My heart hurts

On Friday a tract was left for my coworker bringing up stories of how Christians are the worst tippers and often the most demanding customers.  In the 10 months I've been waitressing I can count on one hand the number of people who have made it known they are Christians that I've enjoyed serving despite countless customers having made their religion known.

I apologized to my coworker for our bad reputation, promising not all of us are like that, but I know words are meaningless, and my heart hurts.

Over the weekend another coworker who has bipolar too, told me she used to go to church.  But then in high school she had a manic episode and her church shunned her for it.  So she gave up on Christians.

And my heart hurts for her.

While I myself have not been shunned, in some ways I can relate.  In the christian world my depressions are acceptable, even admired because of my fight to trust in God's love.  But my manias are unacceptable, grace is withheld, and my heart is judged before my case is even heard.  In reality my battle with mania is darker then my deepest depression.  In the throws of these times my fight to know God barely survives.

And the judgement of my heart hurts.

Also this weekend came the news that my Shepherd resigned.  I don't know why he made this decision, but the pain of our resignation last year is still so fresh that once again hot tears burn my checks as they flow against my will.

And my heart hurts in ways that words will never be able to describe.  May God heal my soul.

But if we hope in what we do not see with perseverance we wait eagerly for it.  In the same way the Spirit also helps our weakness; for we do not know how to pray as we should, but the Spirit himself intercedes for us with groanings too deep for words; and he who searches the heart knows what the mind of the Spirit is, because he intercedes for the saints according to the will of God.  And we know that God causes all things to work together for good to those who love God, to those who are called according to his purpose.

~ Romans 8:25-28

Am I going mental again?

As I sit in the living room I hear the small freckled boy bite into his chip and then chew in such a way that I want to rip my ears off.  All the while I am using the same yellow crayon that I have used for two years now as a highlighter.  As I draw it past the ink rubs from the words rub off causing a smudged dull yellow look.  Not the Danilion, joyful yellow it always is.  I stop sharpen my crayon removing any dirt and try again.  Nope still the smudge look.  I fight myself not to throw my Bible and the crayon in the fire.  It's ruined.  Not what it should have been.  And that chewing sound.  He cannot be done with lunch fast enough.

Rage is rising in my soul.  I know his mouth is closed.  I know it's just the way he chews and there is nothing rude about it.  I know it's me.  Just like I don't want to be touched or talked to or have any contact with civilization.  It's me.

After resting the darkness returned to battle me for my mind.

And He said to me, "My grace is sufficent for you, for power is perfected in weakness."

~ 2 Corinthians 12:9a

Do the mundane

I called a friend today, connected only by the sickness our minds share never have we met face to face, only talking when my mind is beginning to spiral out of control.  I called her.  Obviously a sign that the darkness is rolling in.

I talked first to my Strong man days ago fully confident that he saw my addiction, mania, begin taking over my life.  Actually no he hadn't seen it, he loved what he saw assuring me that my mind has never been healthier. 

That touch of his that drove me crazy just a week ago in now to much.  It almost hurts.  The sheets are too rough, the water too hot, my shoes too tight, the lotion too slimy.  It's so much more then touch, smells can send me into annoyance quickly turning to anger.  voices all to loud, the pipes heating our house to much, those two child like voices that follow me around daily demanding more and more.  So many demands, I fight with my tongue to be kind reminding myself that it's just the sickness.  I fight to protect them from the darkness.  I fight to keep the torment to myself not wanting it to overflow onto any of them.

So with this addiction taking over my life I desperately try to gain some control.  If I don't stop it now at some point I will be denied this drug that I so love and hunger for, mania.  Sweet tasting mania where life is perfect.  Nothing can compare to you sweet drug, give me more and more until it is only you that I know...

...No! No, I can't allow myself to be seduced.  I can't give in I must fight this goodness on the edge of torment.  I need to protect my family.

How do I explain this to my Love, how do I keep from disappointing him.  For now I will do the mundane.  I will do those dishes that have been on the counter for days.  I will sweep the floor and I will cuddle with little boys talking about little boy things that I honestly don't give two hoots about.  I will fight to live a life that normal people live and hopefully that will bring me back, at least give me control.