I’m Not Crazy, I’m Just a Little Unwell

**Sidenote (…or topnote): I wrote this on Friday, but am just now getting around to posting it, hence the past-tense verbage.**

 

Y’all, this is my third post this week, crazy right? I am on fire. Or at least I feel like I am and we can all pretend a little can’t we?

Anyways…. soooo um, I have always wanted to foster a sense of openness on here. To be painfully real. Don’t get me wrong, I’m pretty “real” in real life too, but somewhere between my first vent-session with more people than I would like and a full on melt-down in front of waaaaay more people than I would like, I start to feel a sense of embarrassment. Like “Ok Alex, you’ve let them know you’re hurting and could use some prayer, but let’s quit while you’re ahead and before you let them in on the fact that you’re a crazy psycho sometimes.”

I get ashamed that sometimes the advice doesn’t help, it only reminds me that, try as I might, I can’t just get over it, or pray it away, or let it go. It’s in this place that I usually decide that people will tire of hearing the same hurts over and over again and consider me helpless because I seem to just be wallowing in my feelings.

I’m here to say that I’m losing it, you guys. Seriously. Losing my crap.

I have been a mess lately, and I don’t exactly know why. I tried on Monday to convince myself that the day of the week was somehow to blame, but it hasn’t stopped. All of the spaziness and clumsy moves have continued, and they’ve invited their friends Random Crying and Self-Loathing.

I have been just a loss-of-concentration away from tears at all times. I have been snappy and sad and unpleasant to say the least. I have not been doing my quiet time. It has been very difficult to find God in all of this.

There have certainly been actual contributions to my hurt, it’s not all crazy, I promise! But it sure feels like it sometimes. I know what you’re thinking and no, I’m not pregnant, which although we aren’t “trying yet” was one of the “actual contributions” mentioned above.

Although I know deep down that I am learning something crucial, I still have prayed that God would rescue me. I have told Him I can’t find Him, that I feel like He’s not listening. I know in my heart that He’s really with me and on my side, and that knowledge alone has kept me from relinquishing hope, but it has begged me to wonder why I feel so abandoned. I’ve allowed myself to crawl into a dark space and let Satan whisper to me that I am alone. That no one cares and I’m just being a drama queen.

It was today, on my 87th (est.) trip to the bathroom at work to prevent tears and tell myself to get it freaking together that God reminded me of something. I have fewer times in my life where I felt a true “God-moment” than I would like, but in that place I found myself looking at my hands. I heard God tell me that He made them, and I can curse them just like the rest of myself, but He created something and called it good, whether I want to believe it or not.

As I kept staring down through the floodgates that finally burst, He used those same hands to remind me that His own human hands were pierced for me. That may seem like Christianity 101, but in that moment I neeeeeeded that. I needed to be reminded that regardless of my hurts, pains, and failure to trust, He would allow His own perfect hands to be crushed again and again for me.

I’m still hurting. I’m still fighting back tears. I’m still resistant to change and advice that I’ve heard too many times before.

I’m still His. And although I deny that I’m worthy of His help even as I cry out for it, I know that there is light at the end of this crap, and beauty within it.

Maybe I should take my own advice, but it doesn’t mean it doesn’t suck right now.

Solidarity anyone? Does your life suck right now and you may or may not know why exactly?

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