Dichotomy

Since I shared about my deepest insecurities in front of half of my church, two people have asked for my Tumblr, zero have actually followed me, and no one has provided me any affirmation for my deeply moving vulnerability. I am half convinced that I reek evil and repel all but friends who've gotten used to the pungent smell.

I'm kidding, but speaking during Senior Banquet really didn't change anything. More than anything, I was unjustifiably disappointed that my words were lost in a sea of apple carvings and Christmas lights. Unbaptised and self-destructive, I am a stranger to Living Water, even more so when I actively enstrange it.

But sharing has much less to do with its audience than it has to do with the speaker. Those words, the ones I managed to choke out, were not for the juniors or the parents, but for myself. I would like to live with every necessary word said aloud, every necessary letter written. It wasn't my idea, but my heart goes out to those who've inspired me to spend my energy in service instead of in indulgence.

I was becoming accustomed to being sociable and to wearing acceptable attire in public. Church wasn't so depressing. People who didn't understand the feeling of wanting to be unalive still understood the college struggle. Songs like I Lift My Hands reminded me that LWEC has once again become a refuge, even under the boring eyes of tiger and pseudo tiger parents.

Any other time in my life, I would have thought that Will's grad party was going to be my other half-life. Stories of IMSA's escapades flew like rapid fire. The rest of us listened with sickening awe. My favorite moments from North are seconds long - Mr. Ferrell meowing with his cat skin, Mr. Baird squealing with sarcasm, Mrs. Moore's parallel pipe head, the shame basket, conversations, sass, running, pretending to fly. The people from IMSA spoke about nights like they were days. They were funny, but they were also dark, in more than one way.

I've only heard about this kind of fangled insanity from television - Manhattan's elite from Gossip Girl, the Wolf of Wall Street - oh, and the macho trolls on college Facebook pages. Substance experimentation is constantly glorified. Even we giggled about the outrageous, psychotic incidents that happened in our friends' dorms. Students were never expelled because they left. No one has died from jumping on cars or puking in beds. The craving for highs and ecstasy are casual, not threatening. I would have wanted to try.

But strangely, I don't. Its not an uptight, moral feeling, and its also not a desperate, rebellious hunger. Its just acceptance, and a little gratitude, for a gathering of wildly different and open people, who maybe, just maybe, aren't so different after all.