Healing, or attempts toward such.

I had a really good talk with Anna tonight, and brief too, now that I come to think of it. I suddenly realized and mentioned to her that I don't trust our Camp Director, who is a friend of mine--don't trust her to respect me, to like me, to trust my judgment; don't trust her judgment and impartiality. I said that this year (which, admittedly, has only lasted two days so far) and last, I don't have the willing and joyful heart that I have always had at Camp before. Last year I attributed that to just having come from R-MA, exhausted and completely worn out. This year I don't have that excuse.

Anna, who is truly an angel and an instrument of God, pointed out to me that sometimes it takes longer than we realize to recover from the kind of situation I was in--the kind where people don't respect or trust one another, the kind where people don't listen to reason or make sense, the kind where people are untrustworthy and unsupportive of one another. I wouldn't have thought of that, or thought it such a big deal, but when she said it I almost fell apart. The feeling of validation was so strong and so needed that I nearly started crying right there in the middle of the dining hall after dinner, in broad daylight.



On the way home Kelly and I listened to Matchbox Twenty, because there are not that many bands which we agree on, and I took up again my unfortunate (but not, I think, unusual) habit of applying song lyrics to my life. I always get annoyed with people when they post song lyrics on their blogs or whatever, but I figure you guys can deal, and skip it if you want. In the words of Rob Thomas,

I've got a disease
deep inside me, makes me
feel uneasy baby.
I can't live without you tell me
what am I supposed to do about it?
Keep your distance from me,
don't pay no attention to me--
I've got a disease. Oh well I think that I'm sick,
but leave me be while my world is coming down on me.
You taste like honey, honey. Tell me, can I be your honey?
Be, be strong. Keep telling myself that it won't take long till
I'm free of my disease.



This disease, of course, is swallowed down and lies dormant sometimes and stirs and wakes and bumps me in the shins at unexpected moments. I'm still running around looking for distractions and, when I let myself, getting confused about what I want and what is okay for me to want, what's honest, what's a bad idea, and so on. Oh my gosh, it is just so much fun.

I really need to cut back on the cold, cutting cynicism. It's such a strong habit in me, and I love sarcasm sometimes, but not when it's so cold and mean. It just makes everything feel so much worse as soon as I type it.

I know this will eventually be okay, and that we'll patch it up or move on to other things, and though I'm not sure how I would ever be able to handle it I hope that someday we can be friends, really friends again, even if we aren't "together." Still, I wonder whether it's even okay for me to think about giving another relationship a chance when not so far underneath the surface I am even now, months later, such a mess, and with no end yet in sight. As I said, I know that there will be an end, but right now I can't see it. Sometimes I think it would be unfair to pursue anything with anyone else when so much of my heart is still gasping for air. And when I say air, I'm pretty sure I mean David.