I poured a bottle of sedatives down the drain yesterday and I’ve been hurting ever since. I’m not sure if posting this for the sake of wanting to be consistent is the right thing to do. Perhaps it would be better to silently disappear until the healing process is complete. But by doing that, I would only be doing what I’ve always done: giving up when things become more difficult than I feel I am able handle. I don’t want to do that. I’d like to think that I’ve achieved some level of growth in the last three months and my determination to post something despite what I’m feeling serves as proof of that. I’m tired of making excuses and I’m so very tired of quitting.
I started crying last night and it’s been difficult to stop. I was speaking figuratively when I mentioned the pills. You see, I filed for divorce in December of last year and I was certain my heart was okay. I thought I had already extended forgiveness, resulting in an expedited healing and recovery. But because I’ve invested so much time into trying to rebuild my life for myself and my three little girls, and so much energy into thinking about what wonderful things I’ll find on the road ahead, I’ve given myself very little time to think about now. I’ve put absolutely no thought into how I feel now.
All that energy being put into thoughts of my future was kind of like a drug. It made me feel numb – happy even. But these days it seems all anyone has time to do is think. Working remotely over the last few weeks has also done a good job of keeping me mentally occupied but yesterday a slow day got the better of me. I got to thinking, which later led to venting. The next thing I know I’m crying into a big blue bath towel (sorry Charmin Triple Roll, this job was just too big for you) with Le’Andria Johnson’s “Better Days” playing on repeat.
I know the tone of this post is much different from my others. I’m typically very positive – always able to see the good in a tough situation. And that is who I really am. None of it is an act. But right now I’m hurting and I must feel that so that I can heal. It’s time I stop suppressing and start addressing.
I’ve never healed without a sedative. Without the casual acquaintance of some man to help me forget about the last. I didn’t need the kind of intimacy that caused me to defile my body – just knowing that someone thought I was pretty enough to entertain me sufficed. That was how I “healed”. But at 33 years old, I don’t want to do that. I want to ride this thing out and do it the right way. No more bandages and drugs. Whatever it takes, I just want to be made whole.
I’m not sure if there’s any irony in the fact that this week’s blog post was supposed to be titled “Fresh Outta Defeat”. And here I am writing a post awash with melancholy. Even so, I’d like to believe that I still win.
I was listening to a message by Pastor Tony Evans the other day in which he talked about how sports stations regularly broadcast football games that took place in previous seasons. Before the game starts, though, the score is put up so viewers know ahead of time how it all ends. This takes away the need to get riled up over every fumble or interception. Well, I’ve never watched this game before but I know how it ends. Drowning in my tears though I be, don’t let my fumbles and bad passes fool you because this game ends the same way: I win. I guess I could have titled this post “Fresh Outta Defeat” after all.
I’d like to add a scripture to make this a proper post. “Weeping may endure for a night but joy comes in the morning” would seem to be the obvious choice but instead, I’ll go with one that never fails to restore my hope and optimism: “I would have lost heart, unless I had believed that I would see the goodness of the Lord in the land of the living.”(Ps. 27:13)
I pray that I will have the strength and discipline to continue to write in this season but I kindly ask that you would mention my name in prayer the next time you go before God.
Hope to see you next week – tears or no tears.