My [lying, cold-hearted, going to give me a heart attack] boss’ new rules, which require that I sit at a desk for four full days a week, even when there are no patients to be seen, is making my current emotional state a lot worse because I don’t have the option of staying busy. My productivity is plummeting. But at least this way she knows where I am every second of the day, which apparently is the most important thing to her. Arrrrgh. But I digress.
I just went out to my car and called the person I have an appointment with tomorrow. I was grateful she didn’t answer. I didn’t want to talk, I just wanted to be heard.
I told her how I can’t breathe, how everything I eat makes me feel like I’m going to throw up, how my heart physically hurts. I told her how I’m trying so hard to love life, and it’s not working, and what if it never gets better? And I told her I’m sitting at my desk trying to just breathe. “Don’t grab your stuff. Don’t run out,” I remind myself.
But the next sentence that inevitably wants to follow those two, the one I try to shove out of my mind before it takes shape? “There’s nowhere to run.”
I was praying yesterday and talking through surrender and depression with God. I told Him I do choose His plan for my life. I do lay down all that I hope for a dream for in exchange for the “better” He has for me. I do. In my mind, I do. Deliberately and consciously I do. But my body is betraying me and my heart is screaming its pain and even though I trust Him, it’s excruciating. But even still, I’ll choose excruciating over veering away from His plan for my life. I choose excruciating.
And I told Him I know I don’t actually know what I want or need. There’s freedom in that, too. I told Him, “You know what my deepest longings are, Lord, but I don’t even ask for those things anymore. I’m not holding on to them as the solution to how I hurt. I am just telling You I hurt. And I am begging You to fix it. However You see fit.”
At the counselor Tuesday, I wanted to just stop talking, stop trying to make her understand, stop hoping she’d say something actually helpful. I wanted to just tip over, curl up on my side, and sleep.
I could’ve too. I felt so disconnected from my body that I could’ve just laid there, eyes closed, and not responded to anything she said or did in response. I could’ve slept through it and not cared at all how insane I looked or how uncomfortable I was making her. I was so tired. I am so tired.
When people say things like, “Accept it and move on,” it makes me want to punch them in the nose. Because what do they think I’ve been trying to do!? I am not choosing this! I am begging God for happiness- or at least for joy, a desire to live.
And also I want to punch them because they’re right. What can I do but accept it and move on?
And that thought scares the crap out of me. It makes breathing even harder.
Because I’ve been trying that so hard, for so long, and I am not okay and what if this is forever? What if this constant pain in my chest lands me in the hospital for some sort of medical reason and I die without ever again getting to experience life as a gift?
This can’t be forever. I can’t feel like this–shaky and cold and like all that’s within me could combust and I explode right along with it–forever.
I am having such a hard time seeing a reason to push through.
I just know that I have no other choice. The alternatives are worse than what I’m currently experiencing. (Again, that thought, the “no way out” thought, makes it harder to breathe.)
I am enduring. I am enduring and hoping. Because I know God’s giving me this breath for a reason.
And I pray on the other side of this, (because I fiercely pray that there will come a day when I am, in fact, on the other side of this), I’ll be changed.
I’ll be able to stand atop the rubble of my life and not despair.
I’ll be able to suffer alone without losing my desire to live.
And when those I love are not okay, I’ll show up with a movie and dinner and I’ll sit beside them, and I won’t try to fix them or take on their pain, but I will sit there and love them steadily and reliably and unconditionally. And that’s all we need sometimes, I think. Just to know that we’re not alone.
And there is good. Amidst it all. It not enough good to make me want to do life, but it still matters. The good is like little reminders sprinkled throughout the day that my Father loves me and sees my pain and is in control.
Sunny days beside the creek, alone except for Arlow.
Sharing my cereal with Theo. One bite for me, one bite for him.
Watching kids blow bubbles.
French braiding Olivia’s hair.
When someone–pet or person–unknowingly moves closer to you in their sleep.
When someone loves you enough to ask, “Have you eaten?”
When you wake up in the morning to let your dog outside, and you’re cranky about not still being asleep, but then you realize the sky is pink, and it’s beautiful, and suddenly you’re so glad you didn’t miss it.
All of my days are written in His book. This isn’t a surprise to Him. Nor is it something I’ve chosen. So I will ride it out, believing that it’s all part of the story He’s writing.
I’m not in control.
I am not okay and I can’t force myself to be okay and time keeps going and what if I lose my job or my depression gets worse? And remember last summer?
And I’m gripped by horror and trauma and I want to run away from the memories and emotions and I CAN’T run because they’re inside of me.
And I’m terrified. Terrified of not being okay, terrified of needing help, terrified of no one helping or being able to help, terrified of things getting worse, terrified of people blaming me and leaving me because I’m too much work.
I have no control and I’m scared.
But He’s always gotten me through everything before. I’ve kicked and screamed and made it harder on myself, but He’s still stood by and held my hand and guided me along in this story He’s scripting.
And He’ll get me through this too. This Breakdown Part II. This surfacing of all that’s unresolved, and not better than it was when I first laid it down at the cross in exchange for unfailing hope in the goodness of the Lord.
And I’ll believe that someday I won’t have to “get through” my life. I’ll be able to LIVE it.
And maybe I’ll never get married or have kids. And maybe no one will ever embrace me as daughter or sister. And I don’t know how to be okay with that.
But I do know what God has for me is only the best. He is good and wants good for me, not suffering.
So Lord, help me trust the process.
Help me not fault myself.
And please, help me not be alone. However that looks, Lord. Even if it’s just You and I. Help me go to bed at night feeling safe and held and loved and not alone.