Is there such a thing? I wonder. What do YOU think?
Consider the following, written yesterday mid-day. Too honest?
July 28, 2016.
To those of you who insist that my novel, Painting Lily, is memoir (she's not - she's fiction) - are you ready for some truth? (and as I write those words I hear Jack Nicholson in the back of my head saying "You can't handle the truth!". Here goes.
I yelled at God this morning.
Not polite, gentle, pleading.
No, I'm talking full out, top of my lungs, yelling in the way I can only do when the dog is outside in her kennel because otherwise she will run, cowering, to the door because my tone of voice scares the heck out of her.
"I don't understand what the (bleep) you want from me" type of yelling at God. And I realize just hearing I did so may send some of you running to the door to get away from me as fast as you can.
It's ok. Really, it is. I know it is. Because I know my God has broad shoulders and can take it. Because the frustration I'm voicing isn't anger at God, but at myself. Because I'm frustrated that I feel like I must be missing something, because I've made so many positive changes in my life in the past year and I'm still feeling alone. And confused. And not sure I'm headed in the right direction.
I need to earn more money. Want to be financially secure. I need to feel - no - I want to be in love with someone who loves me in return. I want to be married. Happily. And share my life, my faith, my hopes and dreams, with someone who cares.
And I want to feel like my life matters. Like if I disappeared there would be people who would notice. (That's the sentence that scares the hell out of me to write, because as the daughter of a man who committed suicide it comes miserably close to what was likely his reality in his last days and minutes.)
There. I feel like I just vomited on the page.
No. I just told the truth.
I'm ok. Don't worry yourself about the ugly truth sentence in that last long paragraph. Because the bottom line is that I know that I AM loved, already, by God. The one with the broad shoulders who listens to me even when I rant and scream my frustration at full force volume.
And that love is the one that truly matters. The real truth.
Better now. Sometimes it really does feel better to vent.
Blessings to all.