Truth

Dear World,

I have not handled the last few months very well. After my hospitalization and the frightening diagnosis, I tried to take everything into my own hands. I followed doctor’s instructions to the ‘tee’ and tried so hard not to be angry or depressed or afraid.

When talking to people, I’ve shared about my triumphs over the weakness and pain, rarely opening the window enough for anyone to see a glimpse of who I’ve really become. I’ve let people know that it’s been hard, but only my parents saw me at my physical worst, and only God has seen the truth.

I am so angry that the last few months have been stolen from me. Even as I type that it hurts to write it. I’ve been incredibly judgmental of the people on my message board who complain about everything and everyone in their lives. I’ve chosen to act as Pollyanna, with the desperate hope that if I pretended I was okay long enough, it would be true.

But it’s been 5 months. The uncharacteristic anger I felt when my car was smashed showed me that I haven’t been as peaceful as I’ve led anyone, including myself to believe. The hours I spent sobbing apparently weren’t enough---there’s emotion in there that I’ve done a very good job of keeping under.

My theology tells me that I can get mad at God, but not too mad, because I know logically that he’s not at fault. Yes, he’ll still love me if I rail at him, but…

And I stop there—something has been holding me back from truly pouring out my feelings to God, and I am afraid of knowing what it is.

God, I’ve been telling everyone that I know you still love me---wissen know, not kennen I guess. I’m so very hurt and angry that my life isn’t going the way I’d like it to. I’m disappointed that I haven’t been able to do things I’ve planned, and more disappointed that I don’t want to do many things. I’m tired of being tired, but I’m afraid that if I go back into my regular life I’ll get sick again. I’m afraid that you are punishing me, or that this is some sort of sick exercise in helping me learn. I say it’s a sick exercise because I don’t think it’s fair that I should have to go through this when no one else I know does. I’m afraid that it’s a punishment because I know how awful I’ve been---I know that I deserve worse. I’m afraid that all of the spirtual-ish things I’ve been saying aren’t true---that I turned my back on you and doubted your love and have just been lying for 5 months. I need your reassurance that you still think I’m beautiful, even now, even when I’ve been so foolish

I still don’t know why you gave me this particular journey. I’m so good at spiritual talk with mom—but I really have no fucking clue. And it pisses me off. I want to know. I want to understand it so I can seek to control it. But instead you’ve made this something that I just don’t get, can’t get, can’t ever control.

I need you to remind me that you’re trustworthy. The covenant and the promise. I don’t know what I’ve lost hold of in the last couple of weeks, but it’s something. Ever since my car, maybe even before that, I’ve just been so angry, so afraid, so sure that it’s just going to get worse. And it has. And I’ve dealt with it. But I’m tired of dealing, of coping, of pretending that I’m okay. I’m not okay. This situation is not okay. I’m tired of people looking up to me and being proud of me because you and I both know that if they were in my head, they wouldn’t feel the same way. But I don’t want to lose that, because I feel like it somehow justifies what’s going on in my life, somehow makes this crappy few months worthwhile in the grand scheme of things.

I refuse to fall into nihilism. I know that there’s something more out there. I know that I was meant to seek meaning, and I know that at some point, I’ve found it in you. But I also refuse skepticism—saying that your way is only good when life is rosy. I want to know, but I’m afraid to know. You are indeed God—Almighty, Invincible, Omnipotent, Omniscient, Omnipresent. Remind me of that, would you?