broken pieces

I was smiling.  I was calm.  My head was up, and I moved with purpose and confidence.  Pretty good at hiding, right?  But when I sat, I settled in the farthest cushion, my body pressed tight against the arm of the couch.  I grabbed a pillow and plopped it on my lap.  It might’ve seemed casual, but I’ve realized that this is my defensive posture.  Maybe a little space and one pillow between me and her doesn’t seem like much, but it’s comforting.  It’s something.

She began by asking me if I knew what we were meeting about.  Yeah, I knew.  It took them this long to figure out that I, the girl they kicked out of school in the spring, was back on campus, all moved in, and a week and a half into classes.  Yep, I’m back.  I didn’t ask them first.  I just came.

It was a good talk.  A little awkward, but good.  I tried my best to convince her that I really am doing well… though I don’t know how much of that I got across.  All I know is that they seem okay with me being here.  They’re not going to kick me out again.  I mean, not unless I tell them I’m suicidal again.

But I realized one thing.  I don’t trust her.  Because she’s in charge.  I don’t trust any of the “student affairs” people.  I don’t trust the counselors or the nurse.  I don’t trust the professors, not the ones who know me, not enough to tell them how I’m doing.  I’ve lost it.  She asked how they could earn that trust back, but I didn’t know what to say.  I’ve already made the choice not to trust them.  And at the end of this school year, I will be graduating, and I will be done with this college.  What’s the use of putting my trust in people who will only be in my life for a couple more months?

So.  If anything does happen.  If depression hits again and I cut and puke and want to die, what will I do?  I won’t tell them.  They cannot know.  So will I tell anyone?  I’m so afraid that if I tell my friends, if I tell the people I know, then they’ll tell the administration, and I’ll get kicked out again.

I’m so tired of this crap ruling my life.  It’s not going to happen, okay?  I’m not going to kill myself.  I’ve made that choice.  No matter how much I want to die, no matter how terrible things get, how much I hurt people, or how much better off people would be without me, I’m not going to kill myself.  I’m not.  I will clench my teeth and close my eyes and live through another day.  And even if that means I’m in misery the rest of my life, that’s what I’m sticking to.  I’m not going to kill myself.

I so want people to believe me when I say I’m doing well.  Because really, I am.  I mean, besides the fact that I’m a little tense right now, I’m doing great.  I’ve been confident.  I’ve been truly and completely happy.  I wake up every morning and smile at the sky.  The moment I’m outside, I start thanking God for all the wonderfulness of the day.  I actually feel like I can do this, like I have a purpose in my life.  It’ll be okay.

But there are still broken pieces of my life scattered on the floor.  Like the bits of glass you find in the carpet a week after you cleaned up the shards of a lovely vase.

Trust is broken, from so many angles.  I don’t know if I’ll ever trust them… or if they’ll ever trust me.

I realized that maybe I’m a little hurt still, a little bitter.  Everything’s still very fresh.  And the thing is, I’m also still very vulnerable.  Tonight, after the meeting, I wanted to talk to a friend.  But instead I drew within myself.  I stared off into space and thought of all the things I wanted to say, all the things I wasn’t saying.  I sat in silence.  And as I sat, as strange desire grew inside me to purge and cut and hurt. 

It’s still there.  Deep inside me, there are still remnants of it all, even though I’ve been doing so well.  I don’t want to let it discourage me, I want to keep going like I am… and yet, it is discouraging.

And so I want to curl up in a ball on the corner of the couch and hug a pillow to my chest.  If I can condense myself into my smallest form and hide from the world, maybe I will feel safe.  Maybe I won’t need to trust anyone, because no one will see me.  Maybe it’ll be fine that no one trusts me. 

But… I can’t get away from me.  And there’s a part of me, much bigger than I want to admit, which does not trust myself at all.

Please, don’t let me hurt anyone this year.  I want to be free.  Please.  Please.

wild

Let me be a wild woodland brownie.  Let me run barefoot down the deerpaths, with slow curling, gentle unfurling ferns reaching to touch my knees and wispy grass brushing my ankles.  Let me feel the softness of moss-carpet beneath my feet, let me tumble the rubbery mushroom houses with my toes.  Let me spin, arms out and eyes closed, in the warm beams of sunshine that spill through the trees.  Let me dance to the music of the forest, to the warble of the bright cardinal, the high melody of the crickets, and the whisper of the leaves in the wind.

Let me be wild.  Let me be free.  Let me be me.

I want to slip through the forest unseen, unheard, leaving blessings and beauty and laughter in the hearts of those I meet.  I want to watch tired faces break into smiles and shine.  I want to watch dull eyes brighten and gleam with excitement and joy.  I want people to live again, and to love living.  I want them to look up at the sky with the unabashed awe of a child.  I want them to grasp what it means to wonder again.

The wind is roaring in the night… can anyone else hear it?  It’s so beautiful, so strong.  Like a lion’s roar.  Like thunder echoing through the hills.  God’s voice, speaking to me, reminding me He’s here, and He’s big, and He’s still in control.  I want to run, to cry, to feel, to know.  What does the air taste like when you’re alive and breathing deep and free?

I want to ride the wind.  I want to leap into the air and fly, far, far away.  I want to breath the wild golden wisps of morning mist that rise from the water.  I want to be caught by no one, to live without walls, without restrictions.  I want to be free.  I want to get out of this cage.

Let me walk.  Let me run.  Let me eat.  Let me laugh.  Let me swing.  Let me climb as high as I wish, and ride in the tops of the highest trees as they sway in the wind.  Let me sing, and let me sing with all my heart.  Do not judge me, do not condemn me.  I am me, and I am wild.  Try to catch me and hold me to the ground, and you will feel my anger, you will see my pain.  There is wilderness in my blood… I can only be in a cage so long before I lose control and mania takes over.

Let me be free.  Let me breathe.  Let me sing.  Let me love.  Do not tell me how to live my life.  You are not me, and you do not know me.  I am wild.  I am free.  I will only survive if the wild survives in me.

glimpses of sunshine

I’m just gonna write.  Write, write, and see what comes out.  It’s 3:30 in the morning, and I have a couple hours before everyone wakes up.  A couple hours to enjoy the silence, to think, to dream, to remember.  This is life.  And life is good.

Oh, there are so many things that have happened in my life these past couple months.  It’s August already, and I only have two weeks left at camp.  Only two weeks!  It’s crazy.  But it’s been a wonderful summer.

I’ve lost weight.  I don’t know how much, but I know it’s not too much.  And I think it’s stopped.  Eating has been a battle, oh so much of a battle.  There have been weeks where I was well into the danger zone with calorie consumption, even for me.  Two weeks ago, I came SO close to passing out because I was so low on nutrients.  It was in front of everyone, too.  That would’ve been bad.  And then one week ago, I crashed, physically and mentally.  I purged for the first time in months, hated myself, and begged to die.

But I lived.  I walked back from the bathroom and sat under the awning, watching the rain.  Breathe in… breathe out  It’s gonna be okay.  The lake was beautiful.  As the rain was falling, mist was rising up and swirling across the surface of the water.  I stared at it, all the time fighting within myself and refusing to go to the bathroom and do it again, refusing to go back to the cabin and make myself bleed, refusing to punish myself for falling, for failing again.  I just sat there, tense and tight, clenching my fists and trying not to shake.

But then the battle eased, ever so slowly, and I found I could stand again.  In the week since then, I’ve been alternating between falling apart in the moments I’m alone, and pouring my heart and life into my kids when I’m not alone.  I can’t say it’s gotten better. This basically describes how it’s been all summer.  Lots of struggles, lots of battles.  But I am alive.  I’ve gone a little more crazy, taken a lot more risks, and now my hands shake continuously.  But I’m alive.  And you know what?  I’m glad.  Because there are so many wonderful things in my life, so many joys, so many glimpses of sunshine.

Last weekend, I stayed up late talking with some friends and arguing out my doubts about life and its worth.  One thing that helps me is the fact that the kids need me.  I can’t just die and leave them uncared for.  But then… on the weekends when they’re gone… I feel just as worthless as ever.  So one friend was telling me that there are people in my future that God wants me to impact.  There is a reason for my being here, right up to the point where God takes me home.  Even if I have to stay alive until I’m 100 just so I can give one smile to one person and make their day a little brighter, it’s worth it.  It’s worth it.  It’s not over til it’s over.

That was a glimpse of sunshine, when he said that to me.  It was really encouraging.  There’ve been so many of those this summer.  Reminders that life is not all darkness and disappointment.  Random hugs from friends, little notes of encouragement, or just having people tell me what I’m doing well.  It all makes me super happy.

And the kids.  Oh, the kids.  There are so many glimpses of sunshine that I see through them.  Do you know the sense of joy when there are ten kids all calling your name and running to you the minute they see you?  It’s great.  Oh, it’s so great to be wanted, to be loved.  The little girls rush to hold my hand, they beg me to do their hair, they ask me to tuck them in at night.  Even when I can’t spend all of every day with them, they still love me.  They’re so excited to see me.  Sunshine.  Beautiful sunshine.

When they’re sad, they come to me.  They’re so little, and for many of them, this is their first time away from home.  They miss their families, and they cry at night.  They’re afraid of thunder and dark and spiders.  But I can comfort them.  I love sitting them beside me and pulling them close, just holding them and telling them it’s okay.  I love sitting with them at night and holding their hands until they fall asleep.  I love singing with them and getting them to laugh.

Oh, their laughter.  If I had nothing else to live for, I would live for their laughter.  They laugh when something’s funny.  They never hold it in.  They laugh when they find out how easy it is to make me laugh.  Last week, there was one girl in my cabin who made it her mission to make me laugh every time she saw me.  All she had to do was just stare at me, do a little dance, or make a silly face, and I was gone.  She was just so cute!  I couldn’t help but laugh.

So many glimpses of sunshine…

The little boys’ faces when we broke the dam and released their makeshift river to rush raging down the trail.

Little boys talking to me and holding my hand and giving me hugs, even though I was a girl and it’s a well-established fact at camp that people of the opposite gender have cooties.

Her face when I put the flower crown on her head.  

Little girl trying the climbing wall even though she was scared.

One girl encouraging another who was crying.  She didn’t even know her.  She just saw her crying and went to help.

Kids dancing.

Kids jumping up and down, trying to get a counselor’s hat.

Kids huddled in little groups, giving their lives to Christ.

Their faces afterward.

Little voices singing.

Heartfelt prayers.

Shy kids finding the courage to speak in front of everyone.

And then there’s everything else that pours sunshine into my life… like chocolate.  And sunsets.  Sunrises.  The sound of the wind in the trees.  People being kind to me.  People asking how I’m REALLY doing.  People caring.  Flowers.  Squirrels.  Writing secret messages on birch bark and hiding it for someone someday to find.  Community.  Climbing trees.  Splash wars.  Getting messy.  Running hard.  Eating berries straight from the bush.  Listening to stories.  Playing with fire.  Staring at the stars.  Deep conversations with good friends late at night.

Life is good.  There’s a lot of sunshine, a lot of smiles.  It’s gonna be okay.  The darkness will never last.  A little sunshine will always make its way through.  Also:  Jesus really does love me.  It’s crazy, but he does.  I don’t get it.  But I really like it.