Breaking the Silence

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It’s been a long time since I had the wherewithal to think about blogging.  Not much has changed in two years of silence, except I bought a home so I won’t have to worry about moving my books for the foreseeable future.  But everything else – work, church, car, family, relationship status – is unchanged.  At least it appears to be unchanged on the macro level.  Minute shifts have taken root over the past two years, and it may yet be a while before the new shoots bear fruit.

All that is not to say the past few years have been straightforward.  The healing process is never linear, and the twists and turns that have surfaced as I wrestle towards freedom have changed me profoundly – even if I cannot articulate how exactly I’ve changed.  I have tried (repeatedly) to get away, to leave my past behind, to start fresh, to begin again.  Every attempt to accomplish something I want has been thwarted, and thus I find myself working the same job, living in the same city, and wondering if this is, in fact, all there is to life.  Unfulfilled dreams have a way of forcing you to ask the hard questions, and the struggles I’ve encountered only piled on more uncertainty and doubt.

Doubt and darkness seem to go hand in hand, so naturally winter affords me many opportunities to contemplate existential and ontological questions.  My life wasn’t supposed to look like this – according to my plan, anyhow.  And though I recognize the goodness of what I have found (namely stability, independence, and an occasional sense of purpose), my heart still cries out with longing for that which I do not have.  Good things I do not have.

My entire adult life has been characterized by a mismatch in what people can see of me and what I’m really feeling.  Where others saw a young woman eager to pour her life out to further Christ’s kingdom, my soul was frantically bargaining with God – “If I go overseas, Lord, please give me at least this compensation!”  Where others saw courage in the face of danger, my heart could only see its own worthlessness.  While I always had a ready smile and quick laugh for others, my mind was always tormented by depression and despair.  I lived in invisible melancholy.  I still don’t know if the fight for life is worth it.

Socrates said the unexamined life is not worth living.  I’ve spent the last seven years pondering life – who I am, how I got here, why I’m here, and what it all means.  I don’t have answers.  Medication helps, at least insofar as it clears mental space that can be used for wrestling.  Beloved authors provide respite from the hard work of learning, stretching, and growing, both mentally and emotionally.  Friends and counselors willingly offer themselves as sounding boards and fellow wayfarers.  Occasional glimpses of truth remind me that there are worlds beyond the small, dark cave of my mind.  And so I press on.  I keep walking.  And I pray each day brings me closer to wholeness, to healing, to hope.  But I still don’t know if the struggle is worth it…