I need a panic button.

There isn't really a focus to this post... I was just rambling to myself to pass the time, and I was going to delete this once I finished writing. But looking it over again, there's this progression (well, it's fairly abrupt) of despair to hope that accidentally happened, a hope from Jesus that somehow made its way through. I figured I'd keep it.

I've got a case of the Sundays yet again. I'm sitting next to my bedroom window, watching new snow fall like down feathers. There's a pineapple-scented candle burning in front of me and I'm typing on my dad's iPad (I left my laptop at the office as a new initiative to avoid pornography).

It's been a while since I've wrote one of these. To be honest, adding to this blog is the only time I really pause to think, to take a moment and consider, what do I even want to say?

Writing is also what I do when I really want to act out, so I write to distract myself. As my parents left to take my sister back to her college town this afternoon, I was left alone in an empty house (well, my brother is here, but he's glued to the TV) with a million options for spending my Sunday afternoon. 

One in particular hovered at the front of my mind: you could read something bad. Or watch something bad. Or think something bad. And for a few minutes, that is how I believed this afternoon would go. 

Lately, my sin in this area has been pre-meditated. I plan for it to happen. I look forward to it happening, thinking I can get away with the guilt that will follow (I never can). My brain has been programmed to act on instinct, act on desire, no matter the consequences.

Last night I dreamed that I liked a guy and he liked me, typical for a single girl. But this morning I woke up with an intense feeling of loneliness, the kind that cripples me, that makes me want to stay in bed and not face whatever Satan has planned for me today, some kind of master plan to exploit my feelings.

This morning I knew this afternoon would happen, that a battle was going to take place all day, and I was already planning to lose. I dreaded it.

Sometimes I feel like I shouldn't be let out of sight. Likes someone under suicide watch, I should be under pornography watch. Seriously, that's how bad it is.

How could I have lived this way for 12 years? How did it all begin? I see people find freedom instantly. Why is it taking me so long? What lies am I believing? What am I not getting here?

I contacted a counselor last week when I reached a point of desperation. Upon learning of the cost of each session, I gave up and didn't email her back. It's gonna have to be just me and God.

And that's the problem. How much am I really involving God? When I want something badly enough, God is no longer in the picture. It's as if He's calling and I'm putting Him on hold. "Sorry, can I put You on hold? I'm getting a call from porn. It's urgent."

I need a panic button. Like a real, actual panic button. Something I can hit to escape, something that will chain me up so I can't act out, something to distract me. But it has to happen right away or else it's too late. I have several friends who tell me to call them whenever I get the urge... I've never tried it, because I don't believe it will work. I'd probably just wait 'til after the phone call to act out.

Do you ever get that frustrated, claustrophobic feeling when there's so much you need to tell God but you can't sit still long enough, you can't forget sin long enough, you can't think straight, you don't want to, and then you give up and ignore God? That happened yesterday.

Yesterday I thought about how I'm not much different than a pimp, or a john. Uncontrollable. Twisted. Broken. Needing release. Apathetic. Programmed. So what if I act out online and they act out offline? The same people are affected, whether directly or indirectly. The same sick desire is there, at least at the core of it.

These trafficked girls I'm advocating for... I'm part of the problem.

I just looked out the window and saw that the sun has come out, and oddly enough, I really am filled with hope. Actually, nope, now the sun is gone again... Geez, that was short-lived. But you know what, the hope is still there. I've been sitting here for almost two hours, just thinking and writing, a little crying here, a little praying there.

I need to hit my knees and pray. That's my panic button. Sometimes it works, and other times I'll admit it doesn't. But I've got to keep trying. And I've got to keep praying. I need my Jesus.

And I need to get up in the mornings, not because there's a battle to fight but because there's a battle to win.

porn addiction and bad reputations

I've had a few people express concern that I am so open on the Internet (my blog and Facebook) about my struggle with pornography. Some are afraid it will cause people to look down on me and write me off. Some are afraid people will take advantage of me, now knowing my weaknesses. And some are afraid it will scare away any potential men in my life, intimidating them.

Admittedly, I've had these thoughts. It wasn't an overnight thing to be able to bare all in such a place where you don't even really know who might be reading. It took four years to be able to share this so openly.

But I have seen so much good come from carefully placing the raw pieces of me in a place where any woman could read it, whether I know her or not--whether she's my roommate or a girl I friended on Facebook because we met once at a ministry gathering. You can reach more people on Facebook than you can at a Bible study leaders training where not all women are present. Sometimes you can speak into someone's life through written word on Facebook more than you ever could stuttering face-to-face. Girls have joined sexual addictions Bible studies because a friend and I weren't afraid of what people would think, because we allowed Jesus to work through our lives--even our lives on Facebook.

There's tact. And there is a time and a place. But since I am unashamed, I would rather take every opportunity I can to reach every possible person in my life than hesitate one moment and miss someone that I could have reached out to because I was afraid of my own reputation.

Bottom line: I want to live in a culture that speaks as openly about its struggle with pornography as it does its compulsive lying, where my struggle with lust is viewed no worse than your struggle with gossip, where her struggle with masturbation is no different than his struggle with excessive eating. And if this is the culture we want to live in--the culture we believe the Church should embrace--then we should be the ones to introduce this culture.

As for me, if it causes friends to look at me with disgust, then alright. If it encourages someone to exploit my weaknesses, then I pray I would be wiser at choosing who I friend on Facebook in the first place. And if it scares away any man who would want to pursue me, then quite frankly, he isn't worth my heartache.

noise

I wrote this song about a month ago, and I have since failed at all recording attempts.

The same feelings in this song are resurfacing again, so I thought I would share:

noise

lead me in this atmosphere--

we linger in the shadow of kings as dreamers to 

forever weave the bones of wayward thoughts.

speak up, won't you please?

all your brain is so bitter, my heart is so bare.

if only you and I could simply close our eyes and 

by and by, heal these goodbyes.

their trains have moved out of my neighborhood,

leaving their white walls but for dirt marks in places I know all too well.

this is the same town, your framed scowls and all I do is stare

into glass canvas, painting old faces--

they're all I think about.

chasing eyes to see if they'll look at me,

chasing words to see if they'll speak to me.

oh and I know you're gone,

oh and I know I'm lost.

chasing years to see if they'll stay with me.

every connection I have has drowned, garbling my words--it's all empty sound,

while the world has picked up a new language. did you intend to tell me?

the words I scream are dead now.

I found fourteen radios--I've lined them up in front of me.

I tuned each one to the different stations we used to scan,

and I'm still listening for your voice somewhere above the noise,

somewhere lost in all the noise.

ugly truths about addiction recovery

i tend to only bear my heart on matters of addiction when i'm feeling on top of things. when i think i've finally claimed this thing called freedom. i don't like to talk about it when i've spiraled down to a point of depression, of almost giving up on ever being on the other side of these bars, when it seems Satan has swallowed the key to my cage.

but the ugly side of addiction and the aspiring recovery process should be exposed too. because as it is, i am in the grieving period again, and to pretend everything is okay is to deny the brutal truths of sin.

it's like this:

trying to rewrite the devil's language into a tongue that includes the vocabulary sin and clear conscience.
it's seeking protection from the very thing that breaks me.
tracing the lines in my mind of the thing i want so bad, all the while blinking my eyes so quickly in hopes of wiping that desire from memory.
it's knowing that my very thoughts are evil, my motives putrid, but they can do no hiding from the Holy of Holies.
it deprives me of sleep.
it haunts my brain.
it plagues my body.
it lays bricks to the wall i've made up between me and God.
it's jumping into the shower, knowing i'm not going to come out clean, no matter how hard i scrub my body.
it's waking up and knowing the remorse carries over from night to day; i can't sleep it off.
it's the doubt that hounds me when i am all the more uncertain that God wants anything to do with me right now.
everything inside of me wants it, and once that is determined, i have become a rabid, hollow-eyed creature that will do anything to get it.

what is this freedom you speak of?
for eleven long years freedom has always been that dream i swear i've finally grasped only for it to slip through my fingers again. i honestly don't know what freedom looks like. all i know is it can't look like this -- where it takes three months to climb out of a hole and breathe clean air, but only three hours to fall right back down to the bottom.

even a Taylor Swift song can describe it:
"i knew you were trouble when you walked in. so shame on me now. you flew me to places i'd never been until you put me down. i knew you were trouble when you walked in, so shame on me now - flew me to places i'd never been. now i'm lying on the cold hard ground."

an exact description of addiction. relapses occur because it means returning to something familiar yet with the potential to experience something new and exciting each time. but at the end of it, you're let down, and emptier than ever. it's binding.

for a more literary reference, it's also like Frodo:
"i am naked in the dark, and there is no veil between me and the wheel of fire. i begin to see it even with my waking eyes, and all else fades."

the feeling of the Accuser setting his eyes on me, what's left of his hold on me pulling down on my neck, such a heavy burden.

but i so badly want to get up and be restored! could i keep my head above the water long enough this time to see that His hand is still there, outstretched to me? and if i cannot, let it be that He would come in and save me.

She will chase after her lovers but not catch them; she will look for them but not find them. Then she will say, "I will go back to my husband as at first, for then I was better off than now." 
(Hosea 2:7)

I know this language of yours; I used to speak it so well. A fire meant to be pure is not the fire of Hell. Your time's up now. That's enough now. Shut up, get out! Truth called you out.
(Flyleaf)

"If you do what is right, will you not be accepted? But if you do not do what is right, sin is crouching at your door; it desires to have you, but you must master it." 
--God (Genesis 4:7)

Romans 7:15-25.