I'm so tired. I haven't had a completely smooth day in what seems like eons. Perhaps it is just the thespian in me, but it seems like every night I find myself alone, wrestling with thoughts that are as tangled as Christmas lights hid away in the basement. I talk to other people, but I get the uneasy feeling that they are weary of my same story being told again and again. I wonder what is wrong with me that I can't just wake up and decide to be happy. Or, maybe I'm more afraid that I can.
I'll go ahead and admit it: I'm still not over the event that has planted a garden of thistle and weeds in my life. I look in the mirror and I think, "Why am I not desired?" I walk outside and all my senses are operating on the highest frequency possible, attuned to a familiar voice or watching for a face. I've tried every humanly way possible to figure out why my love, given so freely and readily, was not returned. Worse, why it was carelessly discarded like it didn't even matter. Like my feelings and my efforts and my perceptions were insignificant and foolish. I suppose even I underestimated the depth of my feeling and the strength of my intimacy. I planned on being really upset for a couple of weeks, and then magically God would open my eyes, give me peace, and allow me to be able to look that boy in the eye and feel nothing but friendly love.
Alas, that is not my reality. Rather, it is a slow process, one that seems to be frustratingly regressive. When I was alone, it was easy to meditate on God's word and become less sad. Everyone told me to wait until school started, because then I would be busy and everyone would be back. Much to my dismay, the arrival of people and routine has turned out to weigh heavily on me. The more people I'm around, the more alone I feel. The more people that tell me how sweet I am, the more I wonder why a specific person didn't find me worthy enough to be with. I hear the sound of boots, and all I can think about are plans I had excitedly waited for withering like a flower in a frost. I can't wrap my mind around the idea that I was cared for, but in a matter of minutes reduced to little more than an acquaintance. I feel so strange. In the excruciating minute that it took to terminate a relationship, all the people I met over the course of several months turned into ghosts. Now, I'm not even a blip on their radar and their eyes slide over me as if I were invisible. I suppose this just comes with the territory, after all, I came in after the fact and now I am gone.
I know I send a vibe of "Woe is me" and sometimes it is true. However, I feel that more of what I'm doing is wading through a knee deep pile of muddy emotion. I'm just trying to sort everything out, not complain. Certainly, I have had many conversations with God, most of them beginning with me lying on the floor, hot tears streaking my face with mascara and rolling into my hair: "For sighing has become my daily food; my groans pour out like water. What I feared has come upon me; what I dreaded has happened to me. I have no peace, no quietness; I have no rest, but only turmoil." Job 3:24-26 I don't think that my turmoil stems only from the painful rejection I've experienced, but rather an issue far deeper. Deep down, I'm not completely trusting God. I'm fearful He will bless me, but take it away soon after. I'm afraid it is wrong for me to be happy. I'm jealous of others. I'm insecure. I'm doubtful of my own abilities. I'm hesitant to trust anybody else. You see, I don't want to let this go. I don't want to accept the fact that someone I love doesn't love me. I don't want to go back to the way I was before I met him, wandering and waiting and wondering.
I don't want to wake up and be happy because that would mean letting go of something I desire so, so much. A friend of mine remarked how well I'm handling everything because I'm leaning on God. This makes me want to weep, because it is hardly the truth. I keep picking my sorrows back up, because all I see is inaction. I beg and plead and cry out to God, but I don't hear anything in response. I'm broken inside and even the process of being fixed despairs me.
I know I can't do it on my own. For all His seeming inaction, I know He is calling me to Him. He is reminding me who He is and that I am His beloved. I know He records my tears on His scroll and He remembers I am but dust. I'm standing at a precipice, wanting so badly to take that leap of faith, but clawing my way back from the edge.
Elisabeth Eliot said it nicely, "Lord Jesus Christ, Son of God, have mercy on me."
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