Ashes

I don't really know what to say here. This place isn't for anyone but me. Here, I'm hoping I can help myself out of my rut. 

I don't feel well. I haven't in a long time. I find myself raw with emotions that I can't handle anymore. The pain weighs on me like a body of water. I tried for so long to keep my head above it. Right now, I have no idea where I am, but I feel pretty close to the bottom. Day after day of this heaviness makes me feel so deprived of oxygen and light. If you sink far enough, you can't tell which way is up and out.

I am a believer. I believe that God is still God and He is still Good. He's pulled me out of a life worse than death... a life without Him. But I've never been here before... a life with Him, yet blinded once again. I taught myself not to concern myself with the fear that depression was lurking in the dark corners. I preoccupied myself with redefining myself by latching on to others. 

Enough about that.

Maybe it's not my job to figure out where I went wrong. Maybe it's not even my job to define myself. Maybe I just need to find myself. I don't know if I ever mindfully tried that. 

I don't know yet who I am or even where I am. Just somewhere towards the bottom.

I'll try to be honest here. Honesty is difficult for me. I so often run away with myself and whatever story suits me and whoever else is paying attention. I can't do that anymore.

I do this for no attention. I say this to no one else. This is the place I hide.

I have moments where the pain inside is so severe and intense, I lose almost every ounce of control. It's beyond sad. It's beyond anger, frustration or panic. It's hell. I can't breathe. I can't stop sobbing. Whatever is happening is so violent I can't think of anything else but making it stop. It used to happen so much more, before church. Four years later, it's happening again.

My husband and I have sex maybe once a month. It's not unusual for us to go months with none at all. I don't know how to express how much shame I feel about this. But the thought of forcing myself to do it makes me feel like … I just panic. It's my biggest failure. I don't work like other wives. I'm broken inside and I don't know how to fix it. In the past I've tried things that made it worse. In the present, I've tried God and patience. But I can't force myself... I just can't. And because of it, I don't deserve my husband. It's been this way for years. I've lost hope that it will ever get better.

In the recent months, most days, I don't eat until dinner. I feel like I gave in to an eating disorder mindset, but I feel better in a way. And because that makes me feel better, I think that's a bad sign. But when I eat, I hurt. When I eat, I bloat. When I eat, I get constipated. When I gain weight, I think about it all of the time... constantly conscious of how my body feels and looks.

Some days, I cry before my feet hit the floor in the morning. Joy is unchained freedom, and I don't think I've felt it in so long... Why do I keep giving it away? I'm not even sure how. I look in the mirror by accident, and I look tired and ugly.

My phone is always on silent. I rarely answer it. It's gotten to a point where it takes me a while to even return a text. But at least no one can hear my voice on a text or see my face. I can pretend I didn't see it or that I thought I responded but "didn't hit send." 

I don't even mean to, but the words, "I hate myself," come out in whispers from my own mouth. If I can catch myself, I shut my mouth before I finish the last word. I know about words. I know their power. But who is leading? My words? Or my heart?

This isn't me. Is it? I love life. I love living. But lately... I really haven't. I haven't loved life and I haven't been living. There are moments when I don't really want to. I just want the pain to stop. But there has to be another way.