Category Archives: Loneliness

Hitting a new bottom

Yesterday was pretty crazy for us. We moved the rest of our possessions to our new place, and spent our first night out from the frustrating place our old abode had become. I think it might because I’m feeling a bit overwhelmed with being a new place, but I am hitting a weird low today.

I am finding myself doubting friendships, struggling over being self-condemning, fighting against losing any self confidence I may have. I am worried that I am too pushy, too annoying, and people do not like to be around me but only are because they can feel obligated to be my friend. I don’t know if this is all coming up because I am drained, still feeling a bit stressed, and I am reading into people’s actions way too deeply. I’m fighting the urge to take the dive again and bury myself for awhile; cut of all friendships except for maybe one or two, and then leave the rest to float where they may without giving direction from my end.

This may be selfish, but maybe not. I am reaching the point of wanting to shut people out again, and I think that has to do with the amount of stress I’ve been under for the past month. This is the first day that I haven’t had to wake up and hear people I can barely stand living above me. Am I too critical of people? Does my past color how I respond to those I can’t stand? It’s hard for me to be cordial to someone who has broken my trust. Is that normal?

I am losing sight today of what is normal, or what is okay. After having been after to work through all of the second guessing of myself a few years ago, this is unsettling that I am second guessing myself today. I don’t think I have anything legitimate to second guess myself about, but still, I am doing it. I am hesitant to text certain people, I am feeling anxious that I have annoyed others with my communications. I am recognizing triggers around me, and yet I can’t seem to stop those triggers from going off. It’s like seeing an icy path in front of you and watching yourself slip and knowing that there is nothing that will stop you until you reach the end. I am not despairing, oddly enough, but I can see myself slipping.

Maybe I’ll go to home depot and get some supplies for our new place and maybe that will cheer me up. Maybe I will limit my social interactions for awhile until I can find some self-confidence again and stop second guessing myself. Maybe I’ll quit facebook and turn off any notifications. Maybe then I will feel more sure of my actions and will be able to text, call, chat, and email with friends and not worry that I am annoying them with wanting to talk.

Maybe I’ll find my dark corner again and let the storm pass. I’m not feeling any strength to be able to stand up and defy the emotions that threaten and are drowning me.

Maybe tomorrow things will be brighter, but for now, I think I will simply cut off communicating and stick to just three people.


And then you broke my heart – Courtship, Part 2

I couldn’t keep Daniel away from me that night at the party. I would turn around and he would be right at my shoulder, big smile, and a running mouth that wouldn’t stop chatting with me. My heart knew this was one heck of an awesome guy and I was falling head over heels for him.

We danced for hours that night, swing dancing, laughing, and talking after our week of no communication. It was exhilarating and comforting to be back on talking terms with Daniel. That night I texted him and told him how much I loved dancing with him. He texted back and said that he still didn’t want to be texting yet but that he enjoyed dancing with me too.

Our church was in the middle of doing a high school play and both Daniel and I were involved. As rehearsals got more intense and as opening night for closer the more I got to see Daniel. I was 100% sure he was just as interested in me as I was in him. Especially when he was having to be reminded often that he was needed on stage instead of talking with me. We got close and spent a lot more time as the days past almost attached at the hip. We were inseparable but I felt like something was going to go wrong. More and more of my friends were coming to me asking if it was wise that I spent so much time talking with Daniel. They were concerned for my heart and didn’t want to see me get hurt. I brushed off all of their concerns and told them that we were just friends. But I quietly worried that something really bad was going to happen because I had seen close friends spilt because parents felt like the couple was too close.

It was the week before opening night and I got really upset about so many people butting into my business and worrying over how much I was in Daniels company. It didn’t help that as I was working in a prop piece Daniel was right there keeping me company and chatting away. I was so sick at heart because I knew something was starting to go wrong. He left that night after rehearsal and I ignore him with a very heavy heart and a sick stomach. I have often been able to tell when something’s about to blow up and this was one of those times. On another note, I had found a caring and wise ear in my adopted grandfather and when he had visited the two weeks before I had talked for hours with him about my feelings for Daniel. Since i felt like I couldn’t talk with my dad about Daniel, it was such a relief to talk with my grandfather. He had promised after talking with me that was going to write Daniel a letter and encourage him to pursue me if he felt like that was what he was supposed to do. Looking back, the promise of this letters was quite significant in changing the direction of my feelings toward Daniel.

The next morning, I woke up with a very queasy and nervous stomach. Today was the day that I knew something was going to happened. I remember sending a few messages to Daniel, but when I didn’t get any sort of response, I remember thinking something’s wrong. My grandfathers letter to Daniel arrived in the mail that day and I was anxious to give it to him but I decided that I wanted my dad to give him the letter. I figured my dad would be willing to do that especially since my grandfather spent a while trying to talk to my dad about Daniel and I. I should have known better than to ask my dad to get involved but I am getting ahead of myself. I left for rehearsal excited and very nervous since I knew something was up. I got to church and started working on what I hadn’t finished from the day before. I soon saw Daniel get there and my heart sank. He was pale, almost looked like he had been crying and he completely ignored me. He grabbed the mutual friend who had introduced us and asked to talk with her. My heart dropped further and I ran in the opposite direction frantically dialing a best friend’s number. As soon as she picked up, I said something is very wrong and I am very nervous and anxious. She talked and listened for about five minutes when I got another call from Daniels and my mutual friend. I switched calls and this friend told me that Daniel wants to talk with me and could I meet them at the back entrance to church. I got back on the phone with my best friend and told her to pray and pray hard because here comes the storm. I hung up and saw my other friend walking toward me and my heart started cracking. When she came up to me I could barely talk and as we started walking toward where Daniel was I stopped and started crying saying I couldn’t do this. I was so close to passing out and even as I write this I am feeling the pain all over again. My heart aches for what happened next.

I walked up to the back entrance of church and felt the bombs hitting my heart as the black fog rolled in over h eyes. Daniel looked sick and he was incredibly nervous. He barely looked me in the eyes, and I was really lightheaded and my heart felt like it was being completely ripped to shreds. With our mutual friend standing by my side, and Daniel facing me, he started the little meeting by telling me in a choked voice how much I meant to him, that he will never forget me, and that I mean the world to him. He then told me with tears in his eyes that his parents told him that we needed to cut off our friendship and we couldn’t talk, chat, email, or even be in groups together. I could barely see him because of the black fog that was cutting off my vision, and I was starting to sway on my feet. My heart hurt so bad. He asked me if I had any questions or if there was anything I wanted to say, and I could only shake my head. He then bolted out the door, tears streaming down his cheeks. He was gone for several hours running, crying, praying, and just trying to understand what he should do now. After he left, I staggered outside and fell to the ground stunned. I lay there with quiet tears falling, and I felt so empty. I somehow found myself inside the church about an hour later, I wandered around in a daze. I didn’t have any strength to do any costume work, but at the same time I was suddenly determined to act like nothing had happened even though my heart was no longer beating.

I can’t describe the pain my heart felt that day (and I’m feeling it again as I write. I am very much anxious for my husband to get home for I need that reassurance that he is mine now). I asked our mutual friend to ask Daniel something for me. I asked her to ask him if he, in the future, could see himself courting/marrying me. She asked him and then brought me back the answer. She said that he gave her a resounding absolutely yes in response to my question. When I saw Daniel get back from his escape, I felt my heart shatter all over again, and I realized that I couldn’t handle being there any longer. Even though the major part of rehearsal was just starting, I had to go home. I called my mom and told her what had happened and asked her to tell dad and come get me. She came and picked me up, and as soon as I got home, my dad gave me a hug, and then told me that if my heart was hurting then I did something wrong. I was stunned when he told me that, but I didn’t say anything. I lay on my bed for the rest of the evening crying and missing desperately my best friend, and cursing the separation.

The few weeks that followed as the play came to an end were torture. I could barely eat, and I honestly don’t remember much. I remember being in a daze and finding it hard to breathe at times. My heart was broken, my dad didn’t care, and the friend Daniel had become was desperately missed. (oh snap, I’m crying now as I write and am remembering those days.) After the play ended up, I didn’t see Daniel all that often. Maybe saw him at church, or saw him at a party, but we didn’t go to the same places, and I bitterly felt that loss. As the months slowly passed, I tried to move on, but I couldn’t. My parents and I went to a seminar at church for parenting young adults, and guess what, Daniel and his parents sat right behind us. That was pure torture knowing that the guy I was falling in love with was siting right behind me. I tried to talk with mom about the severe heartache I felt, but I couldn’t. She didn’t understand and so I kept my mouth shut and only talked to the people I knew I could trust and who would care for me. I tried sharing the story with the small group I was now apart of since I had graduate HS and they didn’t get it one bit.

Shortly after our friendship was shattered, we both asked our parents to meet and try to help us come up with a game plan so that we could talk, or at least have guidelines. All four parents met, and came out of that meeting all with very different ideas of what was going to happen. The bottom line was that we couldn’t talk, and that was it. No talking with us, no trying to understand where we were coming from, the parents shut things down, and then walked away believing that was all that should or would happen. My dad believed that it was a done deal and there was nothing between Daniel and I. That summer was the absolutely worst summer of my entire life. I was a ghost of my former self, and I was painfully aware of the gaping whole in my heart. I saw Daniel at several key points over the summer, but the friendship that we had had was never seen when we ran into each other at social events. It was incredibly awkward and I always walked away kicking myself and blaming myself for causing him more pain if I was rude (without meaning to be) or abrupt. Being in the single’s ministry meant that I saw him at big meetings for all of the singles, and after one of those, I told him that I had to remove him from my friends list on Facebook. That was very difficult for me to tell him, but I had to do it because of the flack I was starting to get from my dad if I was even seen near Daniel at church or anywhere else. If I breathed in Daniel’s general direction, I was immediately chewed out.

Life was HELL. I was lost, and I can’t remember large portions between April, when he told me we couldn’t talk anymore, to October, when the next big chapter started. We kept individually begging our parents (what I don’t understand is how we were singles, seen as adults, and yet still allowed our parents to completely control our relationship…that’s the courtship dilemma for ya) to get together and give us guidelines so we could talk, and each time the parents met, they all walked away with a very different idea of what was going to happen, not one parents’ recollection of the meeting lined up, and still, we weren’t allowed to talk.

Around July, I suddenly realized that I didn’t just like Daniel, I had fallen in love with him, and I knew for sure and for certain that I was waiting for him and wanted to spend the rest of my life with him. I found out later that he had had the same revelation about me…a few months before. I broke down on the day I realized that, and freaked my dad out because when I called him at work (which I will never do again, and have never done since) to tell him that I loved Daniel and I wanted to be able to talk with him, my dad was hugely surprised because he truly believed that there was nothing between us. I got a huge talking to when he got home from work that night about how I was making Daniel an idol, and how I was lusting after him, and that no, we weren’t going to be allowed to talk, there was nothing there. He kept telling me that I would grow out of this, and that it wasn’t wisdom for us to talk.  I remember walking away, feeling renewed in my determination to not let my dad take away my love for Daniel. I felt sick that my dad was accusing me of being idolatrous especially when I knew of his porn addiction.

Daniel had started finding reasons and opportunities to come over to my family’s house in September, 5 months after our friendship had been destroyed. I would nervously bounce around the house, trying to obey the rules that I couldn’t talk with him, but I would try to be around wherever he was, and would throw in the token word every once in awhile. I even found an opportunity to hand him a letter I had written to him the day after he told me we couldn’t talk anymore. But even though I knew he was strongly interested in me, I still had had no verbal assurances from him.

One day I had had enough of trying to guess Daniel’s feelings for me, and I had had enough of not being able to talk. I couldn’t handle it anymore, I called him, and as soon as he picked up the phone, I asked him how he felt about me. His response was instant with no delay.

He loved me.

He wanted to marry me.

He wanted to spend the rest of his life with me.

And that’s the end….right?


I will not repeat the past

The weepy teary-eyed moments usually hit when I least expect it. More phrases or memories have been triggering these weepy moments recently, and it’s becoming harder to predict when something will trigger my emotions. I find myself getting to the evening and starting to crash emotionally and hitting a wall, and wanting to just curl up and not have to work through things anymore.

My hubby and I had a conversation the other night about hoping for something and what it looks like when that hope is disappointed. I tried to explain to him how hard it is for me to hope for something, and to pray for it, because of how many times I’ve been so bitterly disappointed. We didn’t really agree on what it looked like to hope in Jesus, but as I rolled over to fall asleep, a bitter memory hit me, and I ended up curled up in my husband’s arms, crying, and hearing him whisper in my ear about how sorry he was that I had to deal with what I did growing up.

I never thought I’d say this, but I am angry at my mom. Like seriously angry, and what makes that harder is she does not know what she did. I’ve finally accepted the fact that I was truly alone growing up. I had no defender, I had no one to take my stand or to back me up. I keep trying to tell myself that I’m wrong, that I am exaggerating and making things up, but I can’t escape the truth; I. Was. Alone.  My siblings were alone, and most of them still are. We were alone as I watched my brothers get thrown around during my dad’s anger fits. We were alone when mom was out, and dad decided to start yelling and throwing things around because the house wasn’t clean enough for his high and mighty standards.

I never want a child of mine to feel the pain of having to stay at someone’s house for two hellish weeks, only to have found out at the beginning that that family really didn’t want you, they just wanted your younger brother. I don’t ever want any child of mine to feel like I would never defend them or stand up for them. I would never stand by and watch while a child of mine is verbally chewed out. The guilt (wrongly felt) and the shame (wrongly felt) I have grown up with is something I never want my children to feel.

I feel like my heart is breaking again trying to accept that I truly was alone growing up. I have opened up memories that I have not wanted to remember as I’ve looked back with these new eyes. I keep trying to defend my mom to myself, and telling myself that she really did stand up for us, for me, and the more I uncover, the harder it is to convince myself that she did. It’s like telling myself that this memory is the worst it’s going to get, and then being thrown back by the next memory when it is worse than the first.

I have had this post draining my already low energy reserves for the past week, and I’m still not sure of how it’s turning out. If anything, this opening of hard memories has shown me just how strength Jesus actually gave me through all of those years at home. I never really saw myself as strong, I just simply had to be the defender. It was that or I kill myself.  It was be my siblings’ defender, or let them crumble like dust. I am tired of being strong. All it takes to break my strength is one sleepless night followed by a day of major aches, then followed by a second sleepless night full of more aches and pains. Once in that cycle, it’s hard for me to break out, or to find the strength to hold up under memories I don’t want to remember but that have been triggered. The past two weeks have been that cycle for me, and it started when my mom told me that someone challenged her to repent of not standing up for my siblings and her response being she doesn’t know how she didn’t do that.

I passed my dad in his car on the road today as I drove home from a job. I almost burst into tears when I saw him because of how present the pain is right now. I want to have a relationship with him, and it hurts to not have one. I want to see him care and love my siblings, my mom, me. I want to see my mom recover and realize how much she’s denied throughout her life, and I want to see her heal.

I am fighting doldrums many times a day now, and I never know if I’m just going to break down and start crying or if I will find the strength to hold my head up and not let the memory get close to my heart. Jesus is a fading and shifting shadow to me right now. Sometimes He’s easy to reach out to, and other times He feels far away. I never doubt his love for me, I just get lost inside the pain.

It’s a low time right now for me. Especially as the weather gets colder and my fibromyalgia starts reacting towards the cold with a lot more pain than usual. The more pain I’m in, the more worn out and weary I feel. The more worn out and weary I feel, the less I fight to be strong.


Sharing negative experiences = Slander….huh?

A few weeks ago, I wrote a blog post, on another blog of mine, going into a slightly more detailed version of some of things that have hurt me in the past. Writing about my past isn’t unusual on this other blog, but the response I suddenly got was. What happened next totally spiraled out of control and left both my husband and I spinning and wondering what the heck just happened. and it is because of what happened that has caused me to start this blog to gain a sense of anonymity as I work through and heal from my past.

Now…allow me to back up a few steps.

I have been through a lot in my short life. I am the oldest of a large family, and therefore have had a lot of responsibility put on my shoulders, starting when I was very young. I practically raised several of my youngest siblings while my mom went through a year a breast cancer, and then chemo. I ran the house, did grocery runs, made meals, cleaned up most of the house, did the laundry, all when I was 12. My dad was prone, and I suppose you can say still is, to massive outbursts of anger. I came very skilled at avoiding his outbursts, and helping my siblings learn the ropes of staying out of the way when daddy lost it. I watched my parents fight, and fight hard, and I hide in my room, crying and worrying that it was my fault. Who can explain to a little 10 year old that her parents’ fights have nothing to do with her? My siblings “hated” me for getting to do things that they weren’t allowed to do, but how I could I explain I hated myself? We were all split up in twos to go to different families from church when mom went through one of her surgeries that year she had cancer. I was paired with my youngest brother (and sibling at the time), but when the family came to get us, I was told, inadvertently, that they really only wanted my brother, but I had to come along anyway.  For a 12 year old, barely having reached womanhood half way through the year before, and already struggling with feeling accepted, this was hell. Pure, straight up, lonely, burning hell. I still have some pretty sharp feelings regarding that family.

Jump ahead to year 14, we were moving yet again. With my dad in the military, this happened every 3-6 years. I hated moving. I hated leaving behind the very thin friendships I had formed in that short time, knowing that no matter what promises were given to me, I would never hear from those friends again.  This time, moving was different though from all of the past times we had moved. I was older, mom was literally just finishing her last round of chemo, and as soon as the truck had left all of our stuff, my dad got really sick. He never gets sick, and so once again, I was in charge, and I unpacked the house since mom had no energy left after the chemo all but destroyed her body. It’s incredibly scary watching your mom deteriorate before your eyes, and not really understanding what was going on with her, or why she didn’t have the brilliant memory she used to have.

About two years after moving in, I found out a very damaging fact about my dad. It broke my heart and destroyed any trust I had in him. I couldn’t look him in the eyes for about 6 months after my mom, in desperation, told me what was the root of all of their marital problems. that same day she told me, I caught 6 of my siblings gathered around one of the school computers, laughing and looking at porn. My heart was ripped to shreds that day. That was the first time I severely broke down. I cried out to God and asked “Why?!” so many times. I became increasingly depressed and had to fight each day to make it through the day. I was now 15, sucking the life from the few friends I had who were brave enough to come near me. At the same time, I start deteriorating physically and being an avid pianist, this was torture. I couldn’t sit down at my beloved emotional release and pound away under the pain in my heart and soul was pushed back into it’s Pandora’s box. My wrists and shoulders hurt so bad sometimes, it was all I could do to curl up in a pain and sob. I was an emotionless robot that hurt very deeply. The only way I knew to make it without killing myself was to shut down.

4 years later at 19, I had finally been diagnosed with fibromyalgia, had been told by my dad that I was a big disappointment, met the man of my dreams, had been told to stop playing the piano because I was going to severely damage my hands and wrists, among many other things. Add those years to an already painful life, and sure, my life has been full of “negative” experiences, and honestly, those have been used to create the person who is writing this post today.

Skipping forward to today, here’s where I’m at right now.

After getting kicked out of the house and being told by my dad that he had had enough of me and didn’t want to deal with me anymore, I married my beloved husband 3 months later, and have now been happily married for just about a year and half. Everything written above has never been dealt with, and I am slowly cracking open that Pandora’s box. It is certainly hard to let just one hurt come out without all of the other connecting wounds follow. Through blogging about some of these, in very slim detail, on my other blog, I have been able to start slowly dealing with my past. And to deal with my past, I have had to write a lot of what I wrote above. There’s no way around it, my dad has severely hurt me, my trust in people is very thin and yet very strong, and I have had a lot of pain inflicted on me.

I believe I am stronger for it, and not only that, through sharing my story, I am, in a way, reassuring myself that I am not imagining the pain or heartache. How people respond to my story, as unfinished and bare-bones as it is, has greatly helped in being willing to pry the lid of the box open even more. But it’s those who decide that me sharing that my dad hurt me, or even hinting at that, is slander, that makes me so pissed. Receiving an email explaining to me in detail about how what I am writing is disrespectful to my parents, slanderous, and dishonoring to God, and here’s scriptures to back of those points does little to make me receptive to any sort of thoughts this person thought they could share.

I’ll be bluntly honest here. I may seem strong, intimidating, unshaken by the world around me. Believe me, I wish I could be. I am always doubting whether or not I am worth anything, whether or not I am beautiful, precious. my heart hurts, and some days I am on the very verge of tears. it has taken an amazing husband willing to put aside his misunderstandings of what I’ve been through, and love me for who I am, to hold me when tears come and I don’t know why, and to listen when I am trying to piece together a memory that has left me broken again and crumpled in a heap on the bed to believe that I am truly worth listening to, and that I am beautiful. But when someone decides that it means to be a faithful friend to spiritually manipulate me into agreeing with them that I can’t share my story and heal, then that person has never walked in my shoes or those of others who have been through what I have.  To be continually pressured into agreeing with something I cannot agree with is infuriating to start with, but when my husband begins to be accused of not leading his wife well because we aren’t agreeing, I will not stand by and let this happen anymore. Is it too much to ask for care, compassion, and understanding instead of condescension, judgement, and manipulation? Is it too much to ask for questions instead of assumptions?

As I am already struggling with trying to understand, and pick apart, why I believe what I believe, being spiritually abused and manipulated isn’t going to help that process. If anything, it’s made me even more cynical towards church, church culture, and people how are so religiously legalistic. Seriously, how is sending a long email, carefully detailing where I have gone wrong in my writing, and giving me scriptures that back up that point, going to help me in loving God more, or cast aside my “sin” and seek God more? The brutal truth is that it’s not. when someone is more concerned about whether or not I’m blogging about them, and making sure that our friendship is all good, than asking how they can ask better questions to understand me, I lose respect and any desire for a close friendship really fast.

With that in mind, and without further ado,

Chryssie Rose


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