Bleh. With a capitol B.

To think? or to feel? I’m lost.

To think means chaos: my brain fires a million thoughts at once and so I become flooded by what feel like millions of pointy arrows at my head.

My thoughts seem to have minds of their own even; as they seem to escape me and then swing back around only to punch me in the gut.

But to feel means a pressure comes crashing down and the pain reminds me of when I fell down from a swing set in the third grade. I reached out for the fire pole and somehow lost my gripping. I basically did a belly-flop off of a five footer. It did not feel good.

So this brings me back: to think? Or to feel? Thinking is easier to bear. But just almost.

Here’s the catch: thinking means my brain analyzes everything in the world but what actually needs thinking about. I don’t think about the pain and where it is coming, or why it feels so relentless at certain times of the day.. . like the morning.

The person pelted by too many thoughts and too many feelings is left over on this plate for the world to take tastes of. . . which I feel really bad about. There isn’t much to pick over, and there isn’t much to taste that isn’t bitterly sad.

This leftover person remains:

someone impatient and rude

someone scared and wounded

someone selfish and vain

And that brings me to the worst kinds of thoughts: this type of woman shouldn’t exist. I know me, and I don’t know what’s here right now. So, where is “me”?

Jesus, you don’t seem to be very near. I feel overwhelmed and distraught with this platter you seem to be serving me. The energy it is taking me to be here at work is near impossible to glean from this dirt dry field that is my reality today.

I want to be strong and faithful. . . but what does this even look like when I can’t even define it in your Character right now? I feel like you’ve dismissed me from all of the splendor of your courts and I’m left to grovel at the waste bins of your servant’s headquarters. It’s dramatic, but I really do feel like you’ve forgotten me. I know that I’m mysteriously and delightfully yours, God. But right now, how can I be? I’m a mess. And you aren’t doing much to help me.

I don’t even know where the source of my sorrow most resides. I know that comparatively to others in the world and around me, my life is beautiful. But I don’t need to make excuses, and I know that. Loss is loss. Plain and simple.

My reflection in the mirror that stares back even throws a wrench into my stomach, as of today. I see this girl looking back and I can’t remember how to make her smile. When I forget about my loss, I smile. So there’s that, I guess.  This things I feel I’ve lost make me wonder how I can be the same joyful and innocent girl I once was. I mostly just miss the positive me. It takes a lot more energy and puts me at a lot more risk for disappointment; rather than just being negative.

Negativity is pleasantly surprised when things actually work out. It keeps fairy tale feelings like hope, at a distance. But even as I write that, I know how ridiculous and pretentious I’m being because I don’t really believe that. Hope never fails. It’s the belief that there is no hope, that is the most heartbreaking.

I’m really pounding these keys and processing these things for the sake of my future version of me. You know, the one that comes back around after hard times pass and then becomes someone else’s shoulder to cry on. I want to remember what it was like to be the one downcast. Not just so I can say better things, but so I can shut my mouth and remember this moment where I don’t want to hear anything.

I have to allow myself to struggle. I have to be kind to myself even if I’m not proud of the way I handle this grief right now. But hey, i’m young and there is still plenty more time to learn and more grief to grieve later on.

It’s a depressing end, yes: for my own affirmation-seeking’s sake. And yet, there is hope. As long as I cognitively know the sun will rise, and as long as I know people still love me and want me around, and as long as I know my Jesus can easily handle my frustrations and pain, and still cover me, It’s all good.



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