Posted in Family, Insane in the Brain, Living Water, Thanks for the memories

No Choice But Up

I do not have a choice.  There is no other option besides well.  The pattern of abuse ends with me.  The cycle of dysfunction is in my court and I will not pass the ball.  No games.  I refuse to mess around with the health of my mind and my heart.  I am telling myself again for the millionth time that I choose wholeness.

After so much improvement and finally seeing the sun through a break in the cloud bank, a new storm system moved in.  The vortex returned with its original vigor.  Some days it’s like crawling up an escalator going down.  I cannot let it carry me to the bottom, yet the energy to maintain status quo, at the very minimum, is beyond me.  The demons return with their shrieking.  The voice of gloom in its 1611 King James reminds me I am nothing.  There is no end to the darkness that I had once climbed out of and seen as but a  thing I had once experienced.

I was better.  I was loving my life.  The past was living where it belonged: not in smack dab in front of me.  So much victory over things I don’t even know how to put into words, yet had lived with for years, being consumed by them.  I was beginning to experience things that had been a part of my life, yet that most people take for granted.  Simple things that were not simple for me since the parts of me that should know how to live were crushed by abuse.  A paralyzing fear that I was unable to love.  A certainty that I would forever long to know God, but never reach Him.  A question of when, not if, the relationships in my life would be over when the respective recipients realized my damaged self was too hard to love.

You can quote me the verses and sayings all day long.  Tell me it’ll be ok.  Say the right things.  The Jesus things.

My healing is on His timeline, not mine.  Or yours.  Which means 2 things: 1) It will happen.  2) It is for real.

It means that the progress I made is not for naught.  That I am not back at Square 1, even though it feels more like Ground Zero.  That even though it seems my genetics demand disaster, that is not reality.  That if you turn out to not be as ok as I thought you were, I can still be ok.

I went back to therapy.  It’s exhausting starting again.  To open up the closet doors and let the skeletons fall out in front of someone new.  But I need perspective outside of me.  Visibility is at an all-time low.  Just past the tempest, is my life.  And it’s still there.  Even when the people whose wellness I was subconsciously measuring myself by are dropping like flies.  

I can be ok.  I must be ok.  I have no choice.  I will not pass on the inheritance passed on to me.  I will not give you the curse that was gifted to me.  The children God has entrusted to me are worth more than I was ever made to believe I was.  My marriage is worth too much to leave him at the mercy of my pain.

I choose to believe the devastatingly enormous love He has for me.

I have seen well and I cannot go back.

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I rock. I also paper and scissors.

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