(I should probably go back and add that warning to like half my posts…)
Maney is a puzzle that I’m trying to piece together. It’s like I am separate from Maney, and I need to get her back in gear to live and hopefully someday desire life.
One thing I like to do is read. I recently received a plethora of my favorite books, used and cheap, the way I like my literature. So far I’ve consumed Peter and the Starcatchers, and I’m inching my way through Life of Pi (a favorite) and I Thought It Was Just Me (but it isn’t): Making the Journey from “What Will People Think?” to “I Am Enough” by Brené Brown, which is new to me. Books are like friends–safe ones I don’t have to worry about thinking that I’m mental, since our entire relationship is mental. Who says money can’t buy happiness? If money can buy friends, then I wonder what it can’t buy.
Another thing I do to piece myself back together is play guitar. It became a hobby over this last semester, as I’ve explained before. I’m not the best at playing or singing, but I love it. I love hearing my voice intertwine with the strong, reverberating chords, or the gentle, rhythmic pluck of my fingers. I love finding songs on the internet and then playing them within a few minutes. It makes me feel beautiful. It makes me feel desirable. It makes me feel worthy of love.
The final and hardest thing I’ve been trying lately is talking to people. It’s almost daily that I want to run my wrists over shards of glass, or cover my ears and scream in a corner, or bash my head against something until the stupidity of life ends. I often long for the peace I associate with death. Peace, and reunion, mostly with Jesus Christ, because it’s hard to imagine that meeting being anything but wonderful.
But anyway, talking to people. It’s hard. I get distracted. I start to feel guilty for things I don’t have any right to feel guilty for. And the guilt usually morphs into shame–I ask myself why I even exist if I’m so pathetic and depressed and awkward. It’s exhausting. It makes me want to go to sleep and never care about anyone or anything again. (I’m doing better, though, because at least I can separate these feelings from other, happier ones. Better than moving from bad feelings to numbness.)
Sometimes it doesn’t make sense, this being alive thing. It’s so hard. It’s His love that keeps me going. He gives me a flicker of hope to move forward, to take another step, to hold on a little longer. So, Team, hold on, if only because I am holding on. If only because He loves you, and He wants you to have joy.