if you must fall in love with me.

If you must fall in love with me, let it be for the right reasons.

Don’t fall in love with me because of my outward beauty.

If I am beautiful, it will not be so forever. How many more years will I have until the beauty fades?

Right now, my hair is thick and shiny. My skin is smooth. My eyes are bright. My figure slim. But if you fall in love with those things, eventually I will disappoint you. Perhaps gradually you will notice my hair turning grey, or wrinkles outlining my eyes and mouth, or skin that doesn't quite hold as firm as it once did. Or maybe you will notice all at once--you'll wake up one day and realize that I am not the one you fell in love with. If your love is attached to my beauty, will you still love me when the source of your love has faded? I don’t think you will.

If you must fall in love with me, fall in love with my brain.

I’ve got a lot of things going on up there. I’m smart. I’m witty. I’m curious and outspoken. I express opinions. I problem-solve.

I have so many ideas about so many random things—fixing, building, changing the world. Some of my ideas are quite ridiculous, but the ingenious ones exist, as well. And the ridiculous ones, if nothing else, are good for a laugh.

I can do math in my head, and have a vocabulary that would put many modern authors to shame.

I read everything. Books, articles, magazines, even road signs.  

I figure things out for myself, instead of just believing what I’m told.

And I know that I’m not always right, but I know you’re not always right, either.

If you must fall in love with me, fall in love with my heart.

I cry during animal shelter commercials and daddy-daughter dances at weddings.

I also cry during baptisms. Every. Single. Time.

When people hurt, I hurt. When hate permeates the world, my soul cries out for those affected, and I will do everything in my power to turn that hate into love.

Fewer things in this world give me greater joy than seeing my niece and nephew’s faces when they open presents at Christmas, or feeling their arms wrap around my neck when they hug me.

Hugs in general…those are my favorite.

If one wish of mine could be granted, I would choose that every single person in the world would experience the love of Christ—a love that brings light and hope and peace beyond all understanding, even in the midst of seemingly absolute darkness.

If you must fall in love with me, please realize that I am flawed.

I am insecure.

I am sometimes very much a coward.

I am astoundingly selfish, and independent to a fault.

Also, I’m pigeon-toed.

If you must fall in love with me, know that loving me won’t always be easy.

I won’t let my walls down for just anyone. I won’t trust you right away.

I can be the biggest brat in the world at times. I’ll huff and puff and pout if I don’t get my way.

I have misophonia, which means you have to be really, REALLY careful when eating or chewing gum around me. And seriously……just say “no” to clicky-pens.

I’ll correct you when you’re wrong about something…and sometimes I forget to be kind about it.

I might push you away at times, because I’m scared of being hurt again.

If you must fall in love with me, know that I will never love you more than I love my God.

If that thought disappoints you, you are the wrong kind of man for me. 

God is my source of air when I'm drowning in this world. I will always seek Him first.

So, even if it seems like I love you too much...know you're still number two.

If you must fall in love with me, know that I am constantly changing.

Not in the core of my being....not in my identity. But my thoughts change. New opinions form. I don't even come close to knowing everything--but I learn new things all the time that change me.

I might not always want to dance and sing and go out and travel everywhere--okay, actually, I don't see the wanderlust fading--but I will always want and need love.

If you must fall in love with me, fall in love with the qualities that will not disappear with the passage of time. 

Take any beauty you might see as a temporary bonus, for it does not represent my true self.

If you must fall in love with me, fall in love with me hard.

And if you must fall in love with me, I beg you to never change your mind.

it is time.

I don’t want to do anything.

And that, right there, is how I know it’s time for something to change.

There are different stages of depression—or at least, different stages in my depression. It begins with feeling insecure. Insecure about everything—my looks, my friends, my relationship with God, my job, the place I live…

And during this stage, I am attacked by thoughts like, “I’m not good enough,” “I’m going to be alone forever,” “My friends aren’t really my friends,” etc.

Then I start to get ideas. Ideas on how I can fix these feelings, on how I can feel better about myself. I think, “I’ll feel better if I can just get my own apartment. I’m probably feeling this way because I feel like a squatter,” or “If I go to more social events, I’ll feel better. I just need to have more fun!” or “If I just get my finances in order, I’ll stop stressing and worrying so much.” or, the ever-persistent “If I just had a boyfriend, I’d stop feeling so lonely.”

During this stage, I wear myself out completely. I try, and try, and try some more, and even when I achieve the things I seek, I feel empty. Alone. Life feels meaningless. I am suddenly tired all the time, or even actually sick. My body starts to hurt. I have almost constant nausea.

After that, I find myself in the stage that I am currently experiencing.

Complete and utter apathy.

I don’t want to strive for anything, because obviously it’s not going to change what’s going on inside of me. I hate waking up in the morning, not necessarily because I’m still tired, but because I have absolutely nothing to look forward to during my day. I sometimes force myself to be social, but really feel no joy, even surrounded by people I love, doing things that I usually think are fun.

I don’t want to live.

Don’t misunderstand me. I don’t want to die, either. I haven’t experienced suicidal thoughts since accepting Christ, and I don’t think those will ever come back.

I only mean that I have no fire. There’s absolutely nothing that really, truly gets me excited or impassioned. I’ll wake up, get dressed, go to work, eat sometimes, rinse, repeat. But I don’t want to do anything outside of what keeps my heart beating and my lungs working.

So that’s me right now. A walking corpse.

And let me be perfectly clear, in case there is any confusion on the subject—I am actively pursuing the Lord right now. I am in the Word daily. I pray constantly. I’ve prayed for God to “fix” me…and he hasn’t. Not yet.

So what does that mean?

In the past, I would’ve thought I was doing something wrong. That I wasn’t really, truly pursuing a relationship with God—because God wouldn’t let me hurt this way. Someone actually once told me that it was impossible to be a true Christian and suffer from depression.

I’m calling bullshit on that one. The older I get, the more I start to understand the demon that is Depression. And while I fully believe that my God is capable of kicking its ass…I also believe that sometimes, he’s going to let me fight it. He hasn’t left me. He says in his word that he will NEVER do that. He will be the one who ultimately heals me, but I think that he wants me to find some strength of my own.

And maybe….just maybe, someday I will be able to help someone who is going through this same hell. Maybe that’s the reason I’m supposed to suffer like this. Maybe that person will need to see the proof that this disease can be fought, and conquered.

So now, I am praying for the desire to fight it. I need to want to struggle my way through the thick sludge that it seems I’m constantly wading in. I need to want to be stronger.

Right now, though……man. I don’t want to do anything.

So, maybe right now I’m the one who needs someone to listen…to understand, and to give counsel. Perhaps, though it terrifies me to the point of actual, full-blown panic attacks, it’s time to actually get some “help.”

I’m not ashamed of it. Now, that’s interesting. Because I always thought I would be.

I’m not, though. I’m just finally admitting that I, the manically independent, I-don’t-need-anyone queen, need some help.

Though I’d much rather lay in my bed and think of nothing, I’ll go see someone who will make me think of everything.

In the wise words of Rafiki, "It is time."

AND, if you want to help me, please pray for me. Love me. Talk to me. But I swear to chocolate if you try to preach at me, or tell me that I just need to “change” my way of thinking or something stupid like that……well. I haven’t decided what I’ll do yet. But please just don’t be an ass.

the purge.

Can I just say…and you can consider this my way of grabbing your attention—Depression can kiss my ASS.

I am so sick of feeling this way. A lot of people, mostly people who have never dealt with this, won’t understand. Every time I say I’m going through depression, there is at least one person who asks the question:

“Why?”

I don’t know why. All I know is that there is this—thing—that lives in my thoughts, that is mostly docile. Mostly quiet. But very dark. And the darkness grows sometimes, until the thing is no longer docile, but fierce and cruel. And suddenly every waking moment is consumed with a burning desire to cease to be. Not in an I-want-to-kill myself way…but I want to take everything that is me, everything that is Erin, and change it. I don’t want to look, speak, think, walk, be anything like myself anymore.

The thoughts of unworthiness come rushing in. I start to think I’m not only ugly on the outside, but hideous on the inside. I start questioning why anyone would ever see anything good in me at all. I want to scrape out my insides and start over completely from scratch, because this version of myself has only ever achieved pain and loneliness.

God, I’m lonely. In every way possible. While I don’t speak exclusively of loneliness in the romantic sense—Yeah! I’m lonely in that way! I’m tired of having to pretend that I don’t care about male companionship when I very much do! I miss having someone to hug and kiss whenever I wanted. I miss getting text messages that just say “You’re beautiful” or “I love you.” IT FELT NICE. Being single is not this giant party that people say it’s supposed to be. I will pretend that it is, but I’m so OVER being labeled as the “single” girl. I have friends who actually call me their “single friend!” I’m not going to just jump at any guy who wants to be my boyfriend, but I’m going to be honest…I’m ready for a relationship again.

Cue the “When you stop looking, he’ll come along!” comments. Oi. That’s STUPID. I’m not going to stop looking. I’m not going to stop caring, especially when my dreams are plagued by memories of love so vivid that I can almost actually feel them. I was created to be loved, designed to be cherished, and sweet merciful heavens, I’m GOOD at loving (I mean that in no suggestive way, so all my smart-ass friends can hold your tongues.)! I mean that I am caring, and compassionate, and I try to be understanding, even when an opinion differs completely from my own. I want the absolute best for those that I love, and will do whatever is in my power to make the best happen for them, no questions asked.

Anyway. I didn’t mean for this to be a Single Girl Rant. That’s not what I intended to write. At all. But sometimes……my words just get away from me.

What I really wanted to write about was loneliness, in a broader sense.

The dictionary defines loneliness as: “a depressing feeling of being alone.”

HAHAHA. It’s true! That’s what it is. But there’s more to it than that. Because if you think about the word, “alone,” well…there are so many different levels to it. You can be alone, as in—the only person in a room. No big deal. You can be alone in the sense of being single (which you have already heard about in excess). Or you can be really alone.

I wonder if any of you already know what I’m talking about.

Alone. Being completely without anyone. The kind of alone that doesn’t go away, even when you’re surrounded by your friends, laughing and dancing and doing whatever else. It’s the suffocating kind of alone. Thinking that no one understands you fully. Knows you fully. Loves you fully. Or even cares about you at all.

The kind of alone that makes you crave actual, physical loneliness, because when you’re surrounded by people you feel like an unwelcome outsider, and that’s worse than actually being by yourself in a literal sense.

Sometimes, I feel like God created “extras.” Ones who weren’t really important to him, but sort of helped to fill out the scenery here on Earth. And I feel like one of them.

I know it isn’t true. I know that God created me with love…a love too deep to put adequate words to. I know that he formed me with precision—that he purposefully put every quirk in its place.

I know all this. But it is not easy to connect that knowledge with an actual belief.

Because the place in my mind where I actually believe things…the place where knowledge deepens into understanding and peace…that place is the same place that the Darkness resides. And any time I start to feel too good about myself, the Darkness lifts its head, sniffs the air, tracks down each morsel of joy and devours them whole.

I serve a big God. And he has delivered me from this before. He will deliver me again. I wholeheartedly believe it.

But right now, this sucks.

I can only hope that one day I’ll be stronger for it.

Yeah. I will be stronger for it. And maybe there are others who are going through the same thing, and they’ll see me get stronger and think “I can get stronger, too!” And then their lives will have hope, and my life won’t feel empty and NONE of us—ever—will feel like “extras” again.

It’s so strange…I started writing tonight, and my heart was so heavy. I cried as I began, and continued crying until about halfway through. And then I realized that what I was doing was actually helping. It’s as though typing these words out somehow relieved the pressure in my heart, and I can breathe again.

The more I re-read the words “Yeah. I will be stronger for it,” the more I believe them. Tonight started out looking incredibly bleak…but I think I can go to sleep with a lighter heart, having purged everything like this.

I’m gonna post this now. And let me be perfectly clear—I AM NOT desperate. So take all my single girl rants and raves with a grain of salt. I will not jump at the chance to date just anyone, least of all your second cousin Billy Roy Jim Bob who owns a bait shop in Beaumont. I’m sure he’s very nice, but I’m praying for the right one to come alone, mmkay?

Right One, if you’re reading, stop dilly-dallying around and get on over here.

…….Sometimes, I am irrefutably Texan.

Thank you, and good night.

wasted.

“Follow your dreams.”

“Do what you love.”

“Find your passion.”

This is just a taste of the things I've heard throughout my life—the way I've been programmed to live out my days.

Recently, I realized that it is this manner of thinking that has made me feel like an absolute failure for the majority of my life.

I always feel restless. I mean, always. I feel as though I've got some giant purpose that I’m supposed to be living out, and I’m not doing it, and I have to be doing it, or my entire life will have been a waste! Right??

I love to perform. I have never felt more at home than when I am on a stage. Singing gives my heart the kind of joy that makes sorrow a memory far-gone. Acting excites me to my core, gives me a kind of energy that is impossible to explain to someone who has never experienced it. When I stand on a stage, and I feel the heat of the lights on my face…when I feel the hushed energy of the audience as I open my mouth to speak, or sing…I belong. I feel out of place in my own skin, yet a stage is home.

I was an English major for a semester in college. I planned on teaching high school English. It was a practical choice, one that would be easily attainable, and provide a relatively comfortable lifestyle. But, dear God, I was so bored. It took six weeks for me to realize that this was not what I wanted—that my “calling” was not to teach children proper grammar, or to grade papers, or to spend my life catering to the state’s educational standards. Nothing against English teachers, or teachers in general—some of my closest friends are teachers, and I have the utmost respect for what they do and believe they are positively brilliant—but it wasn’t for me. My spirit was not at peace in the English department.

When I found Theatre, well…suddenly I was alive. Every inch of my body suddenly woke up and said, “Oh. Finally.”

I honestly didn't know anything about theatre. At my high school, we were only ever offered a chance to participate in One Act Play (a UIL competition which, at least at my school, was a joke compared to doing actual theatre), and while I excelled as an actress, I had no idea the intricacies that were involved in putting together a real production. I had to learn everything technical from scratch. All I had was my natural talent, which was acknowledged quickly by people who then helped me transform it into a real, fulfilling skill.

I don’t know how my parents felt about me pursuing acting at first. When I changed my major, I called my mother and told her. I never asked for permission. I just did it. She supported me, but I often wonder what she and my father were really thinking. Perhaps they thought I was wasting my time even going to college at all. I don’t know.

What I do know is that for the first time in my life, I didn’t feel restless. I had something to do every single day that made me feel like I mattered. I knew the direction I was headed, and I liked it. My years in the theatre program at SFA were the most content I've ever been, purpose-wise.

Fast forward three years. I move to Dallas, Texas. Dallas, with its beautiful skyline and bouncing energy. There is quite a large theatre scene in Dallas, which is something most people don’t know. New auditions pop up weekly. There’s always a new show to go see.

But did I take advantage of any of this? Nope.

I didn’t go on my first audition until I’d been in Dallas for six months. Six.

My next audition after that didn’t happen for another year.

I’ve auditioned a grand total of five times in the two years I’ve been here, a fact that makes me sick to my stomach, quite literally.

I’m not scared of rejection, you know. It comes with the territory of being an actor—even if you’re talented, there is always a chance that the director is looking for someone with a specific quality that you don’t have. It is also has a lot to do with who you know, so until you get “in,” it’s difficult to break through. I understand these things. I accept them. I don’t fear them, and I don’t take them personally.

But it is fear that has been holding me back. And until tonight, I was unable to pinpoint what exactly that fear is about.

It’s not rejection. It’s failure.

There is a difference between the two. Rejection is temporary. Failure…well, that’s a life washed down the drain.

I have put my hopes and my dreams of performing at the forefront of my identity for so long, that the pressure seems to have almost suffocated me.

“This is who I am. I am a performer. Forget anything else about my character that makes me Erin. Performing is it. I have to put all my eggs in that basket, and if it doesn’t work, then I am an absolute waste of space, and all who know me will be disappointed.”

And there it is. I’m not worried about the sting of rejection for myself. I’m worried about disappointing the people who believe in me. I don’t ever want to feel again the way I felt when I heard my father say that he’d be proud of me only when I was actually using my degree.

It’s too much pressure.

I want to perform because I love it. Because there is something within me, something that God put into my being that screams to be onstage.

I don’t want to perform merely because I have a degree in Theatre.

And anyway, my identity is not solely comprised of my love of performing. There are so many things that I am passionate about.

I love people. And I love love. I love to love people, and I think I do that pretty well. My friends mean the world to me, and I hope I show them that. My family is my one earthly constant—the people who I know will always love me, even if they drive me crazy with questioning my marital status, and I drive them crazy with my “bleeding-heart liberal” talk. Meeting new people is one of the most exciting parts of my day—I will often awkwardly blurt out, “Hey, who are you?” by way of introduction. And. I. Love. It.

I adore traveling. If I could travel constantly, I would. My heart longs to discover new places, and experience new things, and I’ve seen more sights than most people my age (at least, that I’ve met). So hey, there’s another thing I do well.

I love writing. I somehow am able to communicate the things I hold in my heart, in my mind--through words. This is a gift that most people (I am learning) do not have. The keyboard of my computer is another home for me, though it is one I don’t visit enough.

I actually enjoy my day job. Heaven forbid an actor actually enjoy the work that they’re supposed to do simply to sustain themselves! I like it. Accounting isn’t exciting, but I’m good at it. And the people I work with are phenomenal.

I am passionate about my church. My young adult ministry has brought me some of the best friends anyone could ever ask for, and I absolutely love serving in any capacity. I don’t do it out of some sense of obligation. I do it because I sincerely believe in what our ministry stands for. And I love the people (heyyy, there’s a theme).

I love my Jesus. I am finally getting to a place where I am hungry for His word, thirsty for His love…and jumping at the chance to share that love with other people. I am seeking him wholeheartedly, and honestly, that is where the biggest part of my identity lies. I am a child of the One True King, and there is nothing I could do to make him less proud of me.

So, I haven’t been on a stage—an actual, theatrical stage—in nearly two and a half years.

It’s stupid. But I know the reason now.

I plan on chasing the dreams that I’ve been called to. I am going to go to those auditions, no matter how sick I get beforehand. Because I’m not going to let that fear rule me.

But before I do, you should know—I am NOT any less of a person for having waited this long. My life is not a waste. Not a single second of it has been wasted.

I’m living. And I love to live. Regardless of whether I have a real acting career, or pursue acting as a hobby while working in the accounting department for my company, I am living fully.

God gives me a purpose, gives my life meaning, every single day.

I’m not apologizing anymore, especially for something as insignificant as not using my degree.

I am following my passions, and it doesn’t matter to me whether you—other people—see it or not.

I see it.

And I won’t hate myself anymore.