Aug 27, 2013
9:05 AM | Posted by
some girl
One minute I feel anxious and panicked, the next everything is beautiful and colourful, next I feel detached and numb, next I feel gloomy and tired, next I feel restless and jumpy, next I feel cozy and happy... It changes every so often and nothing seems to trigger any of the emotions, they just ebb and flow of their own volition.
It's nice when the peace comes for a moment, but I can't seem to make it stay.
I'm so lucky to have the people in my life that I do. They comfort me.
Aug 25, 2013
–
Oh no
How did we get here?
After all I've said and done and written and celebrated...
I'm feeling like a zombie
I'm feeling like I'm watching this all from behind a glass wall where I simply remember things like happiness
I feel like I'm the only one on this side of the glass
Noise, light, taste... It's all muffled and jumbled
Thought, peace, clarity... It's all tangled and broken
Oh my sweet brain, if only I knew how to fix you
I'm not sure that I know how to fully live this life when I can't trust even my own thoughts
I like to call today Day 1 of Medicine
How many days there will be, I have no idea... But today is
Nausea
Fatigue
Weakness
Depression
Anxiety
Restlessness
Such an unmixable and motley crew of emotions and sensations... They leave me feeling
Stuck
Paralysed
Trapped
Scared
Alone
What am I supposed to do? Living by simply continuing to breathe and eat seems like a start, but what next? What do I do when the nature of things is that I don't, or can't, do anything? How do I make the struggle worthwhile, and is that my job? Because I definitely feel an obligation to get it right, to give back, to serve and exceed.
But I can't do it just yet, so what do I do in the meantime? How long is the meantime? I hate this limbo more than anything... If there was an end in sight, there would be a goal.
I am sad for the child who was excited to grow up. I am sorry that this is what she got.
Aug 11, 2013
Today I didn't even begin on the couch.
Today I stepped outside.
Today I marvelled at Your creation.
Today I tried to photograph Your beauty, but gave up after a few failed attempts.
Today I travelled off the beaten track (and legitimately pretended I was a dinosaur exploring the bush... Let's keep that one quiet).
Today I climbed a tree and felt your glow on my face.
Today I revelled in the excitement of wind through the trees.
Today I smiled past elderly couples, their stories unknown to me but told in their quiet conversation.
Today I giggled at children who knew no shame.
Today I know peace.
Today I seek trust.
Today I feel joy,
And today I know that if it is possible now, it will be possible again.
Aug 6, 2013
I'm sorry, I can't slow down my erratic thoughts.
Despite being on a decidedly un-enjoyable rollercoaster ride right now, there are so many blessings in my life. This is going beyond trying to 'think positive!'ly about the fact that I have food on my plate and a bed to sleep in: these facts don't change anything, and much less when the food on my plate remains uneaten and the bed to sleep in is more of a place to toss and turn in and out of nightmares.
Hope that's not too melodramatic.
Nevertheless, there are many many more things which would show what a 'good' life I lead, and while I try to remember what these things are, they simply have no effect on my thoughts and feelings. As a positive attitude advocate, this strikes me as strange every single day I wake in panic.
The blessings I mentioned at the start are not these facts I've just talked about. The real blessings in my life right now are people. My family and my friends.
I'm blessed with a family who, not matter how dysfunctional, loves me unconditionally.
I'm blessed with a mother who spares no expense to see me well.
I'm blessed with sisters who have never-ending grace, patience, and couches to spend the night.
I'm blessed with house-mates who don't expect me to be anyone other than myself.
I'm blessed with friends who aren't scared by my current state, but ask me whenever they can if there's anything they can do, reminding me that they won't up and leave.
I'm simply blessed with so many people who, when I can't see who I am or what hope there is, see it for me. Who carry my crosses and give me their faith when I've run out.
I am blessed.
Despite being on a decidedly un-enjoyable rollercoaster ride right now, there are so many blessings in my life. This is going beyond trying to 'think positive!'ly about the fact that I have food on my plate and a bed to sleep in: these facts don't change anything, and much less when the food on my plate remains uneaten and the bed to sleep in is more of a place to toss and turn in and out of nightmares.
Hope that's not too melodramatic.
Nevertheless, there are many many more things which would show what a 'good' life I lead, and while I try to remember what these things are, they simply have no effect on my thoughts and feelings. As a positive attitude advocate, this strikes me as strange every single day I wake in panic.
The blessings I mentioned at the start are not these facts I've just talked about. The real blessings in my life right now are people. My family and my friends.
I'm blessed with a family who, not matter how dysfunctional, loves me unconditionally.
I'm blessed with a mother who spares no expense to see me well.
I'm blessed with sisters who have never-ending grace, patience, and couches to spend the night.
I'm blessed with house-mates who don't expect me to be anyone other than myself.
I'm blessed with friends who aren't scared by my current state, but ask me whenever they can if there's anything they can do, reminding me that they won't up and leave.
I'm simply blessed with so many people who, when I can't see who I am or what hope there is, see it for me. Who carry my crosses and give me their faith when I've run out.
I am blessed.
It's moments like this that have become the thing I live for, but I confess, they are completely selfish.
Moments like this where for a brief moment, the cloud lifts.
I see a ray of warmth
Hear an echo of laughter
Remember what it is to hope
Know who I am and what I want
I feel the tips of Your fingers as you reach down to pull me from the depths of my own ocean of doubt.
I wish the feeling would stay.
But it's already gone. Again.
Moments like this where for a brief moment, the cloud lifts.
I see a ray of warmth
Hear an echo of laughter
Remember what it is to hope
Know who I am and what I want
I feel the tips of Your fingers as you reach down to pull me from the depths of my own ocean of doubt.
I wish the feeling would stay.
But it's already gone. Again.
Aug 4, 2013
One day I will get off this couch
One day I will seek the warmth of the sun
One day I will be happy to be with people
One day I will trust
One day I will find my faith
One day I will have my joy returned in full
One day I will not fear the valley of the shadow of death
One day I will do something for someone else
One day I will sleep peacefully
One day I will wake up happy
One day I will think about the past, and not feel pain
One day I will think about the future, and not feel scared
One day I will know how much I am worth
One day I will know how much I am loved
-
Jul 19, 2013
1. Wash
It falls in torrents
Crashing
Cascading
Soaking
Smothering
Filling
Flooding
And I am drowned.
2. Spin
All is blurred
Down is left
Left is right
Right is up
Up is nowhere
Seeing is deceiving
Believing is a feeling
Which is not here.
3. Rinse
It stops. Just to start.
The headspin caught in a waterfall
The dizziness stays in this waterlog
The unreachable uncatchable breath
Is above the surface again
But I am sunk.
4. Spin
Again; no silence, no reprieve.
The circles take away choice
And freedom
And thought
The gravity takes away movement
And effort
And light
And I am still.
5. Stop
And I am still, still.
But even though I
Desperately
Hopelessly
Want
I can not move.
But even though I
Desperately
Hopelessly
Want
I can not move.
Feb 26, 2013
To the good men in my life,
Thank you.
For my entire life, I've been engaging with the same thing humans everywhere engage in: learning.
Unfortunately, for a large portion of this time, I haven't learned many good things about men. I have learned that men are either aggressive and will hurt you, or are weak and can't protect you. I learned that men are more knowledgeable, important, and stronger than women. I learned that men only want power, money, or sex. I learned that men are jerks, to be feared and avoided, and for the longest time had this sub-conscious thought pattern of women as goodies and victims, and men as baddies and perpetrators.
I'd almost like to apologise for that, but I wouldn't chastise anyone for being simply a product of their environment, especially if they were still seeking to learn, which is what I (hopefully) am doing.
I have since learned a great deal of other things; I've learned about feminism and the suffragettes, I've learned about and from strong independent women, I've learned how to be independent myself, I've learned more about the complexities of my childhood and how that has framed my thinking. These are all good things I've learned, though on their own they did not balance out my fear of men, but only equipped me to feel as if I could defend myself against these predatory creatures God had stuck me with.
So up went the walls, and they were pretty solid. If it was something to be proud of, you bet I'd have the biggest grin around town; not many people could scale the walls, let alone come down the other side unscathed. If I saw someone of the male sex but peek over that wall and even think about getting closer, out would come every effort of pushing him away. Down, you! Back to the depths from whence you came!
I'd actually like to apologise for that one; sorry. I kicked a lot of well meaning guys off that wall.
But back to the learning! I had learned that men are bad, and learned how to protect myself, but then in came... The Good Men *cue superhero music or something cheesy and inspirational*.
It wasn't one big group walking in as maybe I have just made it seem, in fact, I didn't even realise it for many years afterwards, during some reflection that I guess there are men in my life that I... Kinda trust sometimes...
These were men who were not aggressive, but they certainly weren't weak; powerful and smart, but never manipulative; funny, friendly, and encouraging not because they wanted 'more' from me, but simply just because.
I learned that men weren't bad. That men aren't bad. In fact, I learned that there are some pretty gosh darn tootin' good men in the world. The old ways were so ingrained that this fact still unnerves me at times.
If you're reading this, and you know me, you might be able to hazard a guess that you are one of these good men in my life (unless of course you're a woman... In which case, yo).
And if you're second guessing that, I urge you to be honest and talk to me... Face to face or leave a comment, chuck me an email, I love to nut this stuff out because it helps me to make sense of my brain.
But the main thing is this: thank you. Thank you from the very bottom of my beating, bruised, bursting joyful heart, for being exactly who you are.
Thank you for being genuine, for being fun, for having a character of such integrity and honesty that I'm really finding it more and more difficult to sympathise with the 'men are stupid assholes' attitude that is thrown about among some women (Don't be discouraged, it's not all women). Thank you for being an example of Jesus, of someone who is after His heart, and who doesn't follow the rules the world tells you that you should.
Thank you for treating me with respect and patience, for always being gentle and kind without expecting something in return. For making me laugh and sing and dance and dream.
Thanks to you, I no longer count men as monsters; I am no longer cynical and suspicious about every move and motive as 'surely destructive and ulterior'. You have given me hope (one of those essentials to life) in men, hope in people, and through your very existence, renewed hope in God.
It's not necessarily one big thing that you've done; this is not about grand gestures, but it's about your daily living; that you desire to learn and grow and know God; you're not afraid of being yourself; you have the courage to try new things; you know when to have fun and when to be serious; you value other people as God's creation; you encourage others to be all that they can be; you have your dreams and desires and quirks and oddities; you have wisdom and strength (sometimes more than you're aware of) and through it all, you have the honesty to admit that there are gaps; to see where you could have done better, not to live in regret and despair but to pick yourself up and continue in the path of God's grace.
Even if you and I are not particularly close as friends, the way you live your life has had such an impact on mine, as I'm sure it has on countless others. I thank God for you, for the honourable men you've had as examples and mentors in your life, and for the men that you are an example to yourself. I thank God that I know I will never be without a brother in this life.
Know this: You are important. You are valuable, not only to me, but what you have to offer the world and the community around you sometimes goes beyond your knowledge. As a collective effort you have changed my life, and you will continue to do so. This world is better off with you in it.
As for the learning, that will continue... I know I've got a lot of walls to tear down, and it hurts and I'm not quite sure where to start, but until I met all of you, I did not know that those walls have been keeping out the good with the bad. So thank you, for leading me to the realisation I'd built those walls, and giving me a reason to knock them down.
Much love, respect, and laughter,
Em.
Thank you.
For my entire life, I've been engaging with the same thing humans everywhere engage in: learning.
Unfortunately, for a large portion of this time, I haven't learned many good things about men. I have learned that men are either aggressive and will hurt you, or are weak and can't protect you. I learned that men are more knowledgeable, important, and stronger than women. I learned that men only want power, money, or sex. I learned that men are jerks, to be feared and avoided, and for the longest time had this sub-conscious thought pattern of women as goodies and victims, and men as baddies and perpetrators.
I'd almost like to apologise for that, but I wouldn't chastise anyone for being simply a product of their environment, especially if they were still seeking to learn, which is what I (hopefully) am doing.
I have since learned a great deal of other things; I've learned about feminism and the suffragettes, I've learned about and from strong independent women, I've learned how to be independent myself, I've learned more about the complexities of my childhood and how that has framed my thinking. These are all good things I've learned, though on their own they did not balance out my fear of men, but only equipped me to feel as if I could defend myself against these predatory creatures God had stuck me with.
So up went the walls, and they were pretty solid. If it was something to be proud of, you bet I'd have the biggest grin around town; not many people could scale the walls, let alone come down the other side unscathed. If I saw someone of the male sex but peek over that wall and even think about getting closer, out would come every effort of pushing him away. Down, you! Back to the depths from whence you came!
I'd actually like to apologise for that one; sorry. I kicked a lot of well meaning guys off that wall.
But back to the learning! I had learned that men are bad, and learned how to protect myself, but then in came... The Good Men *cue superhero music or something cheesy and inspirational*.
It wasn't one big group walking in as maybe I have just made it seem, in fact, I didn't even realise it for many years afterwards, during some reflection that I guess there are men in my life that I... Kinda trust sometimes...
These were men who were not aggressive, but they certainly weren't weak; powerful and smart, but never manipulative; funny, friendly, and encouraging not because they wanted 'more' from me, but simply just because.
I learned that men weren't bad. That men aren't bad. In fact, I learned that there are some pretty gosh darn tootin' good men in the world. The old ways were so ingrained that this fact still unnerves me at times.
If you're reading this, and you know me, you might be able to hazard a guess that you are one of these good men in my life (unless of course you're a woman... In which case, yo).
And if you're second guessing that, I urge you to be honest and talk to me... Face to face or leave a comment, chuck me an email, I love to nut this stuff out because it helps me to make sense of my brain.
But the main thing is this: thank you. Thank you from the very bottom of my beating, bruised, bursting joyful heart, for being exactly who you are.
Thank you for being genuine, for being fun, for having a character of such integrity and honesty that I'm really finding it more and more difficult to sympathise with the 'men are stupid assholes' attitude that is thrown about among some women (Don't be discouraged, it's not all women). Thank you for being an example of Jesus, of someone who is after His heart, and who doesn't follow the rules the world tells you that you should.
Thank you for treating me with respect and patience, for always being gentle and kind without expecting something in return. For making me laugh and sing and dance and dream.
Thanks to you, I no longer count men as monsters; I am no longer cynical and suspicious about every move and motive as 'surely destructive and ulterior'. You have given me hope (one of those essentials to life) in men, hope in people, and through your very existence, renewed hope in God.
It's not necessarily one big thing that you've done; this is not about grand gestures, but it's about your daily living; that you desire to learn and grow and know God; you're not afraid of being yourself; you have the courage to try new things; you know when to have fun and when to be serious; you value other people as God's creation; you encourage others to be all that they can be; you have your dreams and desires and quirks and oddities; you have wisdom and strength (sometimes more than you're aware of) and through it all, you have the honesty to admit that there are gaps; to see where you could have done better, not to live in regret and despair but to pick yourself up and continue in the path of God's grace.
Even if you and I are not particularly close as friends, the way you live your life has had such an impact on mine, as I'm sure it has on countless others. I thank God for you, for the honourable men you've had as examples and mentors in your life, and for the men that you are an example to yourself. I thank God that I know I will never be without a brother in this life.
Know this: You are important. You are valuable, not only to me, but what you have to offer the world and the community around you sometimes goes beyond your knowledge. As a collective effort you have changed my life, and you will continue to do so. This world is better off with you in it.
As for the learning, that will continue... I know I've got a lot of walls to tear down, and it hurts and I'm not quite sure where to start, but until I met all of you, I did not know that those walls have been keeping out the good with the bad. So thank you, for leading me to the realisation I'd built those walls, and giving me a reason to knock them down.
Much love, respect, and laughter,
Em.
Feb 23, 2013
This is the prayer I pray when I can not pray
When all is turned to sleep
When sleep is turned to empty
Empty that can't be filled
Yet
When the feelings stop before they turn into words
When the words stop before they can fall from the cracking precipice
When my soul is dehydrated
So thirsty it can not get up
This is the prayer I pray when I can not pray
When I close my eyes to remember that You Were
And try to believe that You Are
When I sing the hymns and strum the chords that were once a rhythm and dance
When my Way of Life
Becomes my Way of Avoiding Death
The prayer I pray when I can not pray doesn't begin with
Heavenly Father
Doesn't end with
Amen
It doesn't contain repentance or requests
The prayer I pray when I can not pray
Is a nod of the head
A blink of the eye
A beat of the heart
The tossing and turning of a restless spirit
It is the frustrated turning of the pages as I try to focus on some relevant words among the thous and thees
The tears of ache that the minor notes bring
The remorse of my infidelity
The prayer I pray when I can not pray
Is in the holding back of my tongue
In the gentle touch I offer my friend
In the compassionate heart I leave out uncovered in the open
The prayer I pray when I can not pray
Is in the wind as it teases
Is in my breath when I sigh
In my eyes when I see beautiful things
In my heart when I feel beautiful
The prayer I pray when I can not pray
Is a recollection of all the prayers I have ever prayed for the future
Can that not be enough, for now?
Because apart from beat and breath, I have no hold from which to offer prayer
The prayer I pray
When I can not pray
Is
When all is turned to sleep
When sleep is turned to empty
Empty that can't be filled
Yet
When the feelings stop before they turn into words
When the words stop before they can fall from the cracking precipice
When my soul is dehydrated
So thirsty it can not get up
This is the prayer I pray when I can not pray
When I close my eyes to remember that You Were
And try to believe that You Are
When I sing the hymns and strum the chords that were once a rhythm and dance
When my Way of Life
Becomes my Way of Avoiding Death
The prayer I pray when I can not pray doesn't begin with
Heavenly Father
Doesn't end with
Amen
It doesn't contain repentance or requests
The prayer I pray when I can not pray
Is a nod of the head
A blink of the eye
A beat of the heart
The tossing and turning of a restless spirit
It is the frustrated turning of the pages as I try to focus on some relevant words among the thous and thees
The tears of ache that the minor notes bring
The remorse of my infidelity
The prayer I pray when I can not pray
Is in the holding back of my tongue
In the gentle touch I offer my friend
In the compassionate heart I leave out uncovered in the open
The prayer I pray when I can not pray
Is in the wind as it teases
Is in my breath when I sigh
In my eyes when I see beautiful things
In my heart when I feel beautiful
The prayer I pray when I can not pray
Is a recollection of all the prayers I have ever prayed for the future
Can that not be enough, for now?
Because apart from beat and breath, I have no hold from which to offer prayer
The prayer I pray
When I can not pray
Is
Feb 3, 2013
(November 2012)
I am convalescing, still.
Let me start out by saying: I do not want this to be a depressing piece of writing. I am not depressed. I am sitting comfortably in my house as the afternoon sun streams through the window on what seems the first balmy day in months since winter ended. I am, in this moment, healthy and happy. I baked some biscuits today and played a bit of guitar; two things I really enjoy.
I am convalescing, still.
Let me start out by saying: I do not want this to be a depressing piece of writing. I am not depressed. I am sitting comfortably in my house as the afternoon sun streams through the window on what seems the first balmy day in months since winter ended. I am, in this moment, healthy and happy. I baked some biscuits today and played a bit of guitar; two things I really enjoy.
Here
I sit, and I am content, but that is exactly the problem: I really
should be researching and writing assignments. I have mentioned that I
am not depressed, but I once was. I don’t need to go much further into it than saying that for most of my adolescence, and for a brief period into emerging
adulthood, I suffered chronic depression (albeit untreated through
years of denial).
I am better now (someone please
shout ‘hooray!’ with me!) and the past two or so years of my life have
been the most different, strange, eye-opening and best years of my life.
But they have not been without struggle.
I
understand that if you are human, you struggle, I understand that there
are daily tasks we must complete and challenges and hardships we must
face, I understand that many students find it hard be constantly
motivated, balanced, and get their assignments in on time. I don’t want
to talk about that so much; though of course my years have been filled
with those struggles, but I want to talk about a different one. An
ailment of sorts.
Think
of a scar you have, particularly from a more gruesome injury if you
have one (though I generally try to avoid those... ergghh, blood) and
come on a little journey with me.
I
have a scar on the inside of my right thumb, just in the knuckle joint.
The injury was from a mishap with an s-hook during a camping trip in
early 2012; a mishap which resulted in the metal hook being much more
embedded in my thumb than in the camping contraption it should have been
(or as I put it so eloquently then: ‘that was very in my thumb!’
whilst dancing around in a frantic panic, blood beginning to pour down
my arm). Luckily this day was the end of our camping trip, so I went
straight home to the all-hours doctor where they patched me up nicely as
I tried not to look (regrettably, curiosity got the better of me and
while the doctor was out of the room I stole a glance at the
‘unstitchable’ puncture wound. Commencing another round of queasiness).
In
the grand scheme of available injuries that life has to offer, I got
off pretty lightly with my thumb’s puncture wound; despite being quite
haemophobic (note: haemo-, not homo-) and nearly fainting when I
even thought about my holey thumb and it’s misfortune, the wound wasn’t
at all life threatening or disabling. The worst outcome of the situation
was that for a fortnight or so, it was difficult to write, and the
accident happened to coincide with the start of semester.
Unsurprisingly,
I made it through the ordeal (show me your ways, O wise Emily) but I do
have a scar. It runs across the inside of my thumb: a smooth, lighter
patch of skin that sits as a lump above the rest. For a long time, after
the wound had healed over, that scar was tight, and I could feel it
stretching when I bent my thumb back. It didn’t hurt, but it still
impaired the use of my thumb and my writing, even if only a little.
Now?
There is no pain, the scar is not tight and in fact it’s hardly
noticeable unless you know it’s there. But as I sit here, and think back
on where the scar came from, I definitely remember that pain. I
relive the nausea I felt as I looked into my open knuckle and blood ran
down my arm. I remember worrying that the blood would stain my white
angora jumper. I remember feeling horrible that I was no
longer useful in helping pack up the camping gear, I remember the long
drive home from our trip, as I tried to be the grown up woman of 21 that
I was, and not cry (I cried), I remember buying myself a cupcake styled
like a happy pig to cheer myself up when we stopped for lunch, I
remember thinking that the scar would be horrible and that no one would
want me after that (irrationality, would you like a bed to sleep in?
You’ve been here a while now), I remember feeling pathetic as my dad
drove me to the doctor and I cried, again, explaining to him what had
happened.
But
I am okay. All is good now. It might seem like I’m being overly
dramatic about a little wound, but all of those feelings and thoughts
were very real to me at the time.
And
sometimes, the wound comes back in the way that it has affected my
life. For a long time, I used my thumb awkwardly even though it was
healed and pain free. When I touch the scar, I feel nauseous, just from
the memory of what happened.
Everyone has been hurt in life, been wounded, and everyone has scars.
Suffering
from depression for 6 years (on and off to varying degrees, but fairly
steadily from age 15 to almost21) has left me with an enormous amount of
scars, not to mention the scars of various events that encouraged that
depression to begin.
As I said, I’m not depressed anymore. It’s awesome.
But
sometimes, (okay, a lot of the time), I feel or act like I am. Just
like I still lived as though my thumb was disabled when it was actually
better, I often live as though I have no passion, motivation, joy, or
energy. But I do, I have lots of those things, I just don’t know what to
do with them. I have surmised (and someone please tell me if I’m
wrong) that having depression during your teenage years somehow stunts
mental development. The synapses that are created when you respond to
life out of depression during those years have got to somehow affect
your later life (SO much citation needed).
I
have learnt that when life is overwhelming, you sit and cry and stare
at a wall. I have learnt that when you have important things to do, it’s
easier to sleep.
I have learnt that there is nothing you can do to fight whatever-the-fuck-it-is that goes on inside your head and your heart.
And while I know that those things aren’t true, I still live as though they are.
These
are the scars of my depression; the stunted development, the absolute
lack of any conviction to stick to my commitments or look after myself,
the lack of ability to concentrate and multitask.
And
as I sit, and look at my scars, I remember that pain. I remember
feeling physically sick with anxiety. All. Of. The. Time. I remember
feeling paralysed with fear at night when I was alone, and I remember
feeling more afraid than I thought I ever could when I realised that the
fear itself wasn’t restricted to the night, but had started following
me around during the day. I remember wearing a mask around people,
because surely if they knew, no one would want me. I remember feeling ashamed that I couldn’t just be happy like I was supposed
to be (as dictated by being a Christian in our ‘privileged’ Western
world). I remember thinking that maybe I would always have to live life
that way, and know that I couldn’t do that for much longer. I remember
not being able to think or concentrate or apply myself to any sort of
study. I remember the sadness and despair as I lost the love and joy
that I got out hobbies and my favourite things. I remember feeling so
worthless and awkward in any social context, wondering what the hell I
was wasting my time for when it was obvious that I had nothing to offer
anyone and it would be better for everyone if I committed to a reclusive
life. I remember not really being close with anyone, and having many
surface friendships but no really close friends. I remember feeling
pathetic when I would cry and get angry and anxious over little things, I
remember feeling helpless and like a waste of space when I couldn’t
find it in me to help and love others because I simply could not help
and love myself. Sometimes now with a certain smell or song, I’m right
back in my depression. (Music I can’t listen to any more: Sam Sparro’s
self-titled album, Kate Havnevik’s Melankton, Fragrance I can’t smell: Dove’s cucumber and lemongrass deodorant).
I
remember a lot of things, thoughts and feelings that I wish I didn’t. I
remember the excuses, because back then I had them; I was
well-and-truly depressed. If I sat for too long in a stupor, even though
I had nothing going for me and hated myself, the only way I could ever
cut myself some slack was saying ‘hey, Em, don’t be too hard on
yourself, you’re pretty depressed, remember?’ Encouraging.
Now
I don’t have that excuse. I’m not depressed. There’s really nothing
holding me back per se. But I do have these scars. And maybe it’s just a
way of trying to make more excuses for when I fail in life, but I
really do feel as if it’s still affecting me.
Just
like my thumb for a little while shaped the way I lived, even after it
healed, depression has been doing the same, just on a much larger scale.
How
long do I keep these excuses intact? How do I teach and train myself to
live in healthy ways instead of the macabre wasteful ways I used to?
Where do I give myself grace and where do I give myself a kick and say
‘NO MORE EXCUSES, SOLDIER!’? I’m not sure where the line is, or if
indeed there is one, or if I’ll ever cross it. I know that I’ll always
remember the times I was depressed, but I definitely don’t want the
scars of lethargy and sadness and cynicism to define who I am now or the
way that I act.
There
are some scars, though, that I want to keep, and depression left me
very scarred; with wisdom to look behind people’s masks; with compassion
to love people through their hurt; with grace to forgive others their
failures; with stubbornness to keep trying even when I fail over and
over again; with a desire to learn and grow more; with a passion for
seeing other people free; and with a discontentment that I don’t want
satisfied until the day I die.
It’s
all easier said than done. At the moment, I am just tired. And when I
am tired, I’m quick to fall back into the learned ways of depression,
when I know that I was built for so much more. When I know that I was
built for life, and not for death.
Sep 30, 2012
Yours is the face of a thousand hate crimes.
These are the words that were shouted in my head as I looked into the mirror today. Seconds before, I’d been thinking on my love for people, for my friends and for those who are learning and growing. A slight inclination of pride raised its curious head before I saw the physical mess in the bathroom around me, and the loathing bit back with such a force that I thought pride had been beaten. That is when I looked into the mirror, and said to myself: Yours is the face of a thousand hate crimes. For each time you hated yourself, neglected yourself, hurt yourself. For each time you denied yourself love, grace, and forgiveness. Yours is the face of such hate that I wonder how you dare to think you even care for another.
I realised in that moment, that the monster called Self-Loathing is wearing a mask. It comes bearing the title of ‘saviour’ as it tears down any inklings of pride and ego. Arrogance is threatened and either dies quickly or holds its ground with all the futile stubbornness that a big head can muster. And for a moment you think you’ve escaped the trap of every human: to think he or she is better than they truly are.
You are mistaken. Self-hatred is not humility; it is a deep and destructive form of pride. Self-Loathing takes off its mask to reveal itself as a parasite that only destroys one strain of pride to bury a stronger, more elusive form of the disease.
For years I hated myself, and held no grace for my shortcomings, because I believed that was the pursuit of humility. Little did I know that some time later, pulling out the roots and thorns of that hate would expose some very deep-seated pride.
I believed that I was beyond repair, beyond forgiveness, beyond hope, and beyond love. Not only from humankind but from God Himself. The One who created me; who knit me together in my mother’s womb; the same One who, in His infinite, unsurpassable love, promised that nothing could separate us; that I could be made new and set free; that I could enjoy a new life; the One who inspired me to give that unending grace and mercy to all those around me. But I could not receive any of this from Him, because I could not give it to myself.
For every time that I looked in the mirror and hated what I saw, I hated God’s creation. For every time I sat in despair and hated how useless I was, I hated God’s promise to complete the good work he had started. For every time I denied myself forgiveness and hated the choices I had made, I hated God’s sacrifice, I cheapened His glory.
I didn’t think I was big, I thought God was small. In my mind I made Him weak, and as time went on I became more and more important. All my transgression and failure was so overshadowing to the omnipotence of God.That is a dangerous, sneaky, burrowing form of pride.
And it is only now, as I have begun to rake my soul and meticulously remove the weeds that hate and pride once planted, that I have been able to allow myself the grace that God has been longing to lavish upon me. It is only now that my grace for others stems not from duty and pride, but from the deepest love that a humble heart recognises can only come from the God for whom and through whom everything exists.
Aug 14, 2012
Ahhh. Breathe in that fresh start, that new air. It’s not pure by any standard – it smells like a mixture of car fumes and the neighbour’s stagnant garden. It’s cold and it makes my nose run, but I was never really one for the finer things and this is glorious.
Freedom from your mind is great until you realise that it’s captive to your body anyway, it’s hard to escape your physicality when you’re tied down.
Ahhh. Breathe.
I can go anywhere. Do anything. Be anyone. It’s both overwhelming and exhilarating. That thought, that I could.
But I won’t. Not yet anyway. Because as much as I can, I think where I really want to go is here; who I really want to be, I already am; and all I really want to do is help you find out who you are. To tell you that you can do anything.
I can’t get away from loving you. From loving You.
Freedom from your mind is great until you realise that it’s captive to your body anyway, it’s hard to escape your physicality when you’re tied down.
Ahhh. Breathe.
I can go anywhere. Do anything. Be anyone. It’s both overwhelming and exhilarating. That thought, that I could.
But I won’t. Not yet anyway. Because as much as I can, I think where I really want to go is here; who I really want to be, I already am; and all I really want to do is help you find out who you are. To tell you that you can do anything.
I can’t get away from loving you. From loving You.
Jun 13, 2012
Put it down in one thought
Put it down on one letter
Get it out in one song
If you can
All of it all at once
Yearning longing pain frustration
Where do we go from here?
Where do I go from here?
Is this always what you'd wanted?
Is this all you'd ever hoped I would be?
Because when I look in the mirror
I'm not so sure that I like what I see
I'm afraid that sickness I saw in you
is also inside me.
Did you do all you could?
Did you fight for it after all?
Did you recover all that was taken
And give back all that you stole?
Did you do right by me?
And was it really that troubling?
Because I'd like to have a crack at it some day
And I'd like to think I'll do okay
But you've left me with these stumbling blocks
These hurdles and hoops
Keep me in circles and loops.
And I'm trying
To get through it all
Trying
To believe that I'll never fall
That I'll never make the wrongs you did
But I have to believe that there's something at the end
That makes it all okay
Something to comfort me at the end of the longest day.
And I know it
And I know Him
But I also know the aching
And I wish he'd take it away.
Put it down on one letter
Get it out in one song
If you can
All of it all at once
Yearning longing pain frustration
Where do we go from here?
Where do I go from here?
Is this always what you'd wanted?
Is this all you'd ever hoped I would be?
Because when I look in the mirror
I'm not so sure that I like what I see
I'm afraid that sickness I saw in you
is also inside me.
Did you do all you could?
Did you fight for it after all?
Did you recover all that was taken
And give back all that you stole?
Did you do right by me?
And was it really that troubling?
Because I'd like to have a crack at it some day
And I'd like to think I'll do okay
But you've left me with these stumbling blocks
These hurdles and hoops
Keep me in circles and loops.
And I'm trying
To get through it all
Trying
To believe that I'll never fall
That I'll never make the wrongs you did
But I have to believe that there's something at the end
That makes it all okay
Something to comfort me at the end of the longest day.
And I know it
And I know Him
But I also know the aching
And I wish he'd take it away.
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About Me
- some girl
- Just trying to figure this whole thing out and getting it wrong along the way.