Run for the Border(Line)

Hello! I want to say first and foremost thank you for being here. I have learned through this process how much I value other's time and attention and I don't take it lightly that you are here and caring about me by taking time to read this. Previously, I haven't shared my blog because I wanted to be able to write whatever I want whenever I wanted without feeling censored. Yet I fear my attempts to become exceptionally free have made me exceptionally hidden. I want a place to be painstakingly honest, so I am still doing that...only in a more open way. I feel tired of hiding and I want no more secrets.

This is your trigger warning and my plea to turn back - this is real, honest, vulnerable, and at times gut wrenching thoughts. At times, the things I say here (or have posted in years past) may sound scary or make you uncomfortable and I apologize as that is not my intent. We can talk about it. I'm posting this to start the conversation so please feel free to push back, to ask questions or to share your thoughts.

Be forewarned!

If you've known me for any length of time you have seen my life work in a circle of ever-destructive and contradicting patterns. It's such a curious thing. I have sat in front of some of you (I'm looking at you Deanna and Darcie!) for hours and hours and even years and years as we've analyzed and tried so hard to dissect and figure out "what was wrong." 

I fought tooth and nail that I did not have anything diagnosable because at that time no diagnoses I knew about seemed to fit and everyone - friends, family, and counselors agreed. We puzzled together until our puzzlers were sore trying to figure out what could be causing this seemingly never-ending cycle of pain and hurt. I even have journals from 10th grade where I created a name for this...this whatever it was... because I felt like I had invented a new disease no one had before! I felt like an alien and totally at a loss about what to do or how to "fix" it. 

But as it came to pass, I was sitting in a grad school class last month beaming over recently having passed a personality test when our professor casually brought up the subject of personality disorders.

"Personality disorders don't show up on this test" she said.

I flipped to the back of the book to glance through them and there it was. A personality disorder. It listed all these symptoms. All these clues. All these behaviors. It described my life. I felt devastated! After my years of seeking to prove I did not have a diagnoses, there was a diagnoses staring me straight in the face and it was one I could not argue with. I tried to close the book. I tried to forget about it. I tried to pretend I hadn't seen it. I decided I could dissect the criteria later and maybe I would realize I didn't have it after all. But later that night when I was alone, I opened my book back to that spot and with each new sentence I read, I felt more and more seen and heard and understood. The more I read, the more I related to it. 

You have to understand the amazement in this discovery. Imagine having something that no one you have met has had!! Imagine having feelings that you could never explain to anyone! Imagine sitting in counselors offices for twenty years - TWENTY YEARS - and trying to explain to them why you are doing what you do and they scratch their heads and mumble something about unresolved trauma. Imagine trying to figure out what it is and having no name to call it and no way to describe it and constantly feeling like you are a fish born into a world of dogs and then twenty-eight years into your life someone tells you about the ocean that you didn't know existed.

But I HATE diagnoses! I grew up in the counseling world, trained with a very internal locus of control. This means I believe I have control over my actions and what happens to me. While this is not a bad belief overall, it can cause problems when fully lived out when you believe you are at fault for absolutely everything in your life. I was trained and told by many counselors to "never be a victim" and taught that depression and anxiety are merely signs of someone who didn't get enough sleep or sunlight or didn't exercise enough. I didn't believe in brain chemicals. I believed whatever was wrong with me could be fixed if only I could do the right thing, if only I could find the right eating or exercise regiment, if only I could read the right Bible verse or pray enough times...if only I could do things right for once then maybe my brain would work perfectly fine. Although this had been proven false in my life many times, I find myself still having a difficult time accepting that I may have a diagnoses. I wanted to believe (and still do) that I have control over my brain and if I wanted to be healthy bad enough then I would be able to be. If only I could try a bit harder!! I am trying to understand this isn't true and having a diagnoses doesn't mean I failed at trying hard enough.

I thought having a diagnoses was a death sentence. Except worse because it was a death sentence I could never tell anyone about because no one would understand me and they would treat me weird. I finally felt peace when I decided to accept this like a cancer diagnosis. I don't mean any disrespect to people who truly have cancer because that is so serious, but in my brain associating this disorder with something like depression doesn't cut it for me. People get cancer and they didn't do anything to deserve it. People get cancer and it's not because they didn't try hard enough. People get cancer and it's not because of the way they were raised or because of some trauma in the past that they didn't work through well enough or because of their lack of trying to be healthy. People get cancer because some people just get cancer. Of course the environment and genetics play a major role but the bottom line is, when someone gets cancer we don't spend years trying to figure out how or why and we don't waste time trying to imagine how to go back in time and avoid the cancer. Instead we spend all our time and energy trying to live in the present treatment and work towards remission. We would never tell someone with cancer that maybe they aren't thinking enough positive thoughts or maybe if they tried to get more sleep their cancer will go away.

When people get cancer they can do one of two things. 1. They can sit there and wait to die. They can have the victim mentality and they can let it eat up their body. OR 2. They can sit up and look at the doctor and say "what can I do to fight this?"

I’ve decided to fight it. I decided to ask how and what to do. But it's going to take a lot of time and a lot of help and a lot of support.

It's interesting to me that the Lord did not reveal this diagnoses to me earlier when I was searching for so many years but maybe I wasn't ready before like I'm ready now.

Okay ready? I'm going to say it. Ready? 

Okay.



Ready?




Okay.


Okay. Okay okay. Here it goes. Okay.







Borderline Personality Disorder.


It sounds kinda yucky even though I've come around to it. It sounds scary. I hate the name personality disorder - that in and of itself just feels negative like there is something inherently wrong with the person of me. If someone told me they had that, I would probably wrinkle my nose and furrow my eyebrows. Actually, I still do that when I say it.

So now we know. Now we know it has a name. Now we know it's a thing and I didn't invent a new disease! (Bummer though because I was excited to have my own Netflix documentary) It's crazy to me how I believed diagnoses to be a death sentence and yet feeling like I have something that other people have had before has been a breath of life. Feeling like I have something that I can work on, something tangible that I can say and explain and study...that is the furthest thing from devastating, it is hopeful.

Now that we know, I wanted to have a conversation about what it means. I want to talk about what this looks like and how it practically plays out in my life. I am still learning and I have a long ways to go, so I am sharing with you and you can share with me and we can learn and I have hope that maybe someday my life can be better. I have hope that maybe I can not always live in the shadow of this but rather speak in my thirties about the time in my teens and twenties when I struggled with a mental illness.

There's a lot of technical jargon that I've been reading through for school but I'll spare you the clinical terms and instead just tell you how BPD looks in my life (In no particular order)

1. Fear of abandonment. I live in immense fear or friendships ending and usually that fear causes them to end. I don't know what this looks like for anyone else but for me it looks sort of similar to short term memory loss.

A friend can text me at 10am but somehow by 6pm I feel like we haven't spoken in ages! I feel lonely and I want to reach out but I realize we just spoke this morning so I try to hold back. Somehow I begin to believe my friend no longer wants to be my friend and we probably shouldn't talk anymore.

We can spend the whole day together and in the car on the ride home, my brain convinces me that was our last time to hang out because my friend is probably exhausted from me. I suddenly feel really sad that we had such a fun "last" day together and I feel hurt and neglected since I'm convinced now we won't be able to hang out again for a long, long time. Within 10 minutes I can run from warm fuzzy feelings to feeling abandoned and unloved. This is exhausting and tiresome and is shaped from fear. So. Much. Fear.

I think it's significant that's it's called "borderline" because that is so often how my life feels -- Always passionate but always on the border between passionately good and passionately bad. Always on the border between love and hate for others and self. Always on the border of wondering if this is safe or unsafe, if I am loved or unloved. I could always go either way. My life is walking a thin tightrope and constantly working to remain upright. Balancing is exhausting. Most people's brain's balance this for them but my brain doesn't.

I can hear someone reading this and thinking “well just don’t think that way!” I’m trying, friends, I am really trying. The efforts that you see are LIGHTYEARS better than what they used to be. One of the most discouraging times in my life was when church friends I had come to know and love, criticized me for some behaviors and told me they no longer wanted to be around me. Nothing ever felt so ironic in my life because I was such a better version of myself than I had been previously!! They should have seen me when I was 13!! or 16! or 21! You should have seen the havoc I could wreck. You should have seen the carelessness with which I destroyed everything around me.

But I do care now and I am trying. It feels hard. Successes are slow and long coming. The brain is not easy to re-train.

2. Constantly suicidal - I've always believed I will eventually die from committing suicide. I know how crazy that sounds and I know for you reading this that might feel scary or shocking but I am being honest about the thoughts in my head. It's not devastating or scary to me, it's simply a fact. I have notes written to the important people ready and when I gain new close friends I add a new note to them. Once while going for a long run, I planned out this whole idea of how I could do a suicide photo shoot before I die where I would get these cute pictures of me taken in front of a street sign that says "dead end" and a picture of me with suitcases and then I would post them on my social media before I left. It's easy for my brain to decide to die and it is not unusual. This is not a cry for help - I AM NOT currently suicidal. I do not need you to worry about me or call me when you read this. I am simply stating the fact that ending my life feels comforting to me and always has. I used to think everyone felt the same way as me but I have learned now that this is true mental illness because everyone, does not in fact, feel this way.

3. Lack of Instincts/Lack of Understanding "Normal" - One MAIN struggle with this diagnoses is that MY INSTINCTS ARE WRONG so I am always trying to fight them and this creates a constant war inside of me that is difficult to navigate. Imagine being a porcupine without knowing when to shoot off quills or imagine being a skunk and not knowing who to spray. When someone nice approaches you, you quill them or spray them and they get scared and run away! But when you are in the presence of danger you remain still. It's backwards. That's what this diagnoses is!

Here's a good way to explain it: Imagine a severely autistic person who does not know when it is appropriate to say "hello" to someone so they scream "HELLO!" during a prayer but are silent when introduced to new people. This autistic person can be trained how to do this properly. They can learn through negative and positive reinforcement how to say hello when they meet someone and how to be quiet during prayers. But even when learning, this is not instinctual. They have learned and they are following the "rules" someone has trained into them but it will never come natural to them. That's how my brain works. I have trained myself how to respond but it's a struggle. It's not natural. When I interact healthily in a special friendship, it's because I have trained myself to follow the rules.

If you have more questions about this I'll be happy to explain further. Basically, I used to love people as much as I wanted but people got scared so now I have tried to "fix" it. This causes a lot of problems because now I am not allowed to "miss" people or act too loving to them. When I do miss people or show love to them, I get scared that they will get scared and I feel like I broke "the rules." I learned and created each new "rule" through trial and error and broken friendships. Each friendship that ends adds more rules to my list with the goal of trying to train my instincts to be better. This is totally exhausting! 

4. Favorite person - this needs it's own post. This is so complicated and so intimate that I cannot adequately describe it here but this has been by far the most wonderful part of learning about this diagnoses. Having a favorite person my whole life had me convinced that I truly belonged in the nuthouse and never being able to adequately explain it to a counselor has been the most isolating thing of my life. I have never met another person who has favorite people like me, but now reading through other's posts who have this diagnosis has been eye-opening. I cannot believe this is a real thing and there are other people like me!! I cannot believe the relatable words others are using to describe this phenomena, one that I felt alone in for so long.

5. Belief that I am bad/Self punishment/Overcorrection - this is so complicated but basically I believe I am bad and ABSOLUTELY EVERYTHING I DO stems from that belief. Borderline Personality Disorder is like wearing a bad pair of glasses and everything you see and think is processed through those bad lenses.

This relates back to #3 - Lack of good instincts - because when I feel my instincts have failed, I get angry with myself for not following the "rules." It's complicated but here's a real life example to try to tie this all together:

A friend was gone on a family vacation for a few weeks. I missed her. I wanted to talk to her but was trying to hold back because bothering friends on a family vacation is definitely against "the rules" that I have learned. After several weeks of not seeing each other, she came back and came over to visit! I was so excited and showed my excitement and even told her that I missed her! But just like the porcupine who misfires his quills, alarm bells went off in my brain: "You are not allowed to miss people!!! You cannot miss your friend when she is gone for just a few weeks!! She'll be scared if she knows you missed her!! That's not normal. You are breaking the rules!!!"

In a desperate attempt to appear normal I decide I should "even things out" (as well as punish myself for breaking the rules) so I should not speak to her for the next several days so she knows I didn't miss her that much, I should refuse to text her back and act aloof when seeing her in public.

Sounds crazy right? But in my brain, it's like clockwork. It happens without any internal discussion. It's completely automatic. Suddenly, I am home and missing my friend more than ever since I have ignored her and wasn't friendly when we saw each other when all I really wanted to do was hug her and talk to her but I'm so so scared she'll think I'm not normal. Meanwhile, my friend is left scratching her head wondering what the heck happened, wondering why I appeared aloof for no reason, feeling bewildered at my behavior and exhausted by me and probably feeling like taking a break from me which causes me to panic further since I now believe I have ruined our friendship. It's a vicious cycle. It is totally and completely exhausting. Have I said that yet?! It's all consuming and constantly ruins friendships -- which major sucks since that's exactly what I'm trying to not to do!

If I could tell my close friends a few things about this diagnoses and they would only listen for a moment, this is what I would say:

1. I’m sorry - this is not a self deprecating I’m sorry but rather an empathetic true apology for the ways that I am selfish, the ways I have pushed you, and for the high expectations I have. I’m sorry that the world is sinful and yucky. I'm sorry that this happened and I am sorry that we are all living in the consequences of the world. I understand that I am no more messed up or special or different than anyone else. I am strong like others and I struggle like others. I am going to fight this and I need help. I am sorry that some days with me are tough.

2. Understand that I am afraid. When my actions don't make sense it's because I am acting out of a place of immense fear. Please communicate that you still love me (if you do).  Isolation and loneliness breed the fear. When I act bad, it’s not on purpose. I am not a victim and I have choices and I can choose, but patterns aren’t easy to break. Sometimes I do crazy, impulsive, or extremely hurtful things but it's not on purpose. This is a diagnoses and a disorder because it is a pattern of thinking ingrained in my head and if I could change it really easily, I would have by now.

3. Please spend time with me. I love spending time with you. It's the supremely important thing to me. It's my favorite favorite thing to spend time with people I love!! If you have to change plans with me, please try to give me as much time to adjust as possible and explain that it's not because you don't want to be with me. I know sometimes it's not possible to keep plans because life happens and I get that (I don't really "get that" but I'm trying to!). I am so desperately alone that I never miss out on times with friends so when you miss out on time with me, it feels like the ultimate rejection. I am working to not view it through those BPD lenses but when you don't spend time with me, I immediately believe it's because you don't like me and never will again. I immediately believe I did something wrong and ruined our friendship. I am working on changing those beliefs. If you have to cancel plans with me, please know it takes me some extra time to adjust. Please be patient and understanding. Please know that I value our time together as gold. 

4. I have good in me but there are days when the good won’t win. I am fighting this but there are days when I am exhausted and I take a break from fighting it or days when I flat out don't know what to do. You have my permission to lovingly call me out and push me back in line. I will probably argue with you but inside I will feel loved and cared for. Please be patient with me.

5. Pray for me. I feel nervous because some people who get diagnosed with cancer feel this false hope that God will miraculously heal them. Some people change their eating habits and they eat all the right cancer-fighting super foods and they have others lay hands on them and pray...but at the end of the day they still have cancer. I believe God can absolutely miraculously heal but I also believe sometimes He doesn't. I believe I have to still do my part by going to chemo treatments. I want to fight this. I want to beat it. I think I can do it. But boy am I ever resistant to treatment. So pray for God's healing if you want to, but more than that, please pray for life in the present moment with this diagnoses to be fruitful. Pray specifically that God will help treatment be sought, treatment to be successful and eventually that this will go into remission and that we can call me a BPD survivor.

For further insight (as if you did not already just read enough!) check out these two posts by others like me!

10 Things I Wish My Loved Ones Knew About Borderline Personality Disorder

Symptoms of Borderline Personality Disorder We Don't Talk About

I hate disappointment so I work hard to not put my hope in things that can lead to disappointment which unfortunately seems to be everything. I live life as a rule without hope. But this year, I am practicing hoping. I am trying to hope that recovery is possible, remission is possible, healing is possible and that abundant life is possible even during this. I am a little on the border 😂 of fear and hope, but I'm leaning towards hope.

Oh, Little Heart

Oh little heart, little heart, go into the light

I know it's bright

I know it's hard

But, oh little heart, go into the light

Oh little heart, little heart, open your hands

Let go of demands

Rest your swinging fists

Oh little heart, stop fighting, open your hands

Oh little heart, little heart, rest your weary eyes

He hears your cries

Dry those tears

Oh little heart, so scared, rest your weary eyes

Oh little heart, little heart, listen to what's true

You are being made new

Stop the radio static

Oh little heart, open your ears, listen to what's true

Oh little heart, when you feel the need to hurt

When you feel the need to harm

When the pain you must divert

And your senses you alarm

When other's words you must invert

And your defenses you must arm

When false strength you must exert

And all others you must charm

Oh little heart STOP

Stop pulling away, stop pushing away

Stop the tug of war and relent!

Settle down.

Breathe.

Lament.

Oh little heart, little heart, keep beating slow and steady

With each breath you are more ready

Accept love and concede

Little heart, you deserve to succeed 

Recovery Part 1

I woke up drowsy and sticky, my hair matted to my neck from falling asleep with it wet. I stumbled to the bathroom and stopped at the sink, the reality of who I am sinking in and jolting me to full awareness.

A seething feeling awoke in the pit of my stomach. I knew I couldn’t fix my hair because if I made eye contact with the traitor in the mirror I would break something so I kept my head down.

“You disgust me.” Myself whispered to myself.

I felt my fingers curl into my palms and my jaw set.

“You’re despicable.”

I tried to ignore it. I tried to take a deep breath and count to ten.

“You know you’re going to fail.” The voice, no longer a whisper, now taunted boldly.

I felt my blood boiling but I stood silent and unmoved, head down.

“Let’s just call this what it is. We already know you will not make it long term, so go ahead and mess up now.”

My fist clinched so tightly into my palms that I could feel my finger nails digging into my skin. My heart was pumping fast.

“Shut. Up.” I tried in my sternest tone but my voice cracked and gave me away.

“You will never actually recover, you know that right? You were addicted for too long. This is your life now.”

A single hot bitter tear escaped from my eye and I slowly looked up in the mirror. I saw myself. I saw who I was. I saw what I did. I made eye contact with myself. In a millisecond of rage and adrenaline I pulled back my fist and punched the glass with as much strength as I could muster.

The shatter was loud and satisfying and then deafening. The blood from my knuckles dripped into the sink.

In a frenzy I screeched like a wild animal being attacked in the forest and grabbed fistfuls of glass and squeezed them as tightly as I could until my hands were so full of blood I could not see my fingernails. I felt no pain, only anger. Only hatred. I kept squeezing glass until my fingers went numb.

One long slender shard twinkled on the counter top, catching my eye and presenting itself to me as if to allure me in, knowing full well what I would do. I gave in willingly and grabbed the glass, using my bloody hand to pull up my shirt and expose unharmed skin. I watched the glass pierce my stomach and the most wretched redemption song shook my body.

I only love pain. I only love failure.

My body crumpled on the rug, spattered red with blood. I laid my head on the cold bathroom floor and watched a fresh puddle on the rug slowly soak into the threads. My stained red arms tingled beside me. I briefly wondered how many towels I would stain trying to clean this mess.

I felt dizzy and faint. How could I be tormented any further? How could addiction possibly be any worse than recovery? I can’t decide which is worse. I debated with myself until I gave up deciding and closed my eyes.


********************

Can I please go live somewhere until the withdrawals pass? Is there some sort of detox drug I can take to ease this unrelenting torment?

Is this the hardest part? Does it get easier? Someone tell me it gets easier. Will I always feel this much self-hatred? The anger and the regret and the guilt, how long does it take to go away? It’s all consuming. Does it ever go away? It’s swallowing me, I can’t see anything but red. What if I live the rest of my life with this much hatred?

The shakes. The headaches. The nausea. The anxiety.

This is not hard. I refuse to admit that it’s hard. I refuse to admit I want the drug. I refuse to admit I was addicted. The hard part is ME. The hardest person to fight is ME. The determination in me to self sabotage is relentless and unyielding.

I want myself to fail. Not because I’m tempted by the drug, no, I’m way further tempted to watch myself crumple on the floor in defeat and mourning, desperately begging for love and acceptance without success.

Knowing that it’s forever, that’s the hardest to wrap my brain around. Knowing there is no end.

I coddle myself. I am the queen enabler to my own self. “It’s okay,” I coo “You poor thing, you don’t have to suffer forever, just for now,” I tell myself. Anytime I start a diet, anytime I’m in a sucky job, anytime I’m running long distances...anytime anything sucks. “This will be over soon,” I reassure myself.

And it works! I make it through long and miserable things because I know it’s over soon. I make it because I know this isn’t forever, it’s only for now.

But now when I begin to feel a panic in my gut, a deep overwhelming loss, I instinctively comfort myself. “It’s okay, you are only giving this up until...” wait. Until when? WHEN?! THERE IS NO END. You are giving this up until...until all eternity.

This isn’t just for now. This is forever. The shock is terrifying. How could I possibly make it forever? I can’t. I can’t. I can’t.

Someone tell me it gets better because I cannot bear the finality. It feels like death.


Oh.

My.

Gosh.


It’s a death!


Death. Oh. My. Gosh. It died.


Can you grieve your own sin? Can you miss it like it died? How wretched can you be to grieve it?

The cutting had gotten better but now it’s worse. It was so much better for years and thought I was cured. I thought I was done forever. But now I’ve failed in that too. What’s the difference between relapse and recovery? Can I ever fully recover from everything? That seems too impossible.

I can only solve one problem at a time. Life is so overwhelming and when you work on one problem, the others flare. I fear that if I switch my focus, the other problems will rise up so the question is -- really which drug do you fear the most? Which addiction is scariest?

I do not think I could ever tell enough people to stop feeling alone. I am alone. Recovery options are not options. I have to make up my own system and I am not that strong. I cannot handle this all on my own and yet I have to. It feels desperately alone.

The most hopeful thing of all is that for some reason my heart’s desire was to name this post “part one” which means that somewhere deep inside of me I must believe there is another step to this. I must believe somehow that I will proceed forward through this journey and that there will be another phase, a "part two."

Good Grief! (Grieving Good-er)

I can hear grief. My ears open and my head leans in. I can hear it like a locomotive far in the distance. I close my eyes and strain to listen. It is still miles away when I first hear the engine chugging and the wheels screeching. I can hear the whistle faintly and yet even in the quietness of it, I can tell it’s coming. It’s coming towards me louder, faster, closer. I can sense the hugeness of it. The train outweighs me, it can outrun me, it can hurt me, it can take my very life. And yet, I take off running towards it. It sounds familiar. It’s like you live in a house where you can always hear a train in the distance so when you hear it, it doesn’t sound scary or unusual. You don’t fear it anymore like when you were little. Now you are used to it and when it doesn’t come for a while you almost miss it. (Almost.) 

I can smell grief. It smells salty. Not good, not bad. Not sour or strong. Just familiar but displaced. Like if you were home alone and suddenly smelled an ocean. It’s salty like the cup of salt water your mom hands you to gargle with when your mouth is bleeding from a lost tooth. 

Grief tastes like a warhead that makes your mouth instantly water and your lips scrunch up. Your brain begins working like a Pavlov dog when you even see the wrapper. And yet, I crave it. Again and again and again. I crave it. I chose it over and over. I willingly pick up warheads, knowing there will be hell to pay. 

If grief had a color, I think it would be orange.

I grieve bad. I grieve ugly. I grieve long and hard and gross and loud. I grieve messy and reclusively and bumpy and jagged-y.

Somewhere along the way of life, I somehow, someway decided that I wanted my life to be full of grief. I decided that was not only okay, but what I actually desired. I decided that I needed to ambitiously and eagerly pursue a life of grief. And so I set out to do just that. Over and over and over and over again. I run headstrong towards change, temporary people, temporary situations, temporary jobs, short term stints. I say I hate change but I accept nothing less. I say I want permanency but I insist on momentary.

So, therefore, I have decided, as an act of my own will and a desire of my heart, I am going to learn to grieve better. I want to grieve less hard and less long and less gross and less loud. I want to grieve softer, creatively-er, and good...er. Less bumpy, less jagged-y. 

One time someone asked me how I grieved. "How do you handle grief?" She said. I smiled. It's a crazy question to ask someone, really. As if anyone has a typed up step-by-step grief plan. (We should though, shouldn't we?) I thought about it for a brief moment before I told her I handled it just fine. (For some reason pretending to be a non-emotional robot has been a favorite pastime of mine recently, I haven't the faintest clue why.) I said that I HANDLED GRIEF FINE. FINE! ME. ME. 

It's a humorous thing really if you know me. The girl who moved states in order to move on from someone. The girl who cries over everyone and everything. The girl who invented a stuffed animal personality to handle all the overflow emotions of life. 

I should have thrown down my water and screamed at her that I grieve TERRIBLY! 

But I am going to change that. I am going to ride the roller coaster and put fear aside. Half of why I grieve so bad is the fear. The panic. The anxiety. The lies I believe. "I'll never get over this. What if I miss this every day for the rest of my life!? What if I always feel this way?!" 

I believe I won't always feel this way.
I believe it will get better.
I believe that it's okay to be sad and it's okay to cry. And it's okay if I am sad for a long, long time.
I believe that no matter how I feel, TIME DOES make a difference. This won't always hurt the way it does right now. 
I believe in God. I trust that God has a plan for me. I trust that plan to include my life not always being in a grief place. 
I believe that grief is a process, a journey, and I believe I have tools and skills and strength to get through it and get through it well. 
I believe I can grieve GOOD(er)

Why I Leave (Impending Doom)

Pretend you are driving and you are enjoying it. There are no cars as far as the eye can see and the open road feels like a fresh breeze. You can feel your soul taking it all in. The trees are so bright, the grass is so green. Your favorite song comes on the radio and you don't even try to control the goofy grin on your face while you turn it up and belt out the tune. You feel invigorated and powerful. Happy. In control.

Slowly your speedometer begins to climb above the speed limit. 10 over isn't that bad, you reason. And besides, there is no one around and you have a long drive so you let your foot rest on the pedal and your speed increases slowly...so slowly you barely notice. There is no one this could hurt except myself, so it's okay, you think with a shrug. Cruising around you are totally relaxed, in your element.

Your eye flits to a yellow triangle sign so far over on the right that you are forced to turn your relaxed head to read it. It takes a second to sink in.

Dead End ahead.



You try to swallow the flash of fear that is overcoming your body. Suddenly you are aware of yourself tensing up and your heart palpitating. You turn the music down and sit up, trying to make a plan. After the shock disappears, you feel denial. How could this wide road be a dead end? Surely that sign was talking about a different road. Maybe there was an exit I didn't see and it was talking about that road. Or maybe that was on old sign and someone just forgot to take it down. Yeah, that's probably it!

But you know the truth. Because you've traveled on roads like this before. You know this is a dead end. Suddenly you realize you are going fast. Way, way too fast. You frantically press the brakes but they are a fake pedal, easily pressed down to the floor board of your car without catching anything or slowing your momentum. Is this a toy car?!

You can see in the faint distance an orange cone. A road block. It's a dead end.

It's only then that you realize you aren't driving. Your car is driving itself and you are completely out of control. The speedometer is still climbing - the red line inching up slowly and continually and you cannot do anything to stop it.

Panic.

You are going to die. Death is close. And there is nothing you can do. You aren't the driver. You cannot stop the car.

You play the options over in your head. Jump out of the car and die. Stay in the car and die. You've done this before. Jump out of the car and die. Stay in the car and die. What is the lesser of two evils? Suddenly you remember you are good at this. You force yourself to become totally relaxed. Not the real kind of relaxation but the adrenaline kind of survival relaxation. You take a deep breath and laugh because you knew you were right. You were right this whole time! You said this would happen and it did! (No one seems to believe you when you tell them how this has happened to you before). The orange cone is appearing closer. You see no road ahead -  only a large gap where your car will go off the cliff in moments.

I am in that car and I have crashed before. It's terrible. It takes months - years - of healing to get back to normal again. Years to sleep again. Years to drive again. And yet I keep getting in that car. I keep getting on that road.

I am always in that same car, going the same way with the same result. When people ask me why I have to leave I can't explain it to them. I can't tell them that my life is about to crash because they don't understand. It doesn't happen to most people so it's a difficult thing to explain.

I love people too much. And when I love them, we get in that car. It's not hard to do at first and it feels good. I feel happy and not scared. I feel high and in my element. I love others slowly but that speedometer is steady. It climbs and climbs and I begin to see a warning sign and then... well, I am scared now. Because we are going to crash. I saw the dead end sign and there's nothing I can do.

How can I not crash? How can I brake? How how how!? How do you live life in a normal way and still love others and keep it under control? I've been to counseling for years trying to learn how to brake. I've read millions of books about how to crash less hard. They even have invented medicine that makes you not feel the crash as bad. But I've decided, from now on, I'm just jumping out of the car. No more crashing.

I need saving. I need God. I don't know how to chose God without leaving. So in my life, I will make this decision again and again. I will only love my Savior. I will only worship my God. I will only serve Him. I will leave everything and everyone I love because my heart belongs only to Him and I seem incapable of keeping my loves prioritized.

This is why I leave. I leave places I love, I leave people I love, I leave things I care and am passionate about. Not because I want to but because if I don't, I will die.

(And if you don't know what to make of this, then we will not relate)

 

When I Am Sad

“What do you do when you are sad?” She asks me.

“I write.”

“What do you write?”

“I write.”

“What do you write?” She repeats, kindly and patiently, knowing I am slow to warm up.

Everything. I write books. I write poetry. I write blogs. I write on my stomach. I write on my shoes. I write at work and in the middle of the night and even in my dreams.

“I just journal sometimes” I offer casually, hoping I sound truthful. She jots it down in her notebook, satisfied with my answer. She doesn’t really care, she just needs an answer. She needs an answer that shows I am an adult capable of handling emotionally charged situations. She needs to write something down so she can type it up and prove she did her due diligence to research my ability to handle grief, loss, heartache and the emotional roller coaster that has become my life.

“Anything else?”

“Umm...” my voice trails off. Think. Think! What would a healthy person say?!

“I talk to people.” I offer, ironically refusing to make eye contact.

I cry. I scream. I pull over in the car and scream. I yell at God. I come home from work and lay on my bed without even taking my shoes off and I cry until I fall asleep. Sometimes I cut. Sometimes I run away. Sometimes I break the trash can in my car. Sometimes I take all the sadness and roll it in a big ball and stuff it way down in my big toe so that no one can ever find it, hopefully not even me.

Again, she takes my answer and jots it down in her notebook, seemingly satisfied with my healthy person approach.

“It’s okay to be sad.” She tilts her head and looks at me serious. Now she’s real. She’s not looking at her notebook, she’s looking at me. She cares about me. Stop it. Stop caring. She doesn’t just want an answer, she wants me personally to be okay.

“I have no feelings, like a robot” I tease – the safest way I can connect (or disconnect?).

She smiles, knowing it’s not true of course but believing me slightly. I hope she thinks I’m strong. I hope she thinks I don’t get sad very much. I hope she thinks I handle everything in stride. I hope she thinks I am healthy and strong and capable.

She closes her notebook and I sigh, realizing I was holding my breath. I breathe slowly and begin to write in my head.