The words come at a stop light.
I push them away, refusing to entertain them. . . willing myself to choose different words to dwell on. . . hoping for a split second they will vanish as quickly as they came. I don’t believe the words in my mind, but they yell so loudly. So very loudly.
I lose the battle, and the words flood me. They wash over my mind, and I am ashamed. How can a follower of Jesus have such dark thoughts?
I do not understand. Where has hope gone? When was the exact moment it evaporated? Did it slowly float away, as if a leak in a balloon or was it sucked out by the vacuum of trauma and fear? Did I know the moment it faded away? If feels as if going to get my winter coat and not being able to find it. I thought it was safely stored away, but in need, it is gone.
I put my foot to the gas and find my way into the Aldi parking lot. My body racks in sobs. Soon my cheeks are stripped of color and my shirt shows the collection of tears. I hurt. My chest squeezes in agony. It is not a specific pain but more an absence that has grabbed me. I feel nothing and everything. It is unbearable.
In the sound of my tears, my phone lights. Words from a new friend ask about my battle with the gremlins. It stops my sobs and makes me breathe. I share my darkness with her. She knows it. She has felt my crazy before and knows the struggle to make a mind obey a will.
My picture is not pretty today. It often isn’t. But it is a picture I want. I have to remember I want it day after day. Often hour by hour and minute by minute.
The fight is wearing me down. My hope-believing counselor spoke resilience over me this week. He spoke so surely of something I couldn’t feel. He spoke of a different narrative with an ending yet to be written.
Words spoke despair this week. Can I also receive the strength?
3 thoughts on “Nothing and Everything”
One of my favorite phrases ever spoken to me was when a man who lived in the U.K. said “Good ON you” instead of “good for you” when I did something cheer-worthy. I love the change of the whole thing.
Good ON you for going to the grocery instead of hiding in bed.
Good on you for taking your friend’s call.
Good on you for talking to a counselor and for wanting a picture, even if it is not pretty.
Good on you for writing your blog post, even if you really would rather edit it, change it, delete it, rewrite it, make it sound better, make it sound worse, describe life as a little less true, more true, different.
Good on you.
Remember the four seasons? Around here, we have to pretend them, don’t we? But autumn is coming, and not just pretend. Because EVEN in Florida, the seasons exist. Not as pronounced, but they exist. And this awful darkness IS a season.
Those are good words Erik. Thank you.
I’m so sorry for your pain. Thank you for sharing so honestly. Wish I was closer so I could stay in better touch, and pop by to paint some furniture! May He bring rivers of hope and refreshment — streams of goodness and blessing flowing over you.