wind in the night

The wind is whistling around the corners of the house, rattling the windows just a little bit.  It’s wonderful.  I don’t really know why I love the sound of wind… even when it’s terrifyingly strong, I love it.  Maybe it thrills me.  When it’s warm and the wind is blowing strong, I want to ride it, to fly, to be free.

At my home, there was this giant blue spruce tree that I used to climb.  I would go as high as I dared, and then I would get a firm grip on the trunk and wait.  The wind would come and rock the tree, and I would ride it.  It was the best thing ever.  Spruce trees are extremely flexible, so it would bend like crazy.  Though… I don’t think I was brave enough to ride it on the very worst of windy days… I hadn’t gotten my recklessness yet then.

Wind carries emotion.  All nature does, but wind carries the sounds of emotion.  It moans, it cries, it screams, it whispers, it whistles, it sings.  I can listen to the wind and feed my soul.  It’s like it gives me permission to feel things.  It’s okay to make a little noise.  It’s okay to sing a little, dance a little, cry a little, whisper a little.  It’s okay.

Wind helps me remember that I’m not alone.  God is here.  He has not abandoned me.  Sometimes, I feel like he has left me.  Sometimes I feel like he’s really not there, or that he isn’t what I need.  It’s hard to believe in someone you can’t see and have a normal conversation with, you know?  But… he’s here.  Like the wind.  I can hear him, feel him.  He’s here.

That’s something I really don’t understand very well… how the God of the universe and little, messed up me could be friends.  How do we communicate?  It’s different than with friends on earth.  How exactly do I make myself trust him?  I mean, there isn’t a little button to push that says I’m trusting him now.  I’m always wondering if I’m holding something back, if I’m not trusting enough… or if I’m not trusting at all.  I’ve got to be doing something wrong… I’m always doing something wrong.

But one thing I know:  even if I can’t see God, or hear his voice, or feel him all the time, I know he’s here.  He cares.  He has never left me alone.  He loves me, and he likes me, and he’s taking care of me.  I can go to him for comfort and guidance, and he gives it.  He has proven himself to me so many times throughout my life.  I know he’s here.

And he understands.  Even when few other people do, even when there are people who judge me and hurt me, even when I’m fighting so, so much darkness in my heart, God understands.  That helps.  It comforts me some.

The wind still whistles.  It’s going to be okay.  I spent time sitting and laughing with good friends tonight.  Last night was so dark… it was so good tonight just to be near someone who knew and loved me.  We sat snuggled together throughout the whole movie.  Oh, it made me feel so much better.  That and just joking around with the guys, being able to laugh freely.  And a few kind words from those who really knew me.  And all the prayers and comfort I’ve gotten recently… thank you all. 

Living one day at a time… I think I’ll be okay tonight.  I won’t think any farther ahead than that.  But I’ll be okay tonight, and that’s enough for now.

help

This is what I always do.  Every time I’m struggling.  Maybe I’m afraid.  I can’t convince myself that it’s okay to ask for help.  I don’t want to bother anyone.  I don’t want to keep anyone up.  And I can’t quiet the battle in my head for a long enough moment to let myself really think.

So I sit here.  Alone.  Smiling at all who walk by.  Staring at my phone and my computer screen, desperately wishing that someone would out-of-the-blue reach out to me.  Hoping that somehow, they’d know I needed it.

But all the world is silent.  No one reaches out.  No one. 

Because I don’t ask.

But… I can’t.  I argue around in circles, but can never let myself do it.

Every time… “I’m fine.  I can handle it alone.  It’ll pass.  I’m doing this to myself.  I just need to get out of my head.”

But I can’t.  I don’t.

I’ve stopped fighting, for the most part.  I’m giving up.  The accusations come, the hateful, hurtful comments never cease… and I accept them.  They’re true.  They have to be true.  Everything about my life points to it.  How can I fight something I believe is true? 

So I just sit.  In silent resignation.  I feel sick.  I want to die.  I really don’t see the point… not if that is who I really am.  Not if that’s always how I’ll be.

I need help… but I don’t know what that help looks like.  I don’t know what I need.  Nothing seems to really get this settled forever.  It always comes back.

I’m tired from all the mental fighting I’ve been doing the past couple weeks.  I’m tired, and I’m reaching my breaking point.  Again.  I’m kind of afraid of what I’ll do next… because the desire to give in is so close to being greater than the desire to keep going.  It’s so close.  And when it passes that point, I don’t think I’ll stop it.  Whether I can or not is not the issue… I just won’t.  Because I won’t want to.

So this is my cry for help.  I need something, something powerful.  I’m sinking fast.  Nowhere near the danger zone yet… but I don’t want to be even walking towards it.  And I feel like I’m sliding towards it quickly, like something’s pulling me, and there’s nothing I can grab onto to hold me back.

But this is the only place where I’m brave enough to ask for help… in my whispers to the wind.  Only the wind hears, and the wind catches my whispers and carries them away.

And my whispered cries for help are gone.

when affirmation is your love language…

Shy… I want to speak.  But I don’t say a word.

Desperate… I want to reach out for help.  But my hands will not move, my voice will not work.

Lonely… tears press my eyes.  But I don’t let them out.

My heart aches, longing for things impossible to ask.

My soul wants to hope… but my mind tells it no.  It’s not going to happen.  Forget it and move on.

I picture myself getting up again, wobbly and weak.  And walking, heavy, up the stony path. 

Alone.  Exhausted.

But I’ve got the strength in me to survive on my own.  So go on I must, until I fall dead, and I cannot move my legs any longer.  An entire lifetime… alone.

Aching to be loved.

Aching to be wanted.

Aching to be touched, and held, and comforted…

Aching for my life to be worth staying alive for.

What good have I done for anyone else?  I mean, recently?  Has anything I’ve done meant anything at all?  Was it all for nothing… or did it just bring more trouble into the world?

I feel empty.  Like all the love that’s been poured into me has just drained out.  I know it was there.  I know I am loved so much… I know it as a fact.  And I am selfish to want more.  But… I do want more.  It’s like I can never get enough.  No matter how much people give me, I always want more.  Where does it all go?  Why can’t it stay?  When will I finally be full?  When will the leak in my heart be fixed?

I can go through and discount every kind thing that’s been said to me, about me.  I can say it was all a lie, that people told me kind things because they wanted me to feel better… not because those things were true.

I so very much want someone to tell me why I’m worth it.  I want someone to tell me I’m doing good.  But I can’t ask, because then it might not be sincere.

So I remain quiet.  I swallow my tears.

And slowly I get back up again, to walk the trail alone and exhausted, until life is finally over and I can lie down.

safe.

Close your eyes and imagine a place, a safe place, where there is love and joy and beauty, and all bitterness and suspicion are gone.  No angry blaming contests, no constant complaining and badmouthing people who aren’t in the room.  Just… peace.  A place with freedom to rest or to dance, freedom to chatter or sing or sit quietly listening.  No pressure to be more, to know more, to do more.  No pressure to join in the sad and hopeless predictions of future hardship and destruction.  No pressure to kneel down and crawl through the caves so much that you forget the joy of light, and you curse each glimpse of the sun.

I do not want to become Gollum.  I feel like pressure is closing in on me from every side, pressure to look at the dark possibilities, to expect the worst.  It’s all around me, pushing me down, and I can feel panic rising in my chest.

No.  I don’t want to give in to this.  But it’s like a huge force is shoving me downward, and I’m sliding without even realizing it.  I want to fight it.  But then I see everyone around me doing it, and it’s like this is the right thing to do, the right way to go.  And I start to doubt myself.  Is it better to be bitter and depressed and hopeless?  Is it wrong to always look for the sunshine and the joy, and the hope?  Is it wrong to hold on to the chance that somehow, something good might happen, despite all the assurance of evil?

So I sit, and curl into a ball, and wait for them all to go to bed so I can calm down and think clearly again.  Meanwhile… I close my eyes and imagine I’m somewhere else, in a safe place, where it’s okay to hope for the possibility of good.  Somewhere… safe…

I’m on the floor of a forest.  The ground is soft, covered with hundreds of years’ build up of orange-brown needles.  The air carries the strong and pungent scent of fresh pine.  And towering far into the sky are the most beautiful pine trees I’ve ever seen.  Their branches are strong and wide, reaching out to support one another as they stand taller and taller every year.  A soft wind blows, and the trees whistle their gentle music, a music that has always caught my heart and made me feel, even when I thought I couldn’t feel anything.  I want to sing and cry and dance and laugh.  But… I don’t actually have to do any of those things.  I can if I like… but I don’t have to.

So I sit.  I take in a deep breath.  It’s a little shaky, but as the sweet air fills my lungs, I can feel myself relax.  Slowly, my arms unwind themselves from around my knees.  My back, stiff and tight, gently loosens, and I let my shoulders fall.  I fall back into the pine needles, and their scent envelopes me.  I stare up at the trees reaching so far beyond me.

Trees don’t worry.  They don’t try to predict every bad thing before it happens.  They just stand, tall and strong, reaching toward heaven with their every living breath.  So firm.  So calm.  They just dig their roots down deep into the soil, intertwining with the roots of their friends and neighbors, and they stand.  When the storms come, their roots hold them down, because they’re so deeply connected with each other.  And when they fall, they catch each other in their branches, holding them up for as long as they remain alive. 

Here, there is peace.  Here, there is friendship.  Here, there is love and support and relentless commitment.  No one gives up on anyone else.  No one leaves.  The storms come, and damage is done.  But there is never the terror of being alone.  Here, I know everything’s going to be okay.  Here… here, I am safe.

Once Upon a Dream…

Last night I dreamed of stars.  They stretched from horizon to horizon, glittering across the sky like nothing I’d ever seen before.  They formed shapes and patterns, ships and people and horses… and they were moving.  Sparkling, living collections of stars, they were everywhere, swirling through the darkness, dancing like a swarm of birds in autumn time. 

I ran to the edge of everything to see them.  Past the buildings, into a field, I leaned over the edge of nothing, peering through the trees that clung to the rocks on the cliff face.  It’s the most amazing experience, watching the stars dance.  I ran along the path until finally I found a break in the trees.  And then I stared in awe.  They were spreading across the sky.  It looked like they were caught up in currents, in rivers in the sky.  And they were forming into chariots and racing everywhere.  Sometimes they seemed to come so close, and I reached up to touch them… but they were still millions of miles away.

I learned in class the other day that one of the purposes of dreams is to awaken our imagination.  It did.  I want to dream and imagine and make things and see the beauty in the world.  I want to write a story, to create a fairytale… I want to make the stars dance.

Suddenly my heart longs for adventure, for great journeys and daring quests.  I want to explore somewhere new.  I want to do something hard.  I want to prove that the impossible is possible.  I want to touch the stars… and I want to show everyone else that they can, too.  This is where I want to write a story that brings people in, that invites them into a whole other universe and shows them things they had never seen before, things they had never before imagined.

Maybe it is possible.  Maybe the stars can dance.  And maybe… maybe we can touch them.

why would you even want that?!

Because.

Because I hate myself.

Because I want to hurt.

Because this is what I do when I feel like I’m doing something wrong… I destroy myself.

Because I don’t think I should be here. 

Because I’m afraid of making a mistake.

Because I’m afraid I already have.

Because I’d rather hurt myself than bother anyone else.

Because I believe I am worthless crap.

Because I’ve got to stop the screaming in my head.

Because I want relief.

Because I feel sick.

Because I am fat.  And ugly.

Because I feel like I’m going to cry.  And I don’t want to.

Because I am alone.

Because I can’t talk.

Because I’m not worth it.

Because I deserve it.

Because I’m tired of fighting.

Because even if it’s only for a moment, I will feel better.

Because my mind will stop racing.  I’ll be focused on one thing.

Because then I can feel guilty for one thing, instead of everything.

Because I have to deal with this myself.  I can’t bother anyone.

Because this is how I deal with things.

Because I do everything wrong.

Because my mind is so muddled, I can’t think of anything else.

Because there is no logic right now.

Because I’m shaking.  And I can’t stop.

Because.

 

That is why I want to cut.  That is why I want to purge.  That is why I want to destroy myself. 

Because.

God help me.  I can’t give in, but I really… want… to.

vulnerability

I opened a heavily guarded part of myself tonight. I told a friend about one of those things that I always want, that I always long for, but never ask.

We were talking… she asked how I was doing, so I told her.  Bit by bit, the details of the struggles of the last couple weeks leaked out.  And she listened.  It was such a relief to get it out, to actually talk about it in detail.  I had hinted that I was struggling a little to a couple people, but I didn’t really give many specifics.  But this girl kept listening, and caring, and I knew she was willing to listen, and it was okay to tell her.  And then… she asked what would help me get back to where I was before.

I mentioned the obvious… I needed to keep eating, whether I wanted to or not.  And I needed to eat enough food… no more, no less.  Then I fought in my mind for a while, trying to figure out if I should tell her anything more or not.  Telling more won out.  So I said that just being able to talk about it helped.  And I said I couldn’t talk to anyone on my hall, because I wasn’t close enough to any of them to trust them with that, yet.

We talked about that for a couple minutes.  We were quiet for a little while.  And then I said it.  It came out all fumbled and turned around… but I said it.  Out loud.  I told her that one of the things I always want is to be a little girl again, curl up on someone’s lap, and just be held.

I’ve never said that out loud before.  It’s one of those things that are so close to my heart that I’ve always been afraid to say it, because I didn’t want to open that part up of me and then get rejected or knocked down.  I was afraid people would think it was dumb.  I was afraid they’d think I was being manipulative by telling them that, and that they were then obligated to snuggle with me whenever I was feeling down.

But she didn’t react like that.  She just listened, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.  And we moved on.  And I felt so much better.  I trusted her… and it was okay. 

I don’t know why I’ve always kept that deep desire so hidden and guarded before.  I don’t know why I never let anyone in.  But… today I did.  And I’m okay.  I’m still fine.  I’m still tender and vulnerable.  But not everyone runs all over you when you let your softest spots show.  Some people care.  The fact that she listened made me feel so much better.  There was a sense of security that washed over me, and I could feel myself relaxing.

It’s going to be okay.  I’ll get through this.  I will.

victorious

Step one to picking myself up again: accomplished.  I ate food today, first time in a while.  It was hard, oh so hard.  Once you let go just once, it’s so hard to get back up again.

But I did it.

It wasn’t much, it took me forever to eat, and it made me feel really sick.  But I got it down.  And I didn’t purge.  I will NOT let this become a relapse.  I will keep fighting it.  I have to.

It started because I decided to pick bulimia as my topic for a research paper.  I really thought it wouldn’t be a problem.  I thought I could handle it.  Apparently not.  All the research was super triggering, and I was not at all prepared to face so much graphic information.

I was suddenly faced with so many negative thoughts, SO MANY.  More than usual.  My mind was literally attacking myself.  The desire to binge, purge, and cut were all so freakishly intense, stronger than it had ever been before.  I think it was hard because I wasn’t giving in.  Usually I give in just a little, at least, and then I get some temporary relief.  But I wasn’t.  And it was a constant battle, all the time, and I was exhausted.  I cried, in church, in front of my friends.  I NEVER do that!  In fact, I usually don’t ever cry at all.  It just hurt.  So much.  Because with every attack and accusation, I was believing it.  I believed I was ugly, fat, unworthy, and basically a horrible person.  But it hurt.

Then… I did give in.  I stopped eating.  For days.  I got so incredibly tired and sore and weak.  My body’s not used to this anymore, haha.  And every minute, I was fighting this intense battle, trying to decide whether to eat or not.  I knew I should.  I just didn’t want to.

But then.  Today.  I did it.  I still feel awful, but it’s a little less awful than I did before.

One victory won.  I WILL get through this.  I WILL eat again tomorrow.  I’ll eat whole meals.  It might take me longer than usual, but I WILL do it.  I’m not going to let this one setback keep me down.  This has no power over me. 

I am standing up again, just one little bit at a time.