Held As I Fall Down Far

This morning = my favorite weather - cool and hazy. It made this Bay Area girl very comfy. As I was driving to drop the kids off, the sun was this gorgeous orange, dimmed but illuminated by the clouds. 

**Clearly I'm a writer, not a photographer.**

I've been quite dimmed this week too, as I work through one of the most intense episodes I've ever had. But this morning as I was driving, I could feel the prayers that have been said on my behalf. Despite my raging mind and exhausted body, the morning felt fresh and the light gentle. 

I was reminded by God how He is light. I was able to stare directly into the dimmed sunshine, and thought about how God's light is not painful or blinding. Through Christ we are able to stare directly at it and reach its comforting  warmth as it floods the dark, twisted knots of pain within me that He so powerfully unravels. 

God's light doesn't burn. 

God's light doesn't blind us. 

God's light doesn't hurt. 

Since I've started opening up more, especially since my book came out, people with healthy brains ask me with some regularity what BPD, OCD and depression/anxiety feel like. 

Oh, how i wish I could eloquently explain it instead of always saying the same tired phrases of "I want to quit," "it's really hard," and "I'm afraid." 

Here is what the battlefield looks like on a typical day: 

* Wake up feeling exhausted. Brain has been running all night. 

* See reflection and see disfigurement. My face is ugly and looks different & startling from everyone else's. I'm the Beast. 

* Receive daily greeting from the voice that rents the room in the back of my mind. It will speak to me all day. It tells me I am worthless. I'm evil. God can never love me. People don't love me. It lies and it lies until I relent and accept it as truth and vow to try harder to fight it tomorrow. 

* Feel detached from everyone, even in the epicenter of a social circle. 

* Fear people or things disappearing. People leaving, things changing, abandonment. 

* Headaches, muscle aches, trembling hands, chest tightness, tics, panic attacks, thoughts of suicide. A movie playing a plan out over and over again - continuous loop. And because I have a difficult history, it plays real memories too, really cranking up the volume on those. 

*The urge to cut myself, burn myself, hurt myself is as strong as a stubborn itch in the center of the back. I can't quite reach it and satisfy the desire to hurt physically for mental release - but it's so dang distracting that any rational thought or behavior squeezes into the very tight space left to reside. 

* Moments of dissociation - I know my name and what year it is. I can answer any question really, but I've floated temporarily away to step away from the mental pain. I'm fully present, but also fully watching from a safer place. Within moments I am back. 

* the assumption that every word or look you encounter means that individuals hate you, want you harmed, or just trying to back out and leave your mess quietly. 

* I have to ask the same questions a lot, and read the same paragraphs a lot because I can't fully listen over the noise. 

Try to have a meaningful conversation with an angry voice screaming in your face. 

Try pulling your body out of bed after fighting all night long because it's your brain that works to keep you breathing while you sleep - but that also means since it's awake, the battle is still on. (Not scientific, but it's how it feels). 

Fear that because of someone's actions, everyone else is the same. Your mind has zero ability to separate and trust. 

Wounds run deeper. Black, white, there is no gray. 

Mental illness sucks. I want to jump out of my skin, it feels so unsafe. 

And there's no cure. Medication takes the edge off, though. And people's constant, consistent love and support do break through sometimes. 

Best of all, we have our beautiful, wonderful Jesus. 

He touched and healed men who cut themselves with rocks. 

He is close to the brokenhearted and crushed in spirit. 

He healed a person who often fell into both fire and water - burning and drowning through life. 

He passes through the waters. He walks through the fires. If He chooses not to heal us, then He comes with us. 

He captures every thought and does not let a single one hurt us beyond what we can bear. 

I feel far over my limit of what I can handle. I have no words to explain what it's truly like. 

But even in the darkest of times, a small burst of light remains, reminding me that while my pain is great, my God is greater.