Man of Steel

That's what I am...at least, if you're going according to the hat they have me wearing at Hardee's.

I also may or may not be Superman.  That's yet to be decided.

Ha.  This is the only hat they had for me to wear today.  And it is actually a Hardee's hat, I know by the star on the back, but I just found this weird.  And of course, with my gigantic hydrocephaly head, the hat was far too small, so it was squeezing my head like crazy and that only added to my usual head pain.  But the manager was putting in a new order for uniform stuff tonight, so hopefully he'll be able to get me a much larger hat.  I don't work again until Thursday, but then I work Thursday, Friday, Saturday, and Sunday.  A little over 30 hours in my first week, not too bad.

The day was physically grueling, not gonna lie.  I've just never had to do anything like this ever, so it's going to take some getting used to.  Not surprisingly, my feet were bothering me more than my back.  I have the best shoes I can get, though, so it's just going to be how it is.  It's not like I'm not used to working through pain, so I'll deal.  I always do.  The two managers were very sweet in checking on me and stuff, too.  I think they could tell I was working as hard as I could.  Honestly, the biggest thing is probably just going to be making sure I stay hydrated.  It's HOT!  Even just doing the register.

Everyone was really nice.  Being, well, me, I was all shaky at first because I was so nervous because I always want to do well at everything I do.  It wasn't anyone else putting pressure on me, it was all me on myself.  Thankfully all the customers were really patient and understood that it was my first day so I was learning, and one sweet old man took the time to tell my general manager that I did a really good job, which made me smile.  One of the plus sides to working at a place like this in a small town is that they have their regulars, and the regulars just "get it".

I like working the register.  I feel like I'll catch on to that pretty quickly because I have such a good memory. It just takes practice, and even by the end of today's shift I was remembering more on my own.

The difference between Hardee's and other fast food restaurants, something I actually really like, is that they really care about the restaurant presentation and taking care of guests in the house.  So there's never any just standing around or whatever; anytime there was a lull in taking orders and stuff, I was checking on people to see if they needed refills and cleaning and doing something.  I'm honestly amazed at how slow 5 hours felt going by considering I was always doing something.  It'll be interesting to see what 6 and 7 hour shifts feel like, which is what I'm working the end of this week.  But Thursday-Sunday are considered the "busy days" so maybe it'll go by faster.

Today, after work, my head hurt so bad I came back and took one of these special pills that I'm only allowed to take a couple days a week because they're so strong and then I took a 3 hour nap.  Ha!  I'll probably want to drop dead after my 7-2 shift Thursday.

So yeah.  It was good.  It was exhausting and like nothing I've ever experienced before, but it was good.  I'm happy to have a job, to be making some money and being able to do something besides sit around all summer.  I'm still a tad nervous about handling the physical aspects of it all, but it helped that everyone was so nice.  I'll figure it out.  I always do.  I'm stubborn, and God is good at pulling me through. :)

Now, I think I'm going to go eat a quick snack and go to bed.  Believe it or not, after only a 5 hour shift and a 3 hour nap, I'm still absolutely exhausted!

But I like it.

Day One

Otherwise titled: That day where they pay you to watch videos about information you probably should've been able to figure out in the first place.

So I don't exactly have a good idea of physically what this job is going to be like, because I was sitting down the entire 4 hours filling out paperwork, watching videos, taking quizzes, and listening to the manager go over the exact same info that was in the videos, but hey.  I went, and I'm officially allowed to work now.

I work 7-12 tomorrow.  They're required to sort of phase you in to make sure you don't get burnt out right off the bat, which is probably the best possible scenario for me physically, but I hope I get up to full-time hours soon because I need the money.  My manager didn't seem like that'll be a problem, though.  At least tomorrow I'll get to do stuff.

This is gonna be good for me.  I'm not nervous anymore, just excited.

I haven't really done anything else today.  Just been lazy and ate lots of good food.  I'm thinking as soon as I listen to this online sermon, I'll go to bed so I can be well rested.  Plus I'm tired, which I find odd since I didn't do anything today.  But it is what it is, and I've never had to be anywhere at 7 am before, except for maybe one breakfast in DC, so I'm sure 5:30 is gonna be rough.

So yeah.  Today was good.  I'm excited for tomorrow.

That's God.

It's 1:15 am, and I'm finally getting the chance to just sit here and write about my day without wondering about 600 things I need to do or time limits or anything at all really.  Except for the fact that I would like to go to sleep because, well, it's 1 am, and I have done a lot today.

So, uh, let's start off with the big part.  I got a job.  At Hardee's.  Like, almost on the spur of the moment.  I mean, I filled out an application last week when I filled out several others, but they never called me for an interview.  I went in for an interview with Taco Bell Wednesday, and the manager was supposed to call me back yesterday but never did.  So I called her today and when she told me she hadn't had time to do other interviews, I decided to check on my other applications.  Hardee's was one of them.  I felt somewhat hopeful about them because they're the one place I remember seeing in town that actually had a "NOW HIRING" sign out front.  And well, patience isn't exactly my strong suit and all I could think was how I want to get a job.

Note to self:  Calling a fast food restaurant at noon on a Saturday?  Not a bright idea.  Luckily, the lady was very nice and just said to call back after 1:00 and she'd be happy to talk to me about my application.  So I took a quick nap because Blake was actually sleeping, and called back about 1:15.  It took about 3 minutes before she asked me if I could come in at 2:00 for an interview.

Cue the scrambling to shower and get ready because I was a bit of a greasy mess.

But I made it.  And the lady was actually very nice, and she remembered  Chelsea (because Chelsea worked at that Hardee's a few years ago) which was a bit awkward, but she liked me and said that she had to talk it over with her manager and she'd call me later today.  Mom had run to the store, got back about 5 minutes later, and by the time we pulled through the drive-through for me to get a snack, she was standing outside saying she was just about to call me to ask if I could come in for my orientation tomorrow.

:)  So yay.  I have a job.  Which is a big relief for my personal finances, because I only have enough money from Mommom for one more semester so I need to eat in the spring plus I have a trip that I have my heart set on making in November, and I can help contribute to the house a little bit.  Because when you're this thing they call an adult, turns out your parents expect you to pay some rent.  How about that.

After we went to dinner and to see The Great Gatsby (which, by the way, I'd never seen or read before today and found to be rather odd, but Baz Luhrmann is a genius and the cinematography of it all was insanely spectacular) with Mommom and Aunt Barbara, Mom and I went shopping to get the pieces I needed for my uniform together.  I was excited all night, and then suddenly, on the way home, I just broke down in tears because I was scared.  Scared that I couldn't do this.  And mad, that I won't ever be physically normal.  Add in the fact that this week is that special time every month when it's just especially fun to be me, and I was a bit of a blubbering mess for a few minutes.  But then I calmed down and remembered something - I felt the exact same fear going into DC last summer wondering if I could do that physically.  In fact, I wrote a post about that fear here.  I even knew of people, even outside my family, who had the same concerns.  But I did it.  I held a job and went to events and classes and traversed that ginormous city, including an incredibly hilly Georgetown, for 8 solid weeks on my own, and most of the time I was in dress clothes and painful shoes outside in temperatures reaching 100 degrees.  It wasn't easy, but I did it because I wanted to and, in my eyes, there wasn't any other choice.

My mama has always told me I do whatever I decide I'm going to do, no matter what anyone tells me are my limitations, including myself.  I tend to think I get that from her. :)  And I firmly believe things wouldn't have fallen together like this in a matter of hours on a phone call I randomly decided to make if I wasn't supposed to be doing this.  So yeah.  I'm doing this.  I'll keep you posted.

In other God and family related news, on the ride from the movie theater to Walmart tonight, Mom just casually dropped in my lap that she's going to try to get her and Chelsea back into therapy.  I may not have a reason to be super excited about this yet to most people, but just the fact that my mom thought about this on her own and mentioned it out of the blue when we weren't even talking about anything related to Chelsea or our issues or anything is a huge God thing.  I haven't so much as heard her mention the word therapy outside of the times Chelsea's been institutionalized, so then it was never about herself, in over a decade.  I spent so many years begging for her to take us all to therapy (at one point I was convinced that Dr. Phil could fix us), and she looked at me and said that "people aren't supposed to air their dirty laundry in public".  And there's no guaranteeing that she'll get Chelsea to agree to it, but I think even if she went on her own for herself it could do so much good for her and how she deals with the stresses of this family.  But what blew my mind the most was just that she said it out of the blue and so nonchalantly.  God is so awesome.  I'm excitedly optimistic to see what He's going to do from here.  Something tells me this wasn't a random thing... :)

That reminds me.  It's 1:45 now, and I just remembered that I promised Chris I'd post this news on The City because it reminded the both of us of the sermon he gave two weeks ago titled "Pray Big."  Prayers being answered years after I stopped praying them...that's God.

Speaking Freely

Here's sort of a snapshot into what has been going on in my head the past few days.

I hate her I hate her no I don't she''s my sister and I do love her and want the best for her but she seems so evil and I can't love evil even as badly as I want to.  I want her to get her life together and stop torturing Mom and me and give Blake a chance at not being so royally screwed up which he's almost certainly guaranteed to be if he gets raised by her.  I don't want her dead, I don't deserve to live anymore than she does, no matter what I may say when I'm angry and sad and hurt and exhausted of being around her, but sometimes I wish she would just move far, far away.  So we would never have to see her again and deal with her and my mom could finally get her life back.  Sometimes I feel like even getting to see Blake isn't worth putting up with the emotional torture she seems to enjoy inflicting upon this family.  I love him, more than she can even understand, sometimes I think I would give up my whole life and my whole future to make sure he was safe, but sometimes there's an overwhelming desire in me to protect myself and my sanity first and WHY AM I SO SELFISH?!

Over and over and over again until even the sound of my own voice makes me sick when I haven't actually vocalized a single word.

I can only think of one reason that all of this has come pouring out of me tonight - a book called Permission to Speak Freely by Anne Jackson.  It's a book my friend JD sent me years ago, before I read for fun, when I was still more concerned with making people happy than me being honest.  I liked her so much that I was never going to tell her that that book sat on my bookshelf, moved into a box, moved back and forth back and forth to and from college semester after semester.....without me ever opening it up.  After a while, it wasn't even necessarily that I didn't want to read it - after a while I became more open to hearing "Christian" stories and reading "Christian" books and opening myself up to a piece of the world that I had shut myself off to for so long.  It was mostly that I just didn't like to read.  But more than that, I really didn't like saying no to people so I collected books from people who wanted to share with me and help me without ever telling me they were wasting the postage and should give it to someone else who deserved the time and thought.

Well, as has been somewhat documented on this blog over the past five or so months, I've started reading.  For fun!  And even though during the semester I didn't have time for recreational reading because there was so much school reading in the semester, I started gathering a list of books I wanted to get, books I knew I had but wanted to read, and decided I was going to work my way through them this summer.  Then, I ended up getting a stack of Public Policy stuff from Dr. Mero (because apparently my reading nerdiness doesn't take summer vacation off, either), which left me with quite the impressive stack.  Good thing I've got three months!

I had to make it through that stupid research paper for the end of the semester before I could even think about reading for fun (which, I don't know if I ever mentioned, I got an A so my 3.8 GPA is still in tact), and being sick this week has sort of put everything on hold because I can't really feel like reading when sitting up makes me nauseous.  But I made it through Multiply (the book from my small group) and sent it off to a friend, and sent off two other books I've already read to another friend, and today, since I was supposed to hear back about a job but never did, I was bored and decided to pick up the book on the top of the stack on my dresser.

Permission to Speak Freely: Essays and Art on Fear, Confession, and Grace

It'd been so long since I received this book that I couldn't remember what it was about, so I opened it.  And immediately I was drawn into Anne's words about how she drew all sorts of Internet attention with a simple question she put on her blog: What is one thing you feel you can't say in the church?

Interspersed with pictures and notes and confessions from countless people is Anne's story of how she fought to tell the ugly truth about life in the middle of a "churchisphere" (yes, I may have just made that word up. Go with it) that said the only things that were acceptable were clean and easy and could be answered quickly and tritely.  Our stories come from opposite ends.  She is the daughter of a preacher in a Very Traditional Southern Baptist Church whose family was rejected for not following what they said was God's law closely enough, for her daring to question how well these church elders were teaching the Bible they held so dearly.  I'm a girl not raised in the church, who tried so hard to be the person I thought you had to be to be a Christian, to be accepted, to be one of "God's people", that I became a shell of a person, and when that still wasn't enough, I just ran.  I ran from everything that had "Christian" attached to it.  I ran from talking to people because I was so tired of being judged and abandoned for being what I thought was the person I was made to be.

Heh.  Well, look how times have changed.  No, actually, I'd like to say they've changed, but in reality, while this blog is about as close to a crystal-clear view into my head as you can get, there's still a lot I don't say because I still care about what people think.  I don't want to tell people that sometimes looking at my sister just makes me want to punch her in the face or how sometimes the raging hatred I feel pulsing through every piece of me has me wondering if I'll ever love her again, if I ever loved her in the first place.  Because that's not the Mal everyone knows.  That's not the girl people are familiar with who will do anything to help anyone, who simply loves people.  I feel suddenly so much less like myself if I tell people that the heart, sympathy, compassion, I feel for basically everyone in my life no matter how little we know each other so often runs drier than a broken faucet when I look in the eyes of my next oldest sister.  Like maybe I'm not as nice of a person as I thought I was, maybe I've been fooling everyone all this time about who I really am...including me.  I don't want to tell people I don't understand why this relationship, why my reaction to this one person is so vastly different than every other relationship I have formed despite the fact that my sister is so far from the only screwed up thing in this family.

It wasn't until the past couple years, when I started forming true, authentic friendships - through the blog/Twitter world, through school, through the Vespers, through church - that I started finding the courage to tell people, most importantly of all myself, that the brokenness is okay.  I knew that hat I didn't have to hide behind a mask of the person that I thought people wanted me to be, that I really was made this person for a reason and that if I kept waiting, I kept trying, I never quit being me, I would find people who could love me through my own brokenness and let me love them through theirs, too.  I didn't believe it would actually work...until it did.  And I didn't realize it did until I found myself in places like at my computer at 2 am having a conversation with a woman I've never met about how she understands what it feels like to look at your own family and think that you hate them...and the surprises that can come when out of nowhere relationships you thought were beyond hope start to take shape again.  Places like an online chat community talking to a church full of strangers in Texas who take the time to tell this "nobody" 20-year-old girl in North Carolina that I'm helping them, ministering to them, simply by telling them that they aren't alone and that I get it.

See, one of the things that Anne's booked helped me realize is that I think we all have a nagging fear of being alone - not in the physical sense, but alone in the sense that we're the only ones going through the struggle that feels like it's seconds away from swallowing us whole.  Like if one of us stands up and says "Hey, I don't know what I'm doing.  I hate this and this about myself and I want to change but I don't know how to start." then the people we thought were friends might actually turn out not to be and tell us we're too different to belong.  But one of the most poignant and essential lessons I found in these pages was that sometimes all it takes is one person willing to stand up and say what's raw, what's real, what's true, even if it's ugly and broken, to tell the people around them that it's okay, it's safe, for them to tell their own secrets, too.

I have real friends, now.  These friends, these big brothers and big sisters who have given me Christian, God-honoring, patient guidance through times and situations when I didn't know where I'd get it from, are true role models of mine.  And I can say that they are my role models because I know their faults, too; they've allowed to see past their imperfections to see the heart that lies beneath all the confusion and dirt and crap that screws up our views.  Like that woman, whom I've never met, who let me say I think I hate my sister and told me that was okay.  Or the friends who just listen when I need them to and will tell me when they have advice to give, or when they have no idea what to say at all.  They are just there, with tears, with prayers, with presence.  And they know that the refuge they have offered to me time and time again is an offer that is always on the table for them, 24/7, no matter what.

These friendships brought me to life.  Their patient, persistent, unfailing determination to love me when the easy option wold be to leave me behind tore down the grip that fear had on my entire being.  Their voices that said it's okay to be just Mal became louder than the one that said I had to be someone specific to be okay and be wanted.  It's not a one-time fix kind of thing; it's a lesson I have to learn again and again every time I wonder if it's okay to say what I want to say to someone that I know I ultimately do trust just because I don't want them to get the wrong idea.  I remind myself, they remind me, we love each other through it and before either of us realizes what happened, we feel free enough to tell each other anything.

There is so much freedom in authenticity; I know that now.  I just had to find the people who wanted to hear it.  But I did, in some crazy and unexpected ways with people the old me never would've even dreamed of being friends with.  It was like I looked at these people and told God I knew I didn't deserve them, but if He could just let me have someone like them, then that'd be good, because I couldn't understand why they would ever want to be friends with me in the first place.  They had it "together", and I was like a baby giraffe trying to figure out what walking felt like.  I didn't know why I should trust them, when people titled "Christians" right in front of my face had burned me so harshly right here in my own life, but I was so desperate for community that I knew I needed to try.  And with every time that, in all my inexperience, my fumbling, my questions, one of these friends told me the ways in which my words and my friendship had helped them, I learned that they are no more put together than I am.  We're all just different kinds of broken.

Lately, I've had comments that I need to write a book, or I need to take my story and message to a larger stage, coming in much more frequently.  I'll be honest - do I have a dream tucked away somewhere that that is what my future will look like?  Yes, I've said exactly that here right on this website.  But reading this book helped me realize the root reason behind why I want that - because I want to help give a voice to all the people who, like me, let fear silence theirs for far too long.  I would never intend to imply that I have all of this figured out, but I want to walk with people the way I've had people walk with me even when I didn't know I wanted them there.   I want to be the one who shouts from every platform available that you are good enough, your story is worth telling, as long as it's you.  The world doesn't need more voices trying to cram the problems of life back into little boxes to be hidden away in secrecy.  The world needs people who are going to look the weak and broken and scarred in the eyes and say that there is still grace for them at the foot of the Cross.  Jesus spent his time with the rejects for a reason.  There is always enough grace.

I just hope that no matter what the platform that God puts in front of me, a year, five years, ten, twenty years from now, He continues to give me the courage to stand up and speak.  Because I don't want to stop.

Same

Well, I did get some antibiotics today, but naturally, they take more than 12 hours to work.

And I can't go over to my grandma's house because her sister is coming and she's old and frail and I can't get her all germy because then I'd feel bad, so I've been stuck in this house.

At least Chelsea is only off today and tomorrow.

And I have another job interview on Saturday.  Yay?  Something's gotta give.  I'm not thrilled about any off these summer job prospects but I need a job.

Back to bed.

Oh this just keeps getting better and better.

Who knew not getting into the doctor the day you call could turn out to be a good thing?

I sure didn't, until the stomach aspect of whatever has hit me came to visit tonight.

I didn't even know it was possible to have a sinus infection and a stomach virus at the same time, but I'm pretty sure at this point that it is.

God bless my mama for taking such good care of me even though she still doesn't feel back to normal yet.

Here's to hoping a Phenergan prescription and some hardcore antibiotics will get me back to my usual state here soon.

9:15 cannot get here soon enough.

Worse

Today I woke up with all the same symptoms my mom did yesterday.

This is fun.

Let's just hope my voice comes back enough by tomorrow for me to make it through an interview.

Ugh.

The sickness has invaded.

I woke up every few hours feeling like puking my guts out.

My blood sugar has felt low since last night even though I've eaten regularly even though I didn't want to because of the whole nausea thing.

Basically, I feel absolutely horrible.

And my mom is wheezing, with a massive earache, and a sore throat.

So basically we are quite the pair.

I feel worse for my mom, though.  She still has to go to work and teach Shakespeare with a voice like the Grim Reaper.

Going to bed as soon as Castle is over sounds like a fantastic plan.

Blah.  Hopefully this doesn't last long.

Mom

People, this is the kind of influence I grow up with:  It's Mother's Day, my mom wakes up to take Chelsea to work at 7 am, and then brings me breakfast in bed when she gets home.

Ridiculous.  I tell ya, if I am half the mother that my mother is, my kids will be blessed beyond belief.

We may be different in so many ways, we may have extremely different viewpoints on many subjects, but I can honestly say that I would not be the woman I am today without her influence and love.  Heck, I probably wouldn't be alive if it weren't for her.  Her dedication to getting me the best care possible, no matter what it cost her, has without a doubt led me to some of the best medical care I could ask for.

I got my fighting spirit from her.  She doesn't know how strong she is, but I've known all along.  She has been on her own for more than 16 years, a completely single parent for almost 14.  In the meantime, she's dealt with teenage rebellion, a full-time job, my neverending health issues, her health issues, Chelsea's mental issues and constant creation of drama, Chelsea getting pregnant and basically forcing my mother to raising a 4th child just as she thought she was done with that, and so much else.  She's done all of this without the reliance on God that has become so vital to my perseverance, and yet it still hasn't broken her.  I think this is why I pray for her salvation more than just about anyone else's that I know; I don't want this world to break her without her being aware that she has God to fall back on.  I'm seeing glimmers of her coming to that understanding...I can only pray that this really is the seeds being planted, so that she can come to the full life that I have found.

She pushes me when I don't want to be pushed, because she knows I can do more than I believe that I can.

She cheers for me when I feel like there's nothing to cheer about.

She has instilled in me a passion for music.  For as long as I can remember, there has been music playing in this house.  The Beatles.  Rock'n'roll from the 80's.  Jazz.  Classical.  She taught me to appreciate that there is beauty in all music, even if it's not a style I'm fond of.  She taught me to sing even when I don't sound the greatest, that as cliché as this sounds, it's better to let an out-of-tune song out if it's what makes you happy than to hold it in for fear of being laughed at.  And she's still one of the best singers I've ever heard.

She's shown me what it looks like to be a mother to the motherless, or even just the ones like Ryann whose parents are far away, to believe in the ones the world has given up on, to find good in people even when it's the last thing your mind wants to do.

She loves me with everything she is and has, I've never doubted that for a second.  Even as I've grown older and found my faith on my own, as our differences become more prominent, as I make less and less sense to her, I know that she loves me.  She loves me, even though she doesn't understand me.

I love her.  I don't even know if she realizes how much or how deeply, how I would give anything in the world to take her pain away, how much she is my hero.  I don't know if she realizes that the love God grows in me for her every day is so much a part of the reason that I refuse to give up on my life, on her life, on our relationship.

I pray that she lives long enough for me to have the chance to take care of her the way she's taken care of me and given me the love of two parents for so long.

Clarity

It's a wonder what a night of sleep can do to clear your mind.

So here's the actual deal.  I'm not moving out.  But I will be spending as little time as possible in this house.

That means that as often as possible, any time that Chelsea is here and awake, I will be at my grandma's house.  Thankfully, we have a key to her house, so I can even go over there when she is out of town.

I like this idea a lot better.  The relationship I still have with my mom won't have to suffer just because Chelsea likes to terrorize me.  And I'll still get to spend as much as possible with her when she is out of school for two months and Chelsea is still working 5 days a week (though hopefully I will have a job by then, as well).

Do I know if I'm doing the right thing?  Nope.  I don't have a freaking clue what I am doing.  But I know that I wasn't thrilled about making such a drastic change, and when the realization hit me earlier tonight that a year from yesterday will be my college graduation, I knew I need to spend as much time with my mom as possible.  I want this next year to teach her that no matter how far away I move, she's never going to be alone, even though I know how suffocating this house can be for her when it's just her, Chelsea, and Blake for weeks on end.

I feel like crying tonight.  I'm not totally sure why.  Maybe it's because several of my friends became official college graduates today.  Maybe it's because I'm scared (probably for no reason) that I'm losing people that mean so incredibly much to me.  Maybe it's because I want to be back in Buies Creek where everything somehow makes so much more sense to me.  Maybe it's just because today has been yet another day of debilitating pain.  I don't know.  So much for clarity.

On to tomorrow.