It's my own fault, I shouldn't have looked for that. But I did look. And I found a lie. How many other lies are there? Other girls? Other THINGS? What else gets done in secret? Am I so naive to be falling for this again? And GOD, I finally thought to let my guard down... it may never go down again. Men are liars ... girls out there? Don't forget it!

I'm so mad I'm shaking! But more hurt than anything. As I type, the tears are rolling. I've written and thought so many good things, but where does that get me? Edited pictures. Pictures lied about, and pictures used to portray a lie. I know that hate is wrong, but I HATE FEELING LIED TO! Still shaking ... wiping tears ... he reads this ... why? So he'll know when he's busted? I'm shaking so hard I can't type ...

...

My LORD, I need you now. Please help me to feel clarity and calm again. I trust in you to protect me, but if what I think is happening IS in fact happening, WHY!?! My heart is not the only one in this, I am not the only one at risk here. GOD, my daughter is here too, she has already been through so much! I don't mean to yell, and I don't want to doubt. I DO trust in you, but I feel like I'm being allowed to set myself up. If that is the case, LORD, please give me strength for my daughter's sake. She has been too young thus far to be affected by my mistakes, but she isn't anymore. Should it all fall apart around my shoulders again, she will hurt beside me this time. She is in love as much as I am, and then what do I do for her, LORD? She's two, shall I say, "My daughter, GOD is with you?" I'm sorry, my GOD, I do love you, but will that soothe the broken heart of a child? Why do I find myself surrounded by so many dishonest people? I try to always be truthful and to do good. I try to keep with what is right, and plan to teach my daughter the same. So why is this happening again? I had no doubt about him until now, but I am so full of it now that I feel I might explode! Please, LORD, tell me what to do. Show me the actions to take, the lessons to learn, tell me the words to say..."

I am so happy today! I don't know why, but I was really unhappy yesterday and I didn't know why then either. I was so full of anger and resentment. I have no idea what triggered it, but it was a really bad mood! Maybe last night is what fixed it. I was so mad. But I wasn't mad about Joey. I wasn't mad at Ryan. I really cannot put my finger on it. But I knew that I didn't want to take it out on my family. So after I'd struggled for hours to be nice and patient with my daughter, it came to be her bedtime.

Confusion over my mood was really eating me, but I read my little one her bedtime story just like always. But last night I almost couldn't get it out. I have been sick for almost a week so my throat is all gross and my voice is soooo SOOOO hoarse. I was croaking out the story while my innocent daughter watched me point to the words. I'm trying to establish for her that they are there for a reason. She was probably thinking, "Man are mommy's eyes a little swimmy, or is it just me?"

Mommy's eyes were in fact more than a little swimmy. When I was done with her story, I went to my room and gave thanks that Ryan was (like always) buried deep in the workings of his beloved computer. It gave me time to hide and have a silent cry. I think I just really needed it, so I did it, and then I got that tired that only comes from bawling.

So I went to sleep. But, alas, I did not have a peaceful sleep, so I know that isn't the reason for my mood. Maybe I do know the reason... I woke up about fifteen million times last night, coughing and sniffling and nose-blowing. It seemed everytime I woke up, I heard, "Come here, baby." Ryan's back was achy this morning because he was laying all weird last night trying to let me be comfy all sprawled out on him.

I am not a tiny petite girl (neither am I obnoxious, for those to whom it matters), but still, "Come here, baby." He would put his arms around me and mutter something like, "Go to sleep, it's okay. I got you." Except he says it all sexy when he's sleepy, and it's like, "I gotchooo." I just love that. But now that I've written it, whenever he says it now, I'm going to smile and think, "God bless you."

We are still missing the bond that only being together in Christ can give us, but in so many other ways I am so happy with him. I hope that GOD can get to him, I hope that someday he is as eager to bury himself in the bible as I am, and that he hops up on Sunday and gets all pretty for a date with GOD like I do, but in the meantime, I just say to GOD:

"Thank you. You who are almighty have heard my cries for understanding and companionship and sent to me this man who tries so hard to contribute to my happiness. You who hear so many cries for needs so much more urgent than mine have somehow found the time to hear me and to bless me. I can not make him love you, but I CAN and DO place this relationship in your hands. May it take me to places you would want me to go, and if it is not forever, LORD, let me at least learn something. Please, LORD, do not allow me to hurt this man, and place your hand between us when we have anger. Please protect us from each other so that we never use past experiences to hurt each other in the present. As humans, we too can be mean and petty, and I can only hope that you will not allow us to hurt each other. Also, I lift him up to you, my Father, that you might bless him also, and reach out for him with your omnipotent hand. Take his heart to you and fill his life with happiness, let him see your presense and be grateful as I am to you. Thank you."

Well, I just figured out (with Ryan's help - maybe he does have reason to think I am so computer illiterate) how to change my typing styles and colors and stuff. So that's cool. Then he showed me this site where he goes and talks to friends from before he moved up here. You know, it shows pictures of your friends?

They're ALL girls! Tiny, scrawny little girls that look like if they ate a sandwich and realized what they'd done, they'd have a stroke! I hope someone mean sneaks them a big fattening PB&J!

Okay, enough of that, it's probably my own insecurity screaming loud in my ears anyway. The other day, I posted about how I'd sent song lyrics to my dad. Well, I wonder now if I got the point across correctly. He told me on the phone last night that he'd gotten the e-mail and that he'd been touched. I thought, "Good, dad, that's what I was looking for." Then he says, "Is everything okay with you up there?" WHAT?!?

Is everything okay? That was almost as bad as when you say I love you to someone, and then you realize you don't say it enough. Because they say, "What do you want?" You go "nothing" and they just keep waiting for you to drop the bomb (Can I borrow $5 million?"). I was like, "Shit, I don't tell my dad enough how I feel apparently! Last night he was just being dad and I loved it and I told him. I said, "I love you daddy." And he says? "Why?" Okay, again, WHAT?!?

Why... because. That's why! What the heck are you supposed to say to that? He wasn't even asking the way some people do... when they are secretly fishing for compliments (Why? Because you are pretty... gag.) He was looking for a real answer, I think. And I blanked out.

LORD, my Almighty Father, thank you for all the ways in which I have been blessed. Thank you for the lessons you have taught me and all of the wonderful things and people that you have placed in my life. Thank you. But my father, I need you. I need your hands to guide me in my days, and in my thoughts. Help me learn to express myself better in the face-to-face (or ear-to-ear) situations that I am in daily. When writing or typing such as I am here, I rarely find a problem in my words. But LORD, when I am on the proverbial spot, I find myself blank and my tongue twisted. I trust in you to protect my dad, but I know that like all sinners, all humans, his time is short in comparison to your vastness. Please help me to be sure that my loved ones are never left doubting the way I feel about them. When they ask, LORD, please, give me the words to speak, the way to say I Love You, and get through. I know that it seems I am always asking, and I don't mean to seem ungrateful. It seems I am always saying, "Thank you, but can I have..." LORD, my Father, I do truly thank you, but your word tells me "Ask and you shall receive." So I ask all my needs in the precious name of your Son, who died to save me, in the name of Jesus. Amen

**For those of you who are not followers of Christ, please excuse and do not be offended. I do not press my beliefs on anyone, nor do I expect anyone to press upon me. But as this is my blog, I reserve the right to say whatever I want, to whomever I want.

Why is it that only my toddler has the ability to make me feel as useless as a dead man's limp noodle? We've been "potty training" for a week and we have gotten nowhere. The only time she goes in the stupid toilet is when I happen to have her on the potty when the urge strikes.

And I'm beginning to think that she believes that little urge is actually a signal to get down. She holds her "stuff" in and says she's done. So I get her pull-up in place and she promptly "pottys" in it. I feel so pointless, like she's just playing with me. But she displays every physical sign of readiness. I'm so down now, because this potty training thing takes all your time. My Joey can sit on the toilet all day long and she doesn't mind. Somehow, she still wears no less than eight expensive pull-ups a day...

So I've almost literally been in the bathroom for a week. And for what? Nothing. I feel like I'm doing it wrong or something, and with running to the potty all day, my house work is falling behind.

I feel like such a FAILURE!

I think my low mood might also be connected to my lack of Christ today. I've been so upbeat the past few days, in spite of my lack of potty accomplishment, because I could (and did) spend all day singing praise to my GOD. I can't today; my boyfriend Ryan is not as thankful for GOD as I am, so he kind of sucks that joy out of it for me.

I remember one day I found my church on On Demand (like TiVo). I was so excited, but he looked so exasperated I just shut it off. I wanted to cry. He's usually so perfect for me, except for that. I would give almost anything to see him get saved and to be able to share that aspect of my life with him.

It is becoming the invisible elephant in every room because it is so very important to me, and it's the one thing we don't really talk about. The mere mention of church gets his eyes rolling out of his head.

It saddens me not to be able to share this with him. I hope to one day be able to help others find the joy and peace of Jesus, but though I won't give up on Ryan, I doubt he'll be following me to Christ anytime soon. But hey, that's just one more person I failed today, right?

It is a large part of why I started this blog. Just to be able to talk to some people about my thoughts, with the chance that I might actually get somewhere. Just for the comfort of journaling, and the chance that when he won't share my interests with me, someone will. The community aspect of being able to say, "Well, I'm really not by myself am I?"

Sorry about that. Joey needed to potty and eat some lunch. She seems okay now, and although she is a little down with a cold, she's letting me type. Yay!

Anyways, the other things I didn't get to tell you about were that time when dad and the evil stepmother from hell broke up for a little bit. It is one of my favorite memories. We lived for a week or two in this rundown, crappy hotel in the middle of town. My dad was so broke, we had a cheap efficiency with one bedroom, more than a couple of bugs to keep us company, and a country-western bar directly underneath to keep us awake all night.

When he wasn't at work and I wasn't at school, we would sit up at night and talk with the tv on and no one watching it. We'd speculate about what would go on in the halls at night, and why I shouldn't ever be out there by myself. I never went out there alone, but I never had an ounce of fear, even when I was alone, locked in that hotel room while my dad was at work.

He was my superhero, I never doubted his willingness and ability to protect me even when he wasn't there (hence the superhero crack). Maybe that's because he's protected me many times (some of them from the bitch stepmother. I should pray more often for the ability to forgive her for the things she's done to me...), and never once did I see him hesitate. He has never lacked the willingness or the ability to protect me.

I remember one time my stepmother and I got in a fistfight (she started it -- I was about eight), and my dad was in the shower. We were on the floor in the hall in front of the bathroom door, and she was straddling me with her hands digging into my hair. We were both screaming, and I was kicking and punching.

The next thing I know, my soapy naked father is on the scene, and she's at the end of the hallway, where he must've thrown her... she was on the floor. He said, "Don't EVER fucking touch my daughter!" Or something to that effect.

She never did after that, but she never ceased to be mean, either. I hated her for making me fight for my dad's time and affection, but I loved him, because I won almost every time. The hotel was after that, and so I knew not to worry for my safety, my daddy would be there to take care of me and always to protect me.

I even stayed the weekend with him when it came time for my school's homecoming dance. I knew my mother's overprotective paranoia well enough to know that if I was at her house, I shouldn't even bother asking to go. So I made sure I was at my dad's, and when my date picked me up, my dad was at work. My stepmother had been instructed not to meet the guy or ask him a million questions. The horn honked and I left. I didn't even have a curfew! My dad just took me aside before he left for work, and he said, "Have fun, kiddo. But be careful, and please don't be all night." I said okay, and he left for work.

Now I have a little more understanding of the worry that must have filled his head. Once again, he'd placed me in the arms (figurative, he hoped) of a boy he didn't know, just because I'd said I wanted to be there. That night I got my first kiss, and I learned how "making out" felt. Oh, it felt good! I learned how it felt to be pulled into the arms of an older boy (three years, I think) and kissed with passionate abandon. My dad probably had some idea that that would happen, but when I got home a little after two in the morning, he was sleeping. In his bed.

My dad hadn't even waited up, because he trusted me enough to come home. He trusted me enough to believe I would pick the kind of boy who would be willing to bring me home. I didn't tell him that I'd been invited to a local park for a tryst that would surely have been an awesome memory to tell later on. But I did tell the boy no. I went home, to my dad, who had trusted me so much thus far, and that trust meant more to me than any stupid boy.

Next morning, all he said was, "You have fun?" And the story spilled out. Well, not all of it! But I told him about the dancing and the music. I told him how fun it had been to be there and how grateful I was to him for letting me go. I'm sure that he knows some things happened, but he also knows that that boy didn't take my virginity that night, given freely or otherwise.

When he found out a few months later that I did finally give that boy my virginity, he was understanding enough to not be mad that I hadn't told him, and he was calm enough not to send my boyfriend to jail for statutory rape. He also didn't force me to talk about it. For both our sakes. Dad knew that if I'd done it willingly (and he knew I had), then there must have been a good reason in my heart.

Never mind that for the next year, that same boy took said heart and asked himself, "Hmmmm. How many ways can I trample on this little thing?" Dad was there for me, and he just told me to do what I thought I needed to do. Never once has he uttered the words, "You're too young to know what you want," or that retarded phrase, "puppy love." He let me make my own choices, and he let me pay for them. He still supported me when I was in pain, but he left me free to make my own choices. To learn my own lessons.

He was heartbroken when I moved to Tennessee from my hometown in Florida, and my mom never gave me time to find him and say goodbye. So was I. That was in 2000. Now we try to maintain our closeness over the phone. I miss him every day.

In spite of all that, and the way you are always broke the first few years away from home. My dad has been there for me. He wasn't there when I got married to an asshole, but no one was. We did it at the local courthouse in a fit of stupidity that we thought was romance. But he talked to me all through my pregnancy, which was hard as I spent it alone. My husband was working two jobs, and when he wasn't at work, he was too busy lying and cheating and stealing and doing drugs that he lied about.

I was pregnant on Thanksgiving and Christmas, sick both holidays. I spent thanksgiving sick, but in the company of my family while Richard went to spend time with his family. They hated me, and barely tolerated me (I never did know why), so I wouldn't go. Would you? Of course not. Same thing on Christmas, except that time I didn't have my family. I was alone at home, pregnant and sick. I found out later that he got high and propositioned my best "friend" that night. "Just to make sure that all they had between them was friendship." But never mind that, she's a scheming bitch that we'll save for another time...

The point is that my dad was there to talk me through it. He'd hated Richard the whole time, but he never once said, "I told you so. You should never have done that. You shouldn't have married him." After I had my baby (mine, she has never been loved by him, and so I believe she was never really his. Not that she was someone else's -- I was faithful to my vows until I met my current boyfriend, and that was after our separation. We are still waiting for a divorce.), my dad was always there to listen to me cry, and to advise me what to do.

Dad heard me cry many times over the phone when I packed Joey up and left my husband, only to go back. And leave again. We did that a few times, and my dad never said it, but he must've been thinking, "God, girl, get your head on straight for that baby!" He hears me talk hopefully about my new boyfriend, Ryan, who wants to adopt my daughter.

Ryan has taught her to call him daddy. (With my tentative permission!)

It's only been since August that we've been together, but he talks to me and listens when I talk to him. Our life together is sometimes hard, but it is happy. My daughter loves him with her whole heart, and he reminds me of my own father when I see him with my daughter. Ryan isn't quite used to having a kid around all the time, so he is a little strict and a little impatient but he can't stand the sight and sound of her tears. Just like my own dad, with me.

Last night, he was up all night listening to Joey cough and toss in her bed. He was up later than I was, because I was exhausted and resigned that all I could do for her was rest to preserve my own temperament (for the ability to be patient with a super-whiny, potty training two year old), and take her to her doctor's appointment this morning. He wasn't resigned at all. He was trying to think of a way to make her better sooner so that she could get some decent rest. And so he could get some, too.

I know my daughter can never say truthfully that Ryan is her father. He didn't give the sperm and the DNA that created her. But in every way that matters, he's her dad. And she loves him. I hope she has the same kind of loving relationship with him that I had with my dad. They both deserve that kind of trusting love. Bob Carlisle sings a song called "Butterfly Kisses." That song has always made me think so happily of my father, and I hope and pray with all my heart that that song and it's happy emotion will pass on to my daughter and her dad.

Wow, BiPolar Girl is really onto something with this blogging thing! I've been reading her journal and she talks about how she feels at home here with the ability to let her thoughts go so that her head isn't so crowded. The past few days, because of the therapy of journaling and the inspired thoughts of GOD that I have when reading "The Adventures of BiPolar Girl," I have been full of peace. That sense of calm has enabled me to talk more freely to my GOD, my spiritual father, my eternal dad. And I am so thankful for that. Any thoughts? Feel free to say so...