... She Just Complains.

So. 

Funny story. 

I wanted boots for Christmas (like these). 

Instead, I just have one.

And it's plastic - not leather.

And I can't wear it for more then 10 minutes or my foot swells up.

Why am I enduring this tragedy? Well. I loading up my car to come home from school (isn't this how every exciting story starts?). I was humming Christmas songs and generally thrilled to be leaving the dehumanizing place some like to call college (and the best years of your life - what a joke). There is a stairwell right next to my room that goes out into a tiny alley. I decided to pull my car in the alley and load it there. Less work and more convenient. 

I'm brilliant.

Not.

So I decided (to be more time efficient) to take all my stuff down the stairs right at the door to the alley. Success! I prop the door open and take my first bag out to the car.

I come back in and hear the alarm saying "Please shut door 7. Please shut door 7."

So. The ally isn't going to work. 

Then, I took everything back upstairs and to the other door. I had to push the very heavy door all the way open with my foot.

Everything was fine.

Then I walked back to my room and grabbed a huge handful of clothes.

I was walking to my car when I guess I stepped funny and broke my foot and sprained muscles in my foot. 

So, my first Christmas without my dad, I am stuck in a boot/with crutches, unable to exercise, cannot go far because of the swelling and pain, possibly not going to NYC, and 2 days after New Years I am getting my wisdom teeth removed.

Yup. 

It sucks.

Keeping it classy with a boot.

My mom pointed out that this might be God's way to making me be still and deal with my grief. But quite honestly,

I don't want to. 

I just want to have fun and make memories with my family, Philip, and my friends. I don't want to think about how much this sucks and hurts (now both literally and physically).

I don't want to call myself depressed. But I am struggling with feeling very despondent - and I have been for about a month. I try not to think about how I am feeling because then it makes it worse. So, I keep busy and surrounded with people. 
But I hate feeling sad - maybe that's what causes depression. Fighting too hard against the hardness of life instead of acknowledging it.

So here I am.

Lying in my bed.

Surrounded by the French I should be studying.

My foot propped up on some pillows with some ice. 

Tears lingering on my face.

And I am acknowledging that life just straight up sucks. But I can't fight it anymore. I can't fight the reality that my dad is gone from this world forever. I can't fight the fact that I hate my school. I can't fight the fact that I am scared to tell people how I am really feeling. I can't fight that complete change my life has undergone in the past 9 months. I can't fight the frustration that comes with a long distance relationship. I can't fight my lactose intolerance. I can't fight the fact that my foot is broken. I can't fight the fact that my family feels unorganized and lost. I can't fight the fact that I am lonely. I can't fight the overwhelming grief that will consume me at any given moment.

But I can also acknowledge that God is good. Somehow. Someway. My life feels like a train wreak. Problem upon problem piling up. But
He
Is
Good. 

He's destroying me and my idols to make something beautiful.

At least I hope so.

Because without that hope - life would be completely and utterly overwhelming.

So I complained a lot. 

But I feel better.

Writing is good for the soul, isn't it - vast world out there?