I used to use my personal blog for a lot of true confessions back in the day. The day when I was one of the few to have a “blog”, not many I met even knew what blogging was. I was also anonymous. Although always using my real first name, I doubt that anyone who knew me read anything I wrote… and I liked that. I ‘ve never allowed certain information to be published when I thought it might hurt someone to have it public… but I had quite a bit of my own heart exposed at times.
Little of that is in my writing now. I’ve intersected the public and the personal and that can make for a real risk when you speak of things that might change, but if written are given a certain permanency. In real life I am extremely edited. Probably no one who knows me thinks so, but it is true from my interior perspective. Part of that “over responsible” trait that I’ve been trying to be free of in the past five years or so… ever since beginning to see it and understand how unhealthy it is.
Well, I’m going to try to move across that trapeze wire of being publicly private.
I enter the narrow space of the confessional, close the entry, giving a semblance of privacy in what is actually the nakedness of ones soul. Uncovered, shamefully uncovered. All to say I have never felt so defeated, or bowed beneath the circumstances of life as I now feel. I keep the plans, goals, and actions going for fear that to let them fall means to have lost too much ground to recover. Just in case I move out of this … but my heart has not been in it.
All the things that most mattered to me are in shambles. My friends… and I… are tired of my brokenness. But I’m facing that I am without the will to even try to raise my head in hope of making a way through this awful defeat and failure. I try not to say the word ‘failure’, lest I give it more power than it deserves. I’m unsure now if that isn’t just a form of delusion.
I heard recently how confidence attracts people and how desperation repels. Not having that sort of desperation, but at every thought of confidence the dagger of failure drives deeper. Is that type of view a form of desperation? Maybe failure isn’t the right word. Or maybe it is. Everyone loves a lover, right? I’m twisting in the wind. All I can think of are cliches.
I prayed with a friend the other day. She had positive things to say- that these things will turn out to be foundation for something of greater strength. I had told her that I feel like a drowning man… able to surface for some gasps of air, but fighting less and in that limbo of neither resignation to the overpowering waters nor strength to get to shore. I need to get to shore. I need to catch my breath.
I hate that every time I pray I cry and cannot stop the tears. I hate that my passion for everything has faded to sepia tints of the past. It seems as though the only route now is to dig so deeply into God and so let go of all the things I hoped for. Who knows what the result will end up looking like? I agree with my enemies.
It is pat to say that we die to self. When it really is happening it is full of death rattles and seeping wounds, and awful smells. As a Christian I knew that the self had to die. But this way? With this much pain and loss? While I am taunted to grief at how lacking in joy I am? You try dieing in joy.
My faith will come back. It will because it doesn’t come from me…couldn’t come from me. But excuse me, because right now I am dying. I feel like saying it hurts like hell- but then that makes me laugh and then I feel a little crazy.
Sorry if this doesn’t sound holy and religious.