Psalm 71:20-21

Memory is a funny thing. I recently decided to delve into my old Livejournal just for kicks and was surprised to find the post from the day I was taken to the hospital to be admitted to the psych ward.

A few days after the incident I decided to take to my online platform of the time to recount the events. I wrote about the annoyance of parents and the awesomeness that is Taco Bell. Yes, I touched on the Doctor's response to the words "fuck you" carved into my upper arm, and the crazy man that was roaming the halls hollering about how "ain't no white man popo gon' keep me down" - but I left out quite possibly the most definitive moment of my life.

You see, the event started because I had a history of self mutilation - I am reminded of this every day when I look at my forearm. On this particular day I was feeling especially downtrodden and when confronted by my mother I informed her that she didn't know how it felt to not want to exist anymore. NOTE this was not a suicide threat, just a notation that if I didn't exist lots of things would be easier - because hi, hello, I wouldn't deal with anything if I wasn't around. However, this lead to a panic from my mother and me threatening my dad, thus my mother calling the suicide prevention line. At this point I was given the option of cooperating and going willingly to the hospital, or I could continue to hide under my bed and have the cops drag me out.

I wasn't lying about carving "fuck you" into my upper arm. The doctors response to that was something along the lines of "...nice." all slathered in condescending sarcasm. Nor was I lying about the man roaming the halls screaming about the "popo" keeping him down. Even the part about grabbing some delicious Taco Bell was the truth, and maybe that night is the reason I'm not utterly repulsed by the thought of the sub-par restaurant. Honesty was not a trait I lacked in that particular post.

However, the reason I say memories are funny is because I also flippantly mention the conversation my dad and I had just before we left the hospital and headed to Taco Bell. The Doctor and my father walked back into the room after having a discussion and the Doctor informed me that they have no room for me, but I can go to the ward up in St. Cloud if I think that's necessary. The alternative was if my dad thought I was going to be okay, I can go home right that very moment.

When I think back on the moment that my dad paused to look at me and then turned to the Doctor and said "yeah, I think she's going to be alright," I cannot even begin to explain the weight that moment had on my life. Here I was, a girl struggling to get her head above water, and my father spoke on behalf of my family and spoke to me in that small phrase that they had faith that I would turn out alright.

Did I still have my fair share of struggles with self mutilation after that? Absolutely. I was an adolescent girl with raging hormones that was moving across the country. But what fifteen year old Bekah didn't realize was the conversation she glossed over in her writing would play in her mind ten years later whenever the waves began to rise.

How to Lose a Guy in 8 Dates

As is apparent in many of my posts, finding out where I stand culturally when it comes to relationships has been a constant affair for me. I remember being a sophomore in high school – yes, 15 years old – and almost always my prayer requests and discussion topics had something to do with whatever boy it was that I was crushing on at that particular point in time. Which is mildly sad and mostly pathetic, but I digress.

My point is this: I have spent a vast majority of my life looking to be in a relationship without really knowing what that means to me. In my head it was always the fiery passion depicted in love movies, or the love that was just always apparent as portrayed by many members of the church that were lucky enough to have their soul mates easily revealed to them. I always thought I’d have the instant notion that this was the person for me.

You see, the reason I’m thankful for dating apps, specifically tinder, is because they have really taught me about dating and what constitutes a relationship to me. Wait – WUT?! A hookup app has brought about this realization?! Short answer – absolutely.

Long answer – I met a guy and our first “date” was the best one I have ever been on by far. No, it wasn't bachelor-esque with helicopters and a private concert. Instead we went to a local bar, tried new beers, and ended the night in a record store purchasing a vinyl he recommended. When I got into work the next day I couldn't stop talking about how that was the most fun I have ever had with a guy one on one – but no, I didn't see myself dating him, there’s just something not there. Maybe it was the height factor (which we all know has always been major for me), or maybe it was that I didn't feel that burning passion so often seen in movies, perhaps even that I didn't get that immediate “I know this is the guy God has set aside for me.” Whatever it was, I made sure to communicate that I just didn't see it going there despite the fact that I knew I wanted to see him again because this was a young man who had a fire for life, a love for both the arts and athletics, along with phenomenal tattooed arms and amazing hair.

So we continued going on “outings,” as I called them. There was a concert at the social, a lunch break rendezvous at my go to spot, a beach visit.

Then I invited him to a wedding. The dreaded "feelings" conversation came up, and I told him that I didn't see myself being in a relationship with him. I didn't know for a fact that I didn't want to date him, just that I didn't have that gut “We went out for coffee, and I KNOW HE’S THE ONE!” feeling.

That same conversation happened a second time, and I went with my go to answer of "I just don't see it, but I really appreciate you and want to continue being your friend!"

I saw him one last time and the evening didn't end ideally, which was a shame because over the course of time I began to realize that he's the type of person worth pursuing a relationship with. And this is where it all comes together. I have finally, after twenty four and a half years of living, realized that a relationship isn't about some stupid gut feeling or them fitting the perfect physical and spiritual mold you wrote out in your "And The Bride Wore White" book in your teens. It's about finding someone that you connect with, someone that you just hang out with, go to concerts with, mill around at the beach with, lay in bed and watch movies with. It's about finding someone that you genuinely want to know how their day was, to be proud of them when they show you the projects they've been putting all their efforts into, to discuss things and see a differing viewpoint. 

So maybe I had an Andie Anderson-esque revelation, but I didn't get the kiss on the bridge with the fairy tale ending. At the end of the day I must choose to be content with knowing in the future that maybe John Green was right in The Fault in Our Stars. It's not necessarily gung-ho from the getgo, that it can happen "the way you fall asleep: slowly, and then all at once."