was sleeping in the guest room, and barely speaking to me. He had become very insecure about a relationship I had with a great guy friend of mine. He was scared I was going to cheat or want someone else. I said, wrote, and gave him every word I could think of to assure him that it wouldn't happen. It wouldn't happen if said guy friend was Robert Downey Jr. I was in love with him, and was holding on to the names we had picked out for our future kids and the song we slow danced to in the living room practicing for our wedding. I wasn't going to give up on us without a fight. 

I knew from arguments that we had had in the past that his coping method was to have space and time to sort things out. This is the complete opposite of how I operate, as I will argue until I am blue in the face and have a resolution rather than letting things simmer without being addressed. But he had told me time and time again, that him taking space didn't mean he was leaving or giving up on me, he merely need to cool down before we could more forward.  I assumed he was just cooling down for the few weeks he had distanced himself from me, and didn't think it meant either one of us walking away for good.

My world, as I was giving him space to breathe, was falling apart. I was just put on a new medication for my fibromyalgia that caused some terrifying and risky side effects. I started to feel like I was being crushed under the weight of my depression, which was growing by the minute. On a Wednesday night, alone, scared and confused, I took 6 xanax and 6 tramadol and waited. I don't think I really wanted to die, but I knew it was a cry for help and that if it was 12 pills this day, I wasn't sure it wasn't going to be 20 pills the next. So I went to the hospital.

I was given the runaround by one facility that didn't think my situation was dire enough to be admitted. But I wasn't about to leave, left to my own devices, and hope that outpatient treatment would be enough to keep me safe. I went home to gather my things, and go to another hospital that would admit me for treatment. The whole day was a dark, heavy and foggy one. It felt like someone else was in my body and taking me where I needed to go while I watched it all happen through my own eyes. When I got to the house to get ready to leave, Ryan walked out of the guest room and stared at me silently. I could tell by the look in his eyes that something was wrong, but couldn't even really process it at that time. I was in motion for my survival. 

A long silence broke when I asked him if it was over. There was no yelling, no drawn out conversation or any skirting around it. He said he didn't think he could trust me and he was done being with me. I started to cry and sat down the couch to continue on my way to getting help. I called my mom and asked her to bring me to the hospital. Through tears I collected my things and tried to push down whatever I was feeling in reaction to his decision to leave me. The last thing he said to me was "Don't tell people I am the reason you are going in there" and I left.

This is where I have gone from confusion to anger to bargaining and am trying to find acceptance from in what has unfolded since that night. I spent a week in a mental facility trying to sort out my medication, my mind, and my heart. It was the best place to be following a break up. Something you ladies should consider. While locked away you can't set anyone on fire. I knew the hardest thing would be coming home to him being gone and starting to live all over again in a completely different life. THIS guy had apparently used the week I was in the hospital to leisurely move his things back into his parents house. During that week, he proceeded to use my house like a bachelor pad. I came home to find that he had been staying there, watching tv, drinking beers, and living the good life until the night before I was released. 

Here's what kills me: even if he had decided he could never truly trust me and wanted out of the relationship, do you have no respect for the 2 years we spent together to the point that you have no care or regard for the fact that I am in the hospital, sicker than I've ever been in my life? How do you cut someone out that fast, and not look back? How do you not care even a little about the friendship that was established in all the time we spent together? I went through the normal breakup motions for the next few months. Sent him a few emails, some angry, some pleading, some expressing my shear confusion on how we had gotten to that point. He seldom responded, and if ever it was simply to say that he had no intention of talking to me or seeing me ever again, not even for the sake of explaining himself. He was happy and wanted me to move on. So I have been trying to do that ever since.

Timehop is an asshole of an application as it reminds you of the happiness you felt in years past about people and relationships that are no longer in your life. There should be some sort of filter that only shows you things from interactions with people that you still like. So every morning starts with the question "How could we have been so happy doing this together exactly one year ago?"

This past Labor Day I scrolled through pictures of our trip to Wisconsin together last year with his family. As my heart began to ache, I wandered over to his facebook page to find him with his new girlfriend at the same places as we were photographed together the year before. This girl was a long time friend of his, who he told me time and time again not to worry about as he had no feelings for her. (The irony). After reliving that weekend with him, planning future vacations with his family, and making love on a golf cart in the middle of the woods, I flipped through a picture of his vacation to find out that he had proposed to his girlfriend on this trip.  Only a short 8 months after we had separated. 

I've tried to understand how all of this happened so quickly. If he had always had feelings for her. If his insecurity about my feelings towards my friend was merely a reflection of what he was feeling towards his. I questioned if she was around the week that I was in the hospital, in my house. And the worst of all the questions, did he have the money saved up for a ring while we were together? Is she wearing my ring? At least he wasn't lying about being engaged by the end of the year. I just didn't know it wasn't going to be to me. 

If 8 months is enough time for him to move on, get engaged, and become future step dad to this woman's son, than it is enough time for me to move on. My heart is still sore. This one hurt. I have never considered my future more seriously with any other relationship. And I needed him the most when things ended. He wasn't there. I am sure that warrants me painting him as a bad guy, but I still can't even do that. Because who he was when we were together we genuine and real and the biggest love of my life.

The fact of the matter is, at 28 years old, I am the happiest I have ever been on my own. I am dating. But I am not jumping in to anything too serious until I find solid ground in this new person I am becoming. I have kept quiet about this situation outside of close friends, because I don't want to tarnish the memory of the time we were happy together. And I do wish him the best. A part of me still wishes it would have been me. But I rest easy knowing that I was the sparkle in that relationship. The "poof" if you will. The girl that gave him a reason to dress nice and go to wine tastings, comedy shows, concerts, hotels, and incredible dinners. I was also the girl that would sit around in his t-shirts singing loudly to Tenacious D drinking beers, or cooking together. I did that relationship right. And I will do that again someday and that guy is going to be the luckiest bastard on this earth.

I Get Attached

I don't know when I lost my ability to not get attached to men. Somewhere here in my late twenties I suppose. I guess it's because it takes a lot more energy for me to be with people these days than it did when I was spending countless nights at bars, and going home with someone was the same as going home alone only slightly more awkward in the morning. 

When I am with someone now, which is far and few between for me these days, it means I really want to spend time with that person. Outside of being with them physically, I am willing to compromise my Netflix time and share my couch with them. This usually entails cooking a meal for more than just myself. And in most cases I even muster up the energy to not crawl into pajamas immediately after coming home from work. I understand that I am only 28 but I have a good job, a nice house, a car, responsibilities, all the fucking bills. I don't spend money like I used to, and that means a lot more time spent at home. And I am more than okay with that.

I guess I wouldn't want to be the love em' and leave em' type anymore any ways. But you open yourself up to more hurt and heartache when you genuinely care about the person you are spending time with and that person may not be looking for a relationship with you. I struggle constantly with whether or not to allow myself to be with a person, knowing I want more but still enjoying the time I spend with them. Or considering the alternative to cut them out of my life since we are clearly on different pages.

It's probably clear I am referring to a specific relationship in this. One that has been in the background of my life for about 4 years now. I am crazy about this kid. And even after all this time, adult me gets nervous butterflies every time I see him. His kiss is still electric to me, and I never tire of the time we spend together. But after 4 years we are still not exclusive. And I know I am keeping myself from meeting other people or being in other relationships when I become fully engulfed in our relationship like I have been the past two months. And I can't figure out if I am cheating myself out of something better, or if I am just doing what feels good for now knowing it isn't exactly what I am looking for. 

I keep telling myself to manage my expectations with this one. That I know what we are and what we are not. But when you fall for someone, removing those feelings is not all that easy anymore. And I think once you fall for someone, it's hard to ever go back to a place where maybe you could feel unattached. I keep trying, and I keep coming up short. 

I know what I want. Better yet, I know what I deserve. So maybe the question shouldn't be whether or not I can keep myself unattached from someone - but rather should I be with someone who doesn't want to get attached to me? 

Did You Wake Up In A Bed Today?

"I bet you are having a better day than I am."

I laugh at the thought, through tears, waiting in the holding cell at the police station. I don't even want to look over and make eye contact with the man saying this to me. Because then someone will have facial recognition of me in this ridiculous situation at 28 years old. How does this keep happening to me?

"I doubt it." I replied. 

"Did you wake up in a bed?" he asked. "Because I woke up in the woods."

Point one to the large black man staring through the same rusted bars as me this morning. 

I have carried that moment with me every morning since. I have successfully woken up in a bed pretty much every morning for as long as I can remember. Not always my bed, sometimes really awful beds that are more like mattresses on the floor with a few throw blankets tossed haphazardly over them.  But for whatever brought me to that point on that fateful morning, it could always had been worse.

I could have woken up in the woods.

I haven't written a blog since August. Since Robin Williams died and I went on a whole long tangent about depression and the way it's perceived by people - specifically the media. Then I went dark. And in that time I have checked myself into a hospital for depression and what would have become my demise in ending my life. I ended the first relationship that ever felt healthy and fulfilling. I left some jobs, came back to a job. There have been good days and there have been terrible days, but I can say I have always woken up in a bed. Albeit one of those beds was in a mental institution, a bed is a bed y'all. 

I still don't have any big answers or keys to solving depression. I am trying to change my perspective just enough to get out of that bed each morning, and I think that starts by acknowledging I am in one. 

I can't seem to get a handle on anything involving self-worth and confidence. At the end of the day, it's me who stands in my own way more than anything a single one person or circumstance could do to me. I believe I will fail, I believe I don't deserve love or happiness, so the moment things are falling together I find some sort of destruct button and watch the whole thing crash and burn.  I maintain unhealthy relationships with people because those are the kinds of people I will inevitably end up with. I call off of work, because I am probably going to get myself fired any ways.  It's a vicious cycle that no matter how self-aware I am to it, I can't seem to stop.

No one chooses to feel like this. No one wants to believe they aren't good enough for good things to happen. No one wants to keep chasing their tail in circles while everyone around them seems to be moving on and growing up and for some reason you can't move past not liking yourself very much. I understand and fully acknowledge that nothing worth having or doing in my life is going to come together until I get passed this hurdle. This hurdle I have been sitting next to staring at for almost two decades. The reality of this hitting me hard as I am approaching my 10 year high school reunion. 

I don't think I am going to have a "rock-bottom-aha-moment". I think I have been living in that moment for the majority of my twenties waiting for someone or something to take me by the hand and pull me out of it  Now that I've put in the time waiting I can state with 100% certainty that it doesn't work that way. That if you are fortunate enough to wake up in a bed each morning, it's entirely up to you to determine how the rest of that day turns out. Because, quite frankly, if you wake up in a bed, the hardest part is over.