After a blissful 17 months the beast speaks.
It roars its ugly roar and gnashes its ugly teeth.
It consumes all the good, leaving behind destruction.
I find myself in a battle once again. And this time. I. Am. Weak.
I stand on the edge.
“I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this. I don’t want to do this.”
My voice shakes as I try to fight away the beast snapping at my heels.
I plead for mercy. I plead for strength. I plead for a hedge.
No relief arrives.
In desperation, I reach for the ammo. The ammo that promises to silence the voices, calm the rage and bring relief.
I stare at it. This tiny pill. Disbelief pouring out of my being.
How did I get here? How am I facing THIS again? What happened to my faith? My strength? Me?
Why am I listening to a voice telling me these things?
Fear knocks. I open the door. It envelops me immediately.
I’m such a failure. I have fallen so very far. The darkness has returned.
I want to run. I want to die. I want to be anywhere but standing in my bathroom, shaking and debating whether to take the medicine.
“Take it. Sleep.” A simple text.
“I am terrified” I respond.
“You are more than this moment. Take the pill and rest. It will be better tomorrow.”
I decide failure is better than torment. Better than hearing the accusations and the words screaming louder and louder.
I swallow the pill. I walk slowly to the bed. Crawl underneath the covers. And cry.
Sleep does not come. I am terrified the struggles are returning for good. I feel devastated. Totally. Devastated.
Saturday night I had an anxiety attack. One that I could not control. The spiral was fast and it was hard. It’s left me in a place where I feel weak and vulnerable and angry. Many situations. In one week slammed into me. Situations that I cannot control. Others around me do not know. Know that I’ve felt this coming for weeks. Weeks. I’ve ignored the darkness. The thoughts. The moments of anger. The moments of crying for no reason. The moments of feeling like the world is coming to an end. The fear. The anxiety. I tried to just ignore it. After all, when you’ve felt SO good for so long, you don’t want to feel sick again.
I question my faith. How can I proclaim to be redeemed when I stand in my bathroom battling the same thing that has plagued me for 28 years? How can I proclaim that I have been called to be a warrior, to fight for others, when I can’t even fight my own mind?
I’m angry and I’m sad and I’m just exhausted. Physically. Exhausted. I want to sleep. All. The. Time. I don’t want to eat. At least what I should. I want to eat the junk food that will only contribute to making this even worst.
Anxiety has sucked the life out of me. It tells me that what I feel RIGHT now will last F-O-R-E-V-E-R and that makes the anxiety even more overwhelming. I feel trapped in a loop I cannot stop.
I decided in the midst of this to take a Facebook break. A decision that I’m not quite sure is in my best interest. I find myself with no outlet to vent my feelings and that’s contributing to the feelings of hopelessness and despair.
So, I turn to this blog. Whether foolishly or not. I share the ugliness. Because honestly, I just need a glimmer…a reminder…hope…that this disease is not going to kill me eventually.
I am holding on to the promises. To the grace and to the mercy. To the love and to the one who I know holds me. Even if I can’t see or hear or feel him through this fog.
That’s it for tonight.