Sometimes, okay all the time, the only way to find a cure is to purge the poison.
While Tristan needs an intense cure, both physical and spiritual, I have my own need for a cure. Too long I've gone without being who I once was. And I've held onto pain that I should have just let go, all because I couldn't bring myself to face my own consequences.
But I have to let it go. I have to confess, to face the pain, to purge it.
November.
The month started off with a change inside me. I'd only just given Tristan the last vestige of my purity and we were...well, we were greatly enjoying this newfound activity. Not just the bonding part, but the fact that it could potentially (we prayed) create the family we've dreamed of. Tristan wanted me to carry his child, and I wanted nothing more than to have that honor. Okay, I wanted to be his wife. Still do. But to have a baby, his baby, would make me so incredibly happy.
I looked different in the mirror. My eyes were brighter. My hair was fuller. Every morning I woke up with a strange sort of nausea in my stomach and I had the weirdest cravings. I was HUNGRY all the time, but nothing looked good. And I was smelling a coworker's cologne that he'd put on the day before, 12 yards away from him. Hell, I could tell when a woman was going through her "time of the month" from an aisle away, or if a toddler was still on natural milk. My abdomen ached. And I noticed things that were....different. Inside.
It was too early to take a pregnancy test. I think I tried, just one, and it came back negative. One of those times that made me laugh despite the anxiety, gazing at Tristan whose eyes were glued on that small strip of vital information. I think I asked him something and he merely grunted. Around the second week of November I was to go on a trip, a sort of mini-vacation to go see my friend who lived a few states over and was about to be married. I was her maid of honor, and to tell the truth, we've become best friends since our time together in college. I insisted on seeing her.
"I don't think you should go," Tristan said the day before I was to leave.
"But I have to." I was conflicted as well. There were bills to pay, food to buy, but I had made this commitment to my best friend and couldn't cancel on her the night before. "I promised her."
Tristan sighed and shook his head. "I just have a really bad feeling about this. Like if you go, something terrible will happen."
I had the same feeling. The same fear. But it'd been almost two years since I last saw Samantha and I missed her terribly. The fact that I had the opportunity to see her, to spend time with her laughing and talking and staying up late while planning her "marital fun" and going lingerie shopping....I couldn't miss out on this. "Baby, I have the same feeling, but I can't ditch her. I've been looking forward to this for months. I took the vacation days off and she's made her arrangements, too." I kissed him, hoping to reassuring him.
He grumbled but kissed me back. "I don't like it. Stay home with me, please."
The pleading in his eyes and voice was almost enough to convince me to stay. I wanted to, really, but I wanted to see Samantha. I wanted the adventure of travelling on my own (not a recommendation for other young unmarried women, by the way).
Samantha was overjoyed to see me again. We hugged, laughed, even kind of cried at our reunion. Somehow through all we'd been through in college, we'd become like sisters. To this day, she is still my go-to friend for everything from good news to horrible trauma. My first night there, she took me out to a local Mexican pub for awesome food and $1 margaritas.
I told myself the ice diluted the alcohol. Then I told myself I was worrying over something that might not even exist. So I drank the margarita. I downed the melted ice and sweet syrup, completely forgetting about the alcohol. And I needed her assistance to get down the wheelchair ramp.
The rest of the week was alcohol-infused. We made brownies and drank. We watched movies and drank. As I sat there on the floor in her living room, watching a movie while sipping my third beer for the night, I heard...no, I felt a soft, faint voice inside me. Calling to me. Pleading for me.
I told myself I was being ridiculous. I justified the drinking with the reasoning that if it was meant to be, it would happen. Genetics, our genetics, would reign. Things would heal. If I was meant to have it, it would survive.
Only a week or two later, I saw the blood in the toilet. The small blob of blood that occurred in the middle of my cycle, not when it would be normal to have that sort of thing happen.
And the horror sank in.
I didn't breathe a word to anyone, least of all Tristan. The pain was so deep, the guilt so fierce, I couldn't even cry. I couldn't bring myself to come to terms with what I'd done. When I went to the OB-GYN midwife, she said I had a minor infection which most likely caused the miscarriage. So I told myself that's what it was. I chanted that it wasn't my fault, that it was the infection. But I knew. I knew.
Finally I told Tristan, as a bargain chip for explanation for something he'd done. He was silent. And despite my pleas to tell no one, he told his parents that same night. So I told mine. Mom was understanding, and reaffirmed Tristan's mother's statement that our baby will be waiting for us in Heaven.
I don't want another 80+ years before seeing my baby! I want her back! I want my baby!!
God, I am so horribly sorry. Tristan....oh God, how can I even begin to tell him about the terrible sorrow that's plagued me since the day I found out? When he did mention it I'd get defensive, saying it's no big deal, that it didn't even implant into my body to grow. He would look at me, almost in horror, and protest that it is a VERY big deal!
During my visit with him today we realized that had I not gone on that trip, or even just not drank on that trip, I would have been seven months pregnant right now. Round, waddling, carrying our child, nesting for a new life with him and our baby. Our baby.
Our baby.
My greatest regret in life. My greatest sorrow. What I would give for that chance to take it all back, to hold my baby in my arms, to have our family. I beg God for forgiveness, for the ability to forgive myself. For Tristan to forgive me.
For another chance, just to have her in my arms and in my life.
I'm so sorry.
5.28.2012
5.24.2012
Battle
"Be strong and courageous, do not be terrified. Do not be discouraged, for the Lord God is with you wherever you go." Joshua 1:9
I think we get so caught up in the conspiracies that we forget what exactly we're doing. Or who we are. I confess, I was so caught up in the idea, the knowledge that I will be marrying a prince and becoming his eternal companion.....I forgot that I am, first and foremost, a daughter of God. A "priestess" of sorts for the High King of Heaven and Earth, and in that effect a spiritual warrior. And here I've sat, watching Tristan suffer and asking God why He wasn't doing anything.
To quote Homer Simpson, "D'oh!"
I confess, again, that I also got caught up in my fury towards those who claim to be his friends and yet talk behind his back like his worst enemies. Since you know who you are, and I will never, ever say this in person, I will say it here. How dare you?? How dare you claim to be his closest friends, his most trusted companions, and then turn around and verbally degrade his decisions and his happiness? How dare you trash-talk his chosen wife? (Even if it wasn't me, I'd still be mad. You just don't do that to a friend!) You are not invited to his wedding, his reception, NOTHING. You are not told about his life because you have not earned the honor! You are not his best friend, and he is not yours! So shut up, stop blowing hot air into this world and go. Away.
Note: I needed to vent. Somewhere. I needed to get that poison out of my system before going on and doing what it is I need to do in the spiritual world, because that has been eating away at me and leaving a horrible taste in my mouth. Again, you know who you are. And shame on you. I apologize for the incredible harshness of my words and yet at the same time, you need to think about that. Hard. And really decide what your next move is carefully because you are watched. And you are heard. And we will know.
Then again, last night at church I was reminded that our enemies aren't truly people, but what lies within people. Our battle is against the darkness. So I pray for the patience, and the compassion, to keep remembering that before I rip a potential redemption story to shreds. So I say yet again, this post is a vent and while it is to be taken into consideration, it would be a very bad idea to go crying and complaining to Tristan, his family, me, or any of our actually true friends (which, sadly, has been narrowed down to one local and two out-of-state. Out of, like, 10 originals, we are left with 3 we can actually trust). I just needed to somehow express the stress within me so I don't destroy the planet. :)
I keep chanting the benediction from soooooo many years of liturgical church as a child. "And may the grace, mercy and peace of God that surpasses all understanding keep your hearts and minds with Christ Jesus, Amen." Oh, and the fruits of the Spirit: Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Self-control. Self-control. Self. Control.
Mom always said I'm a Peter. John would peek into the tomb, see that Jesus wasn't there anymore, and make a note of it. Peter ran inside (a big no-no for Jewish people who wish to attend church regularly, as it is highly unclean), tossed around the burial clothes (again, ick) and exclaimed that Jesus is missing. And to tell the truth, when I was a kid and read that Peter grabbed a sword and chopped off a guy's ear in a move to defend Jesus from arrest and eventual execution, I asked the teacher what was so wrong with that? I would, too! I didn't understand at the time that Jesus' death, and resurrection, was a good thing because it saved us all from horrible separation and eternal death. I just thought that Jesus shouldn't have been killed and I would totally throw myself into battle for Him. Now I understand. :) But I'd still go into battle for Him anytime, anyday.
And writing that has made me realize, that's exactly what I'm supposed to be doing right now.
I think we get so caught up in the conspiracies that we forget what exactly we're doing. Or who we are. I confess, I was so caught up in the idea, the knowledge that I will be marrying a prince and becoming his eternal companion.....I forgot that I am, first and foremost, a daughter of God. A "priestess" of sorts for the High King of Heaven and Earth, and in that effect a spiritual warrior. And here I've sat, watching Tristan suffer and asking God why He wasn't doing anything.
To quote Homer Simpson, "D'oh!"
I confess, again, that I also got caught up in my fury towards those who claim to be his friends and yet talk behind his back like his worst enemies. Since you know who you are, and I will never, ever say this in person, I will say it here. How dare you?? How dare you claim to be his closest friends, his most trusted companions, and then turn around and verbally degrade his decisions and his happiness? How dare you trash-talk his chosen wife? (Even if it wasn't me, I'd still be mad. You just don't do that to a friend!) You are not invited to his wedding, his reception, NOTHING. You are not told about his life because you have not earned the honor! You are not his best friend, and he is not yours! So shut up, stop blowing hot air into this world and go. Away.
Note: I needed to vent. Somewhere. I needed to get that poison out of my system before going on and doing what it is I need to do in the spiritual world, because that has been eating away at me and leaving a horrible taste in my mouth. Again, you know who you are. And shame on you. I apologize for the incredible harshness of my words and yet at the same time, you need to think about that. Hard. And really decide what your next move is carefully because you are watched. And you are heard. And we will know.
Then again, last night at church I was reminded that our enemies aren't truly people, but what lies within people. Our battle is against the darkness. So I pray for the patience, and the compassion, to keep remembering that before I rip a potential redemption story to shreds. So I say yet again, this post is a vent and while it is to be taken into consideration, it would be a very bad idea to go crying and complaining to Tristan, his family, me, or any of our actually true friends (which, sadly, has been narrowed down to one local and two out-of-state. Out of, like, 10 originals, we are left with 3 we can actually trust). I just needed to somehow express the stress within me so I don't destroy the planet. :)
I keep chanting the benediction from soooooo many years of liturgical church as a child. "And may the grace, mercy and peace of God that surpasses all understanding keep your hearts and minds with Christ Jesus, Amen." Oh, and the fruits of the Spirit: Love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, goodness, faithfulness, gentleness, and self-control. Self-control. Self-control. Self. Control.
Mom always said I'm a Peter. John would peek into the tomb, see that Jesus wasn't there anymore, and make a note of it. Peter ran inside (a big no-no for Jewish people who wish to attend church regularly, as it is highly unclean), tossed around the burial clothes (again, ick) and exclaimed that Jesus is missing. And to tell the truth, when I was a kid and read that Peter grabbed a sword and chopped off a guy's ear in a move to defend Jesus from arrest and eventual execution, I asked the teacher what was so wrong with that? I would, too! I didn't understand at the time that Jesus' death, and resurrection, was a good thing because it saved us all from horrible separation and eternal death. I just thought that Jesus shouldn't have been killed and I would totally throw myself into battle for Him. Now I understand. :) But I'd still go into battle for Him anytime, anyday.
And writing that has made me realize, that's exactly what I'm supposed to be doing right now.
5.15.2012
Fairytale Part 2
I have just spent almost three hours at a McDonald's so I could catch up on one of my favorite shows, "Once Upon A Time". And oddly enough, I found it to be far more encouraging than I expected.
Curses can be broken. We know this. Or, at least, we once knew this. All our modern fairytales call this world a "world without magic", when in fact it's just a world full of incredibly boring, and blind, people. Science is the new magic. But science does not produce results as effective as the greater powers in the universe mankind has chosen to ignore and forget.
Some turn to the darkest corners of existence for the power. I grew up in the arms of the High King, effectively raised and parented by God Himself in the absence of my blood father. And in the metaphorical absence of my adoptive father. Friends have called me blessed, favored by God, chosen for something great. And while I may not have gotten a pony for my birthday or a Ferrari for my first car, God has always taken care of me. When I need food or shelter, it is provided. When I was stranded in Texas with neither, and no money, some mysterious person no one had ever seen before showed up and handed the hostess $200 cash which was then given to me. I've driven a car that for all intents and purposes should have never been able to run in the first place. And I've been given not just a husband, but a prince, as the love of my mortal life.
So then I ask Him, I ask my Father, why it seems His favor is only given to me and not to Tristan. I ask while I sit beside him, holding his hand, feeling helpless in the midst of the turmoil in his mind. And while people may say it's ridiculous to take blame for something that I have no power over, the truth is I can and do take blame for doing nothing about it.
Curses can be broken. This world has curses, and it has cures. God provides the cure for any ailment, and any cure, but it's not a free handout. Not because He doesn't love us, but because we wouldn't appreciate anything He gives us if we didn't have some form of involvement in getting it.
It amazes me how people in this world, on this planet, can believe in God but refuse to believe there is a physical, living darkness. Dark beings. Demons. And the worst part is, they aren't all obvious. As someone once told me, if Satan was an ugly, terrifying beast of a demon, who would fall into his trap? Like moths to a flame, we are lured by beauty. And like so many similar creatures, we are unable to see the danger in the bits of joy just sitting out in the open....on top of a trap.
Who knows how Tristan got his curse? Nicks said it was the oxygen levels, the change from living as a toddler in a high-oxygen environment to growing up in an atmosphere blended with so many other gases. The doctors say it could be his epilepsy, which could be from the car accident, which he was never really in to begin with. It could be the kink in his neck, or it could be that little device that Mom thinks is either malfunctioning or being manipulated but all the same is in the base of his neck on the spinal cord.
Deep down, I truly, fully believe it is something much more, something much darker. I've already been scoffed at by so-called "friends" who think I'm some religious fanatic. At first, long ago, Tristan also scoffed, but not so much anymore.
"I don't think all of it is a hallucination," I told him once, while we sat in the commons of the mental ward in the hospital. "I mean, maybe some of it, but....I don't know. I think....Actually, I really believe, you can just see what no one else can see. You can see the invisible."
Tristan didn't scoff then. He actually mulled over it, gave me a soft nod, and we continued our card game. That was back in December, when we worried about his discharge timing up with Christmas. Now, if I bring it up, he brooks no argument and on a good day, he asks me what makes me believe it so fervently.
I dare not tell anyone else why. Only he knows, and perhaps maybe you, dear reader, have already figured it out. Because while I do not have to deal with the horror of physically seeing, tasting, and feeling the "invisible" world that has become so much a part of Tristan's life, I am fully aware of it's existence. I always have been. It's part of being a Seer.
And I know who, or what, it is that threatens to rip the last shreds of Tristan's sanity away before we have a chance to bind together in marriage.
Curses can be broken. And dragons can be killed. It's just a matter of believing that not only can it be done, but it will be done.
Curses can be broken. We know this. Or, at least, we once knew this. All our modern fairytales call this world a "world without magic", when in fact it's just a world full of incredibly boring, and blind, people. Science is the new magic. But science does not produce results as effective as the greater powers in the universe mankind has chosen to ignore and forget.
Some turn to the darkest corners of existence for the power. I grew up in the arms of the High King, effectively raised and parented by God Himself in the absence of my blood father. And in the metaphorical absence of my adoptive father. Friends have called me blessed, favored by God, chosen for something great. And while I may not have gotten a pony for my birthday or a Ferrari for my first car, God has always taken care of me. When I need food or shelter, it is provided. When I was stranded in Texas with neither, and no money, some mysterious person no one had ever seen before showed up and handed the hostess $200 cash which was then given to me. I've driven a car that for all intents and purposes should have never been able to run in the first place. And I've been given not just a husband, but a prince, as the love of my mortal life.
So then I ask Him, I ask my Father, why it seems His favor is only given to me and not to Tristan. I ask while I sit beside him, holding his hand, feeling helpless in the midst of the turmoil in his mind. And while people may say it's ridiculous to take blame for something that I have no power over, the truth is I can and do take blame for doing nothing about it.
Curses can be broken. This world has curses, and it has cures. God provides the cure for any ailment, and any cure, but it's not a free handout. Not because He doesn't love us, but because we wouldn't appreciate anything He gives us if we didn't have some form of involvement in getting it.
It amazes me how people in this world, on this planet, can believe in God but refuse to believe there is a physical, living darkness. Dark beings. Demons. And the worst part is, they aren't all obvious. As someone once told me, if Satan was an ugly, terrifying beast of a demon, who would fall into his trap? Like moths to a flame, we are lured by beauty. And like so many similar creatures, we are unable to see the danger in the bits of joy just sitting out in the open....on top of a trap.
Who knows how Tristan got his curse? Nicks said it was the oxygen levels, the change from living as a toddler in a high-oxygen environment to growing up in an atmosphere blended with so many other gases. The doctors say it could be his epilepsy, which could be from the car accident, which he was never really in to begin with. It could be the kink in his neck, or it could be that little device that Mom thinks is either malfunctioning or being manipulated but all the same is in the base of his neck on the spinal cord.
Deep down, I truly, fully believe it is something much more, something much darker. I've already been scoffed at by so-called "friends" who think I'm some religious fanatic. At first, long ago, Tristan also scoffed, but not so much anymore.
"I don't think all of it is a hallucination," I told him once, while we sat in the commons of the mental ward in the hospital. "I mean, maybe some of it, but....I don't know. I think....Actually, I really believe, you can just see what no one else can see. You can see the invisible."
Tristan didn't scoff then. He actually mulled over it, gave me a soft nod, and we continued our card game. That was back in December, when we worried about his discharge timing up with Christmas. Now, if I bring it up, he brooks no argument and on a good day, he asks me what makes me believe it so fervently.
I dare not tell anyone else why. Only he knows, and perhaps maybe you, dear reader, have already figured it out. Because while I do not have to deal with the horror of physically seeing, tasting, and feeling the "invisible" world that has become so much a part of Tristan's life, I am fully aware of it's existence. I always have been. It's part of being a Seer.
And I know who, or what, it is that threatens to rip the last shreds of Tristan's sanity away before we have a chance to bind together in marriage.
Curses can be broken. And dragons can be killed. It's just a matter of believing that not only can it be done, but it will be done.
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