Done. Done With The Bullshit.

If I can assume you aren't self-righteous enough to get offended and stuck on the curse word in the title (do pardon my French, for I am beyond frustrated and it is the only word that really embodies how I feel), I will continue with my ranting.

I've been stuck on this merry-go-round since four-thirty this afternoon and can't seem to get off. Maybe writing it out will help. It seems to most of the time.

Water-locked. Not as fun as being landlocked. One cannot drive anywhere for more than three hours before  being presented with the choice of turning around or driving into the ocean ("drive into the river, Bob, oh drive into the river, Bob!" for anyone who has watched VeggieTales). And it isn't like you can paddle a canoe to the mainland. Oh no, not when you're 2,500 miles away from it. The shortest way there is a six hour plane ride, a trip I hope not to have to make too many more times.

But I would have gladly done it again to be home for Christmas. That was the plan. I was going to make it happen, one way or another. I was not going to sit here with sand in my ass while it was snowing in the Tri-Cities. May be something normal people dream of--not me.

So the ball was rolling, tickets were bought, plans were made, and we were preparing to leave our dog in a kennel for two weeks. I was excited as all get-out, with my longing for snow and Christmas being my favorite season.

Also wanting to get off this freaking island, see my family and some friends for the first time in six months and my grandparents for the first time since our wedding more than a year ago, just enjoying the holidays. But with my luck, I should have known.

It always has to be me. I'm not normally one of those "woe-is-me" folks, but the way the die has been cast lately, I'm starting to think I might not be allotted as many good things in life as everybody else. I've got it pretty solid, having food, clothes, a house, a great husband, and a stable bank account. But other than that, things seem to never go as planned for me. And I like plans. I like knowing what's happening and when it's happening.

Back to my story. Short version is, we got screwed over. Someone failed to tell us that since Zach is still being medically evaluated for the process to get out of the army with disability pay, he isn't allowed to leave the island. He can take the two weeks for Christmas, but he can't go anywhere. He told me I should go by myself, but we both know we would be twice as miserable that way. I would never leave him behind while I went off to enjoy myself, because that isn't enjoyable to me. And I am not abandoning him during the holidays, as big of a struggle this is going to be for both of us. He wanted to go home too.

This was a big deal. When you live in Hawaii, there is only so much you can do before you get bored out of your brain. And everything is twice as expensive here, including entertainment, which limits a person even more on what they can do to stay occupied. Adding my husband's physical limitations into the mix narrows the field even more.

We just wanted to relax and drown ourselves in holiday cheer and much-needed family time, get away from the doctors and the army and Hawaii. Trust me, there is no holiday spirit to be had (at least for me) when the sun is glaring down and it is eighty degrees outside. For me, it has everything to do with the weather and the feel of the air. That feel is not here.

So now I must settle for no Christmas. Sure we will try. We will have a tree, and Christmas music, and presents. But it will not feel like Christmas to me. No family, no chill, no lights, no snow, no fire in the fireplace, no raucous laughter, no holiday traditions.

We tried for Thanksgiving. Made the turkey, watched the parade, cheered for the football, the whole shebang. But it did not feel like Thanksgiving at all. I love my husband, but it's hard to feel merry when you're pretty much exiled to your home and it is just the two of you.

(And as a last remark, I do not blame my husband at all. Because of course, he totalllly planned to get shot, sent home, physically screwed up, live in constant pain and discomfort, then decide to get out of the military, just so we could be told that we aren't allowed to go home for Christmas. Riiiight. I don't think so. I blame this whole, crappy situation that I wish none of which happened. I hate every curveball that has been thrown our way since March. I hate every roadblock and piece of red tape that has kept us from getting home any sooner. I hate the bullet that went into my husband's leg. But my husband? Never. Some say there are no victims. I would tell those people to look at this situation and then say that to my face.)

Why Did We Have To Grow Up?

I will try to keep this short, but I've got to write it out of my head.

I miss my family.

I miss the shopping trips with my mom, the times we would spend a whole day out of the house, even if it was just for groceries. I miss talking with her about anything and everything. She filled the place of a best friend when my own friends were too busy to do things with me. We talk to each other on the phone now, but I don't do well with phone conversations and it isn't the same anyway.

I miss nights out with my dad. He's not the most talkative, but that's okay. It was enough to sit with him in his car, listen to the 80s Christian rock we both love, and know that he cared enough to spend time with me. I miss discussing bass and music with him. I miss seeing him laugh so hard he cried or being the goofy, crazy guy that few but my family have seen. Neither of us do well on the phone, but I do love to tell him, "Hi", "I love you", and "I miss you". As quiet as he is and as shy as he seems, he has been the best, loving, providing, scripturally sound father I could ever ask for.

As for my siblings, even though few of them tolerate me at this moment, I miss them too. I miss the way things used to be:

I miss going to midnight premieres of superhero movies with my brothers, then geeking out over them afterwards.

I miss the Bible quizzes we used to do on Sunday afternoons, where nobody could focus and we all ended up in a giggly mess.

I miss the "wedgie nights" when we were younger and everyone (including my parents) would run around trying to give each other wedgies and had a good time laughing our heads off.

I miss the barbecues in the summer, the movies on Thanksgiving, watching Bill Cosby and eating my mom's crab dip on New Year's Eve.

I miss the trips to my grandparents' house when we still lived in Tennessee.

I miss playing music with my older siblings.

I miss watching football season with my dad and youngest brother.

I miss when everyone was packed into the minivan and my dad drove us around to look at the lights on the houses on Christmas Eve, then coming home and watching a Christmas movie. I miss Christmas mornings, opening stockings, having cranberry almond coffeecake for breakfast, opening gifts, then spending the rest of the day watching movies, and finally, having Christmas dinner.

I miss how things were at the house on Nankatie Lane, when we didn't have a care in the world except to play and have fun.

Now, we're all grown up and have better things to do than be a family. Some of us can't stand to be around each other for one reason or another. Some are all of a sudden "too good" for my parents or anyone else. We've let the world and life harden and embitter us.

And it hurts. It hurts to have four siblings and have none of them talk to me, blaming the distance, their own busy lives, or the fact that they just plain don't care about me anymore. It hurts to have parents that I can only contact through phone or Facebook.

It hurts to know that everything has changed and will probably never be the same again--all I have now are the memories. And it kills me to know that I will eventually move back and have to deal with all of that change face to face. It's hard enough to when I'm almost 3,000 miles away.

Back-Fire

I've decided I'm not going to burden myself with being everyone's conscience. I love my friends and family, so when I see them in need, I try to deliver some kind of help. But it seems my input is seldom appreciated.

I've given and given and given advice, some of which I've earned myself and some of which older, more wiser people have given to me. The feedback I've gotten is that I'm not "old" enough, "mature" enough, or "experienced" enough to try to pass wisdom on, even if it isn't my own. And some just tell me, "Thanks, what you're saying does look better, but I'm going to do whatever I want anyway". It makes me feel like my help isn't worth anything to them. To some, I know it isn't.

I'm not pretentious enough to hand out advice if I haven't experienced it, but I do know several wise adults who have given me tools to handle certain situations, and I'm happy to relate the information to those who need it. But some people just don't want to hear it. Either they know better or think that I don't. And that hurts when you are truly trying to help, and do know some better options.

Admittedly, I have been wrong, and I do attribute that somewhat to youth and inexperience, which has taught me to be careful who I try to advise and with what. I'm well-intentioned, but I am human.

One thing I am absolutely against when asked for advice is passing judgment on someone because of their choices. I am disappointed when someone makes a choice I feel is wrong for them (although one cannot objectively make decisions for others), but I will not judge. I know what that feels like, and it is a nasty feeling.

Too many people pointed and shook their fingers at me when I dated my husband behind my parents' backs. Too many "tsk, tsks" were thrown around whenever it was discovered that I was sixteen and he twenty-one when we met. There were too many assumptions that I was a naive child and he was a gross, internet-stalking pervert. And here we are, increasingly happy after one year of marriage, and all I want to do is laugh in all of those faces.

Judge not, lest ye be judged. Indeed.

That is why I have to be so careful. But if there is an obvious and absolute truth that a person I care about is blind to, I have to say something.

I was recently told by someone that "my truth" didn't necessarily apply to them. I replied, "How very interesting, when you yourself believed at one time that relative truth was bullshit."  Relative truth is a convenient argument for someone who doesn't care to change. I still don't believe in relative truth; truth is going to be truth, no matter which way you spin it.

This was more of a rant than a rambling, and also an admission. I can't be everyone's savior and I'm going to quit trying to be. Some people are going to do what they want to do and continue on destructive paths without a care for what I have to say. And I've decided to let them do that. I'm not going to waste my breath or time on someone who won't give me the time of day.

That, friends, will save you from a lot of trouble and hurt. Don't stop caring for the people you love, but if someone chooses to close their ears and their heart to you, love them from a distance.

Stranger

Sometimes I wonder why God chose to put me here, in the USA, on earth, at this time.

I feel like an alien, like I don't belong. It's never felt right. This whole world feels foreign to me. I'm always wondering if I'm saying or doing the right things, if my behavior is that of a true human or if I stick out like a sore thumb.

There are some concepts that--no matter how many times they are explained to me--I cannot grasp. Things that most people encounter often and deal with pretty easily. The way this world works is sometimes too overwhelming and over-complicated for me to understand. Call me mentally challenged; I just feel like I can't keep up.

It's gotten to the point where I loathe leaving my house, because the moment I walk out the door, I am instantly self-conscious and paranoid, in turn giving me major anxiety. I cannot be in public and calm at the same time. Maybe outwardly, but inside I am a wreck. I'm always nervous that people are watching me, determining if I fit in as a regular human being.

I'm constantly checking myself, worried that my charade will be discovered, that someone will point at me and yell triumphantly, "Aha! The jig is up! I know what you really are!" To which I would frantically reply, "Great! Now if you wouldn't mind sharing that news with me..."

I feel as if I cannot be free, ever breathe, or relax. "Just be yourself!" some would say. Gladly, if I really had a definite self to be.

I can't continue in the mundane normality of it all, this go-with-the-flow, routine, boring life that humans seem to so easily adjust to--I can't. I cannot do sixty-plus more years of this. So I am desperately praying that God has an impacting, life-interrupting purpose for me, and soon.

Because if it is otherwise, I might as well pull the trigger now.

In writing this, I recall a favorite song of mine and my dad's, called "Stranger" by Holy Soldier. It details how Jesus Himself was a stranger to this world, a total freak that nobody understood. And I wonder if maybe He felt a little bit like me. Now, I would never put myself at the level of the Son of God. No, I'm just curious if this constant, out-of-place feeling was normal for Him too. If it was, there may be hope for me yet.

Don't Complain

I'm going to get really self righteous right now. I'm mad. And very hurt. And I may stomp around a bit.

If you have never asked for my help or for me to be a listening ear, I do not want to hear you complain about how no one is there for you!

I know too many people who can only rag about how bad their lives are, how depressing everything is, and how they have no one to talk to or hang out with. Excuse me. I may be in Hawaii, but that doesn't mean I won't help you through whatever is going on!

Thanks to those who never asked for help. Thanks to anyone holding unnecessary and petty grudges against me. Thanks for not trying to sustain any kind of friendship with me. You feel screwed over? How about someone who was here for you the whole time, that you never once approached when you needed someone?

How do you think that makes me feel? Pretty damn unwanted. Like I'm not isolated and excluded enough over here. Like I don't feel like I'm missing out on everything already. You've shut me down before I can even offer my help.

No more mystery in why I don't want to go back home when all this is over. Everything has changed. None of my close friends are even in the general area anymore. Few members of my family talk to me and the rest obviously have a strong dislike for me. Why in hell would I want to be around that crap?

All I can say is "Ouch" and cry, when I would really like to scream everything I just wrote at select people.

Where was I when you were going through turmoil? Right here, waiting to be a shoulder to cry on while hoping someday you might do that for me.

How wrong I was. Thanks for making me feel like absolute shit.