#cuz i never understood what church was all about until i was in a community where i felt a sense of belonging)

[growinguparo]

Hi! I just wanted to jump in and say thank you, because your blog has actually helped me a lot recently. I read your post from a while back (like a WHILE, 4ish years ago) about the aro/ace future and what that looks like as we get older. I’ve been coming to terms on and off in the past few years about how averse I am to relationships and dating, and with the fact that really don’t care if I’m single for the rest of my life. But you very nearly articulated the main concern: what happens when everyone else is wrapped up in their marriages and their families I am truly alone? I’m still not sure that the aromantic identity is accurate for me, but it feels pretty close and so thank you, again, for opening this world up to me and putting words to my feelings. :)

Aww thank you for telling me!! 💚

I still feel the way I did when I wrote that post, although it occupies less of my brainspace than it used to. However, I will take this opportunity to talk about the big thing in my social life that changed since 2020: I dove hard into my local community. Any local community will do I think, but the main one for me was my local trans community. I was also in a community music ensemble, I spent a couple years in a survivor support group, and I went to local queer events. I valued those communities highly enough that they were the main reason I was upset to be moving to a new city.

Community made a huge difference for me. I wasn’t really friends with any of them exactly (like I rarely hung out with any of them outside of whatever thing we had together), and community definitely doesn’t occupy the same niche of social requirements as friends or a partner. But it HELPS. It helps with social support, feeling connected to other people, having regular social interaction, and (crucially imo) meeting people who are older than you in a peer environment instead of one where they are of higher status than you.

I know so many trans people in their 30s, 40s, 50s, even 70s, from my local trans community - variously single, married, divorced, multiply divorced, dating, polyamorous, nonamorous, etc. It really broadened my view of what people older than me are actually doing in real life, not just what the twenty-somethings around me anticipate they will be doing when they are that age. People who are like me too, queer transgender people who will never fit the conventional narrative. It enriched my life in a way I wasn’t expecting.

I still don’t know what an aroace future looks like and it’s still scary but at least now I know that mine will include local communities and that I can get a fair amount of the social fulfillment I’m seeking from them.

[officialjkhogan]

STRAY: Chapter Eight

STRAY: Chapter Eight

by J.K. Hogan

Noah’s stomach cramped with hunger as he tapped the glass touchpad that controlled the holographic display. He was using the library’s public data-deck to take a practice test for his level twos. If he got the grades he thought he would, he might be able to escape his almost certain future of working in a factory or a plant, and instead become an engineer. Level two proficiencies were the highest level of education for everyday citizens—doctors, for instance, went on to level threes. Noah knew from his history lessons that back in the days of brick-and-mortar schools, level twos were referred to as “university.”

He sipped bitter coffee that someone had left sitting on the machine, obviously having forgotten about it while it was being filled. Gods, he was hungry. He hadn’t made many sales at the Bazaar last Tuesday, and a couple of his regular customers had stopped coming around, so he had literally five dollars to his name at the moment. He just had to manage not to starve to death before he took the tests, then he could get a decent job and find an actual place to live and, like, food and stuff.

At least he had a current roof over his head, as undesirable as it was. And crashing with Cousin Tom was definitely undesirable. Being a dealer meant that Tom had a revolving door for customers at any time of the day or night, and they were always eyeballing Noah real creepy-like. Sometimes even Tom did. Noah had gotten used to living with the hunted feeling, that need to constantly be on his guard and look over his shoulder. He always felt like there was someone just around the corner, waiting to grab him—be it Tom’s addict friends, stalkers on the street like that one time years ago when the blond guy saved him, or even goons from his parents’ church-cult, deciding they were going to force him to join after all. He’d never, ever felt at ease. Well, only once. With that guy. Whose name, irritatingly, he couldn’t ever seem to remember.

Noah had been avoiding going back to Tom’s, because the way the man looked at him had been making him increasingly uncomfortable. Sure, they were family—at least, he thought they were. He’d only met Tom after his parents had dumped him. They ran in the same circles, and Tom approached him one day, saying that he was the son of Emmy Cowan’s estranged brother. Noah had been so desperate for any kind of connection to another human being that he hadn’t questioned it. Still, occasionally Tom’s stare became sort of possessive, and even…predatory. Sometimes.

Noah scored nearly perfect on the practice test before his hunger started making him lightheaded. He had two more days until the Bazaar opened again, but he’d starve before then. He had no other choice but to back home—not that it was his home—and find someone to blow for a twenty. There were always some tweaked-out druggie closet-cases around to hit up. They consumed more when they got off, so it was lucrative for both Noah and Tim. As much as he hated doing it, Noah refused to let himself feel ashamed. It was survival, pure and simple.

As he walked home later, Noah passed by Sanctuary just like he did every time he went to the library. And each time, he remembered the masked man who suggested there might be a job for Noah inside. Hell, the guy probably just wanted Noah to come in because he thought he was pretty. It had been a nice fantasy, but Noah didn’t believe a word of it. It was rare for businesses to have enough capital to employ an in-house engineer to keep their tech up and running. Still, every time Noah walked by, he wondered if he’d given up before he even tried.

Tom lived in a ramshackle house on the edge of a former residential district that hadn’t survived the last purge. No one had bothered to claim the land and redevelop, so people like Tom and his ilk had colonized it, squatting in buildings in various stages of disrepair. The front door rocked on its hinges as Noah swung it open to reveal stained tan carpeting and puke green walls that were peeling enough to expose the sheetrock beneath the paint. The sickly sweet smell of ganja was a physical cloud in the hallway, so Noah followed it into the dark den with its blackout curtains and psychedelic tapestries.

Tom lounged on the threadbare couch with two men who were obviously sampling the wares, and a woman was asleep—or unconscious—in the recliner that hadn’t reclined since they’d found it on the side of the road. Tom looked over and gave him an oily grin.

“Eyy, Noah, my dude! Have you been at the fuckin’ library this whole time?”

With a sigh, Noah half sat, half fell into the only empty chair left. “Yep. Killed my practice test though. I’ll be ready for my level twos. I only came home because…I got hungry.”

Tom took a sip of his lager and eyed Noah for a moment, before jerking his chin at the guy to his left. “I’m sure Adam here can help you out.”

Noah’s stomach rebelled, and he had to swallow down the urge to vomit air—because that’s all he had in his stomach—but a guy had to eat. At least Adam was somewhat attractive, built like a tank, with a razor-sharp jawline and a crooked nose, but he also looked like he could get mean with very little provocation.

“My cuz here needs some work to make a little extra cash,” Tom said to Adam. Some kind of silent communication must have happened to inform Adam just exactly what kind of work Tom meant, because Adam gave Noah a long onceover and licked his lips.

Fuck. The guy was definitely down for it, and Noah should be happy because he would get to eat but, fuck. Noah stood up and headed for the door, looking over his shoulder and raising a brow until Adam got the picture and followed him. As he climbed the stairs, with Adam’s fingers brushing the top of his ass, Noah hated himself just a little bit more.

****

Tonight I am a creature. A man but not a man. Who dreams of nothing but murder.

****

Tuesday, the Bazaar was swamped. Noah sold half the inventory he’d brought from the crypt, and he should have been flying high on the accomplishment, his full belly, and the wad of cash in his pocket, but he was just…numb. All he could think of was the feeling of Adam’s beefy hands on his skull, pulling his hair, and Noah wondered why he did it.

He had no one. No family, not really, no real friends, only people who seemed to want to use him, so why the hell did he fight so hard not to starve. Why didn’t he save himself the trouble, and his jaw the strain, and just go fall off a bridge somewhere.

Shaking his head, he stuffed his remaining tech into his duffel. How fucking melodramatic. He’d never been suicidal…not really. Honestly, he’d always felt like there was something just offstage, waiting in the wings, something that he was meant to do but couldn’t quite see the full picture yet. Some days it was the only thing that kept him from knotting sheets together.

He piled up his boxes and crates behind an old food stand from the bygone days of the amusement park and hoped no one would steal them before next Tuesday. The back of his neck prickled as he bent to pick up his duffel, so he spun around and scanned the almost empty Bazaar. There was no one near. No one, except for a big white cat.

This time, the coincidence of seeing the cat again made Noah’s hair stand on end. He was half convinced he’d been hallucinating the creature this whole time. His fingers clenched on the leather strap of his bag, but he tried to act like he wasn’t afraid he was losing his mind.

“Hey, there, um…cat. I don’t know how you keep finding me. In fact, I’m ninety-five percent sure I’m seeing things. I’m surprised you haven’t gone home by now. Hell, I’m surprised you’re still alive.” Noah scrubbed his hands over his face, then shook his head. “I’m surprised I’m still talking to a gods-be-damned cat.”

The creature meowed, then slinked over and wove its way between and around Noah’s legs, leaving long white hairs all over his jeans. He brushed off the denim-myolene blend and glared at the cat. “Yeah, thanks for that.”

The cat purred and let out another plaintive moan.

“Ugh… I know that look too well. You’re hungry, yeah? All right, then, follow me. Today, we eat like princes.”

Eating like princes for Noah meant one of the mobile kitchens that frequented the park. He ordered some falafel, with curry chicken and rice, and hauled it all over to a picnic table. He sat down on the table part, while bracing his feet on the bench. Inexplicably, the cat followed him like it thought it was people. With a sigh, Noah spread out a napkin and spooned some chicken onto it for the cat, who eagerly wolfed it down, snarling a little as it chewed.

“Easy, killer,” he said with a laugh. “Don’t choke. Damn, you must’ve been starving. Been there, pal. Hey, at least you found a generous benefactor to keep you in curry, and you didn’t even have to blow anybody to get money.”

As if it understood, the cat froze. It stopped eating and stared at him, blinking slowly. It sat back on its haunches, ignoring the food, and waited, as if it expected him to continue. Embarrassed about talking to a cat, Noah gave an agitated wave of his hand.

“It’s nothing. When you’re homeless, you do what you need to do to get by. Every day I see people who are way worse off than me, so I try not to complain.”

The cat padded closer, curling up and pressing against the side of Noah’s thigh, purring. Noah stroked its back, running his fingers through the soft fur, and felt the knobby bumps of its spine as it arched up to chase his touch. Looking down at the cat, Noah noticed something he’d never seen before—a flash of black on the inside of its ear.

“Hey, what’s this?” he asked, as if the cat was going to answer him. He swiped a finger along the pink, paper-thin skin of the cat’s inner ear. It was ink. A tattoo. He knew that animals were often tattooed with ID numbers by shelters, or even their owners, but this marking was unusual. It was a glyph of a small, five-pointed crown. Beneath it, letters spelled out a word he didn’t recognize. “I wonder what this means. Basti.”

When he said it, the cat whipped his head around to stare up at him, and it let a garbled little growl. It sounded so disgruntled that Noah had to laugh. Obviously at some point, someone had cared about this cat enough to mark it, but he’d seen it on the streets too many times for it to be anything other than a stray.

“Is that your name, then? Basti? It’s cute.”

The cat narrowed its eyes, exhaled sharply through its nose, then mewed and went back to the curry chicken. That, apparently, was that.

While Basti inhaled his food, Noah ate at a more sedate pace, savoring the feeling of, for once, not being hungry. He looked at the cat, who in turn watched him. It was lithe and willowy, but not skinny. Its bones didn’t protrude past its thick coat, so it had to be fed with some regularity.

“I wonder where you normally get your food,” Noah said before he could quell the impulse. He sighed, setting down his now-empty food carton. “I know I must seem like some freaky stranger who speaks to you as if you were human, in a language you couldn’t possibly understand but…I don’t have many people—or animals, I guess—in my life, so I just can’t help myself. You’re safe.” Noah didn’t know if he meant that the cat was safe for him to talk to, or that the cat was safe with him. Maybe both.

“I have to go home. It will be dark soon.” The last place he wanted to be was Tom’s, but it wasn’t safe on the streets at night. “You should go on back to wherever you normally sleep and eat. Trust me, where I’m going isn’t anywhere you want to be.”

Noah tossed their trash into a nearby agri-dump receptacle, and set off west, toward Tom’s. The cat jumped down from the picnic table and followed. Noah sighed heavily, because with his work done and his belly finally full, all he wanted to do was lie down on his lumpy mattress and sleep for a week.

“Shoo! Get out of here! Trust me, you don’t want to go where I’m going.”

Basti grumbled and sat back on his haunches. As Noah continued through the rapidly darkening park, he pretended he didn’t know the precocious feline was still following him.

[reaganyouth]

Merry Easter bitches and Passover alike. Now go say your lords prayer about forgiving your debtors as you get ready to pay your rent, cuz it sure ain’t a Happy one

It's Easter and no ones at church, sacrilegious ! Maybe now people can finally grow up and realize religion is useless today. Priests are more pedophile then they're clerical. They used to be "clerics" in the sense they told you what day it was, church bells gave the hour of day because no one had a watch or read your mail because few could read and write, let alone count. We're told to expect a new "normal". Trump promised us deaths would be down to zero and we'd be allowed out for Easter. Instead only promise he delivered on was handing out hard working taxpayers money to corporate interests,none to individuals expressing their individuality. Only Rothchilds and Hapsburgs are allowed that while Senator Loeffler

and her husband, who runs the NYSE insider trade away on our misery. Think those fucks have cabin fever stuck inside their cities like some bird locked in a cage,only able to be let out and fly around the room, but never really free. This shit is, was and doesn't have to be the new normal. There are pyramids in Egypt, the Bible tells the "greatest story ever told" and it's so good it's still going on now. Wage slavery and incarceration, just like being an indentured servant is plain ole slavery, and slavery is murder. The White House has it's Pyramid just like there's a pyramid in Trafalgar Square or the front yard of the Vatican. Yes that Vatican that's not doing mass 'live" but on line, so you can't eat Christ's body or even drink his blood. Go out because you're covered in Jesus' blood and that protects you? What does that Bible belter identify with,the centurion that stabs Jesus' side? Now to get us used to being traced. Greenbacks are gonna disappear and your dealer is gonna have your info in their app. Out of town? Then download the app steering you to your closet local drug dealing spot. but until then y om the rich and give to the poor, the last mafioso not state sanctioned, no not Kevin Costner or even Robin Hood, but Salvatore Guiliano. 

Go watch Francis Ford Coppola's "The Sicilian" if you want to watch a really crappy movie about Guiliano with no mention of that fact. My source, a Sicilian who drove me all around Germany so he schooled me on that. Fuck google search. But rent is going to be due. So what's you gonna do? I know some landlords are smoking crack and drinking while their beautiful daughter stays with them because they're out of work. You can't model now. Thanks landlord of my band mate, for doing that and not asking her for rent. But self medicating ain't gonna help. 99% of Landlords shouldn't die but they shouldn't get paid either. they are not our Lord and it ain’t their land. PROPERTY IS THEFT !. I'm talking about motherfuckers who would charge every human to breath if the could control the air around us. And what to do with them ? I’d suggest the Yugoslavian communist model of having the children of the 1% kill their parents if they want to live in a just society as opposed to Pence wanting U.S. to follow the Italian model of stop counting the dead. Now some will say “But now's not the time! To talk about this”. Too busy in isolation ? Or “We got to come together in this tragedy” By not having enough time to think of an alternative to the new normal ? Or by respecting the dead by ignoring them ? One NYC cop dies it's a big deal and all over the news. When 25 die they're a statistic. As for my view of the police I align myself in the same train of thought as Pier Pasolini. Now today Anarchists have someone like Cody Rutledge Wilson 

but where are the Leon Czolgosz's ? He treated McKinley presidential the same way Lincoln and JFK were treated presidential. If it wasn't for Leon then we never would have had the only president with the balls to threaten to sic the U. S Army on the Coal Barron's and not striking miners. 

But that president spoke softly and carried a big stick while today our president talks shit and thought it okay for America to get sick. Sicker then any other country out there today. China sure knew how to play Trump like a fiddle and all they needed was the best chocolate cake Trump ever ate. Don’t snicker at communism, it’s still going strong in China where they didn’t have to renounce religion because they don’t believe in God. God is dead and if you don’t know now you know. Where is our Nestor Makhnov? 

Allowing prosperity for all while repulsing the 1% and greedy neighbors like Russia and Germany. Was Nestor Maknov the leader? No, just the head amongst equals. And what happened after a president last wielded power like Teddy Rooselvelt,

Americas most popular president of all time, well by 99% of it’s citizens at his time? Betrayed by Taft which opened the door for the KKK's Woodrow Wilson to be president. He instituted the banking system, The Fed, that insures the rich get richer and the poor get murdered as he presided over WWI plus the Spanish Flu and got rid of many unwanteds. Kinda like what’s going on today. Now History ain’t as big as religion here in Amerikkka so I’ll offer up a sermon or two;

If I were asked to answer the following question: What is slavery? and I should answer in one word, It is murder!, my meaning would be understood at once. No extended argument would be required to show that the power to remove a man's mind, will, and personality, is the power of life and death, and that it makes a man a slave. It is murder. Why, then, to this other question: What is property? may I not likewise answer, It is robbery!, without the certainty of being misunderstood; the second proposition being no other than a transformation of the first?

— Pierre-Joseph Proudhon, What is Property?[I]

That was some new testimonial for y’all

Ending it a real creation story

The first man who, having enclosed a piece of ground, bethought himself of saying 'This is mine', and found people simple enough to believe him, was the real founder of civil society. From how many crimes, wars, and murders, from how many horrors and misfortunes might not any one have saved mankind, by pulling up the stakes, or filling up the ditch, and crying to his fellows: Beware of listening to this impostor; you are undone if you once forget that the fruits of the earth belong to us all, and the earth itself to nobody."

DO THEY OWE US A LIVING ?

OF COURSE THEY FUCKING DO ! 

Peace Unto Us All,.... well 99.9% of us that is ;-)

[butterflyinthewell]

I hope you listened to why people where upset with you and learned from it, rather than just freaking out and then brushing it off. Learn something from this, better yourself.

Let me be brave...let me be brave...let me be brave....

Putting trigger warnings here in case people don’t tag them in reblogs.

tw nazi mentiontw hitlertw death threatstw rape tw murdertw suicide baitingtw sex mentiontw gunstw violencetw anxietytw abuse tw emotional abusetw cyberbullyingtw anon hate (not for THIS anon, but for the kinds of things I mention anons sending to me.)

Hello, anon.

I didn’t brush it off at all. I apologized, but I don’t know if it ever got acknowledged.

I freaked out because the way I got attacked by anons triggered a flood of emotions related to being emotionally abused and bullied. I had no control of the response other than to delete the cruel messages and type out how I felt to contain my panic. 

The only anon I really responded to publicly was the one who said I was being manipulative for posting how scared, confused and upset I was. I was deliberately trying to avoid using tags that people surf or not tagging at all except for triggers so only my followers would see those posts. I used ‘actuallyautistic’ occasionally when I did panic. 

If I want a post to get attention, I make sure the first five tags are popular ones that get a lot of visits.

I made a mistake. I fucked up. I blew it. Yeah, I get it. It was not intentional at all, but people wanted to make sure I felt as bad as I could possibly feel about it over and over. It’s the exact mob mentality that terrifies me on this site.

I don’t resent being educated. I’m glad for that. I’m grateful and thankful for that. Somebody very kindly explained why the comparisons made people angry instead of saying “don’t compare these things” without further explanation. I can’t learn if I don’t understand why something is wrong. My brain works in specifics, if thing A is wrong, I need to be told that thing B and thing C are also wrong and why they’re also wrong, or I may not connect those dots. It’s autism brain, it’s been that way since I was a kid. That is not an excuse, it is an explanation. An excuse would be “it’s autism, I can’t help it and I don’t need to change my behavior��� and I never said that about this incident.

Someone made the time to give me the “why” that I was missing. I felt like an asshole even though I had no ill intent, and I wish more people would acknowledge that my intent was not to cause harm rather than throwing me into the same box as people who are purposefully cruel. People have come to me with kind messages saying they know I wasn’t being offensive on purpose and I appreciate them very much, but I feel like the people who I accidentally hurt won’t ever acknowledge my apology or that I didn’t have ill intent.

Again, I don’t resent people educating me. I took it in and listened to them.

What I resent is the flood of people telling me that I should die, that I’m an antisemitic bigot, that I suck Hitler’s dick and that I’m a Nazi whore. People told me I should get murdered and thrown in a ditch. I had people telling me that I should slit my wrists, jump off a bridge and get raped. I had people saying I deserved every bit of hate I got and that I don’t deserve any of the friends I have on this site. I got called a “basic bitch” (whatever that means), a fraud and homophobic. 

Then I got told I was going to be shot and I wasn’t going to see it coming, which led to me being afraid to open my blinds or leave my house between Monday and Thursday. For my Holy Week stuff at church, I kind of sat or stood slightly away from people so if those shots came, they would only hurt me and not anyone near me. I acted more fine than I felt. I kept watching peoples’ hands for any sign they were taking out a gun. I only felt safe when in enclosed areas away from view of large crowds.

I kept it quiet while it was happening because I didn’t want to call attention to those kind of messages. It’s been about a day and a half since I last got something nasty in my inbox about the whole mess, so I guess people are tired of the whole ordeal. I sure am. 

I got the mob that I’m deathly terrified of. All for a mistake. I came very close to deleting my Tumblr. I got as far as my cursor over the button, but couldn’t click it. Deleting would disappoint more people than my mistake ever did. I remembered all the people who say my blog keeps them going, and I would be letting them down if I vanished totally. I thought of all the nonverbal autistic people who need lots of daily help and can’t make their communications understood who would go totally unacknowledged except as caregivers’ scapegoats without my posts telling the world that they exist and deserve love.

I never set out to intentionally hurt anyone, but I got treated as if I had. I apologized for what I said and adjusted the video to reflect why it’s gone so that people see the issue is dealt with and won’t feel the need to slam me all over again. I really wish people would delete their reblogs of the post, but I know that’s asking way too much.

I didn’t brush anything off. 

I really hope people didn’t brush my apology off. It’s really not fair to keep shoving a mistake at someone when they make it clear they learned from it and have been beat up enough for it. I get it, I fucked up and I’m sorry for the pain I caused.

But once you fuck up on Tumblr, there are people who see you as always a fuckup no matter how hard you try to do better after setting off the hate mob. 

Again, I don’t resent being educated. I appreciate that people educated me. What I do resent are the people who repeatedly shoved the mistake back in my face as if I’m not allowed to pick myself up and move on after learning from it.

That is the one downside about Tumblr. Mob mentality is a terrifying thing. 

Unfortunately, it’s one of my triggers when it’s aimed directly at me because the bullying I got in high school involved being publicly humiliated in front of crowds of other kids and being taunted repeatedly by members of the crowd afterward. 

There was a boy who threatened to rape and murder me daily, and nobody did shit to stop him. I was told “He’s just being a boy. Ignore him. He probably has a crush on you.” So messages about “you’re gonna get shot bitch watch your back cuz you won’t see it coming” had me going back to the thinking patterns and defense mechanisms I utilized in high school. I freaked out and made myself small for awhile.

Having my feelings dismissed as ‘manipulation’ are exact words my emotionally abusive dad uses on me whenever I’m not emoting “properly” according to some esoteric rules he never bothers to explain to me. That made me get even more confused and scared that nothing I said or did was going to be right and that everyone was going to hate me forever.

I’m not seeking pity, here. I’m explaining these things to you so that you can understand why I behaved as I did in response to the situation. I was taking measures to prevent catastrophic panic attacks that would’ve led to me deliberately getting cruel in attempt to scare everyone away. That would NOT have gone well, and I’m glad I recognized I was falling back into a pattern and wrote it out instead of being silent until I blew up completely.

For the record, again, I am sorry for the harm the Shatner letter post caused and I hope people acknowledge that yes I know I screwed up and I learned. 

[watchampersandpray]

identity

My head feels like an attic full of old junk. It’s not all bad though; I know there are some treasures underneath all the dust. I know that’s a cheesy metaphor, but it’s absolutely true. There’s a ton of crap I need to throw out completely & hopefully around the same amount of wisdom to uncover and live by. Also, gimme a break cuz I haven’t really written in years.

I will say this: moving to the other side of the country by yourself is really hard.

No one really prepares you for that; but then again, no one really moves across the country just because  they want to. But it wasn’t just that I wanted to – I needed to, I felt called to. And I don’t regret it for one second. I have had so many adventures & experienced such beautiful landscapes here. California is full of magic & wonder.

I used to think that God must have some huge reason for pulling me towards Santa Cruz. Because that’s a long way from Ohio, you know. There must be a big point to prove or some life-changing event to take place to justify 2,000+ miles. I dreamed so, anyway.

But now,

I think it was just His kindness that led me.

He took my dream of living by the ocean in a small beach town & made it come to life. He let me be completely independent & forced me to start a conversation with anyone I wanted to meet. And it’s been good for me.

But it hasn’t been all that successful.

It’s been lonely. One sad part about moving away long-term is that you start losing all your old connections back home. I suppose my old community seems so important to me because I don’t have a new community. I live in a transient town where most people already have one foot out the door. I’ve tried just about everything – work, churches, even dating apps (ugh). Don’t misunderstand, I love my friends here, but it’s been hard to connect on a deep level. I also adore my small church, but I don’t really feel that sense of small-group belonging. And I gave up dating because I’m wise & I don’t have time I want to waste. I need real COMMUNITY & people that I feel connected to. I need someone I can call up anytime with good or bad; someone that is full of energy and up for any spontaneous adventure. Someone that wants to do more than small talk because I seriously don’t think I can do that anymore. The new year has been lonlier than ever & I’m beginning to feel suffocated here. Or maybe stifled is the word. Either way, I’m not thriving & change is inevitable.

And as secure as I’ve always been or thought I was, it’s beginning to get to me. And that surprised me. I know it’s a lie, but it’s all making me question ME. Is there something wrong with me? Am I not fun anymore? Why am I so awkward? Do I not know how to talk to people anymore? I don’t need to be so self-aware. I want my identity back. I am a child of God. I don’t have to prove myself or earn anything from anyone. I spent a lot of my life before Jesus feeling overlooked & not understood. I want to be seen, but I still sometimes find myself shrinking back. Lately, I feel like I’m losing hold of my personality; like I don’t even know who Hollie is anymore. I think it’s because I spend most of my time alone. It’s harder to laugh at your own jokes. It’s harder to hold meaningful conversations with yourself. Someone asked me what I liked to do in my spare time the other day & I could BARELY THINK OF ANYTHING. Like my brain had been swiped of all memory of fun & adventure.

For a while now, I’ve felt this pull to move back east somewhere closer to my parents (specifically Nashville, which blows my mind, because I would have never given that city so much as a thought if the Lord didn’t spark my interest), which is interesting because I have this insane relationship with them. Sometimes I miss them so much & I lie in bed wishing I could call them that instant, but I can’t because it’s the middle of the night there. But then it’s day and I call them & can barely keep a nice tone in my voice. I want something that I can probably never have with them – a deep conversation about ourselves or life or God that’s full of respect. We are very different people & to me, that’s okay. I don’t have to fight or lecture everyone with a different opinion. But they’re very set in how they see the world & me. I realized the other day that I know they’re not going to change their perspective, so I need to change mine. I need to see them differently. I need to look at them & see what Jesus sees about who they are made to be and not necessarily who they are now. I love them, though, so much.

I keep having these dreams where my parents have cancer. It could partly be the enemy shaming me with fear & guilt, saying, ‘well, you’re so far away, anything could happen’, but I’m more certain it's the Lord telling me they have spiritual cancer, so when I wake up in the middle of the night, I pray.

I had this sort of honest breakdown with the Lord the other day & I was telling him how I still felt like a child in many ways; due to all these things that I want in life but haven’t experienced because they’re mostly out of my hands. It’s an extremely vulnerable & frustrating place to be in. As I was communicating all this, I cried to him and said, “God, all I really want out of life is a husband & a family & a house I can take care of.” Because I’ve never known what career I want or felt inextricably called to something that brings me both money & fulfillment daily. And I struggle with that unknown all the time. But a little later, I came home; still not full of hope or courage, I turned on 'Pete’s Dragon’ and said, “Please tell me or teach me something from this movie, Lord.” I knew nothing about the plot going into it and I seriously rarely watch animated films because I don’t like most of them, but it turns out it’s about a little child finding a family & a home. Okay God. I hear you.

Then at church a few days after, my pastor said something offhand that struck me. He said: You need identity before (you can understand your role in) family. And I thought about how my identity seems murky right now.

Psalm 68 says God settles the solitary in a home. It says in his GOODNESS he provides for the needy. Because of his goodness. He still loves to give gifts to his children. I thought I would marry someone once & that didn’t come to be. Sometimes I wonder if I lost my one shot or something. Or if I have to wait & suffer until I’m 80. I have always been the 'weird’ one. I’ve had people tell me they can’t see me getting married. These are all lies. If it’s not truth, it’s probably a lie. There are no alternative facts.

I gotta find my faith again. Not faith in me getting the things that I want, but faith that God does care enough to make them happen. He sees us & he doesn’t turn his face away. I need to believe this deeper.

“Seek first the kingdom of God and his righteousness & all these things will be added to you. Therefore do not be anxious about tomorrow, for tomorrow will be anxious for itself. Sufficient for the day is its own trouble.”

I don’t have it all figured out. I don’t have anything figured out.

I just know to wake up in the morning & look at what’s good right now, because sometimes joy is to be sought. To make coffee and try to sit still long enough to be present; to look up at the sky & listen to the birds & maybe a really great song. Then thank God.