God said to march

For months I have despaired. Years, maybe. My heart and my mind have almost ceased to work, absolutely pummeled by depression and suffering. I've struggled to to escape fear's grip on me, but to no avail. The depression spawned fear, and fear spawned hopelessness, which in turn spawned a sort of paralysis. The physical illnesses and financial struggles have not helped.

For quite a while now, scary thoughts have taken hold of me. When I drive, I pass telephone poles and trees and I think to myself, "I could do it. I've just got to take my seat belt off and I can do it, and then things wouldn't be so hard." Fortunately, I recognize these thoughts for what they are: twisted, sick, effects of depression and anxiety. And luckily, after talking with my doctor, we agreed that these thoughts don't make me suicidal. It's not "I want to kill myself," it's "I wish I wanted to kill myself." It's wanting an end of suffering, but not in that way. This is all hard to admit, especially because I grew up in a really bad situation, and I feel like I've become weak; back then I was able to tell myself things would get better, but now I feel like "things will get better" is just wishful thinking. But maybe I haven't gotten weaker - maybe the reason 15 year old Charlotte could feel hopeful was the fact that there was an endpoint: graduating and leaving for college. But me, now.. I have no such comfort. 

But what I actually want to focus on is the possibility of change. 

A couple of days ago I read Rome Sweet Home, a story of conversion to the Catholic Church by Scott and Kimberly Hahn. As I was reading, I was struck by how earnestly they both prayed - for guidance, for help, to give thanks. Now obviously I've prayed before. But, if I'm being honest with myself, I have never quite poured my heart out to our Lord. I've said plenty of Our Fathers, but I've never been very personal in prayer... and I'm a little embarrassed to admit that I never gave God my full trust. I think this lack of trust likely stems from two decades of being let down (to put it very, very nicely) by parents, parent figures, and most adults I tried to trust as a child and again as a teen. Mind you, while this makes my lack of faith in God understandable, it doesn't make it justifiable. Going forward, this is going to be one of the three main tasks I've set for myself to get better. The other two: becoming physically healthy and in shape and; becoming mentally healthy and seeking more help. These three tasks were decided two days ago... after I prayed - really prayed - for guidance. 

I had finished reading the Hahn's conversion story, and I wondered why I had never prayed like them.. and I knew I wanted to. Both Dr. and Mrs. Hahn had described moments of "sensing" God's responses to their prayers. I know this isn't the proper or good way to react, but I was downright jealous. 

Several hours later (or maybe the next day), I found myself sitting on my bedroom floor, balling my eyes out. I was in the middle of sorting every single item I own and attempting to organize them in the little amount of available storage space. I was doing this because the clutter was overwhelming me, so much so that I couldn't write, couldn't read, couldn't paint. And I desperately needed to do those things; I've started a small (very small) business just so I can earn ten bucks here, ten bucks there. And I know creating things to sell would alleviate some of my depression symptoms. 

So there I was, unable to make anything to sell. All I could think was, "I could be making money. Not a lot, but when there's no food, $20 is a big deal." I felt pathetic. I was so angry at myself for letting a messy room stop me from doing something that could really help me. 

And if you've ever been depressed, you know that one bad thought leads to another, and soon you're unable to move, unable to do anything.

I just started crying. Crying and crying... and thinking about Rome Sweet Home, and feeling as though now was the moment, now I needed to trust (or tell myself I trust - fake it til you make it) and I needed to humble myself and earnestly pray. I said a lot of things in those moments, one of them along the lines of, "When the Hahns prayed for guidance, they sensed your response. Please, please let me sense your answer to just this one prayer. Just this one - I'm at my breaking point and don't know what to do."

And at first I felt nothing. My sobs had subsided, but that was it. I started wondering if I had done something wrong. Maybe I put too much emphasis on the Hahns? Maybe pleading for an outright answer was akin to trying to command God, which no man can do. And then I felt an all too familiar stabbing pain from my liver and lamented: I can't keep doing this. Hunched over and reaching for my bottle of ibuprofen, I had to pause and gather myself, because as suddenly as I felt that stab, I felt the word "march." Whoa. 

"Wait, wait."

"Really?!" 

"Wait! ...was that actually you?"

It wasn't as though I heard another voice other than my own. Morgan Freeman didn't narrate. Angels didn't appear, the heavens did not open, the earth did not shake. Really, I didn't hear the word "march" but I felt it. I felt it everywhere and I knew (and know) that it did not come from me.

Needless to say, I felt like a kid at Christmas. I was elated. I was giddy, overcome with joy. God had, however vaguely, answered.

For the last two days I have pondered this. I have spent nearly every waking moment wondering what was meant by this command to march. Part of me wished for more specific instructions. At the end of the day, though, I think he meant to say that I am not weak (how can I be, when I am baptized and he dwells in me and I in him?), and that I need to push forward. March into war, do battle with depression. March, continue to march, even when everything around me is broken, even when I am broken, like soldiers must do even when things seem bleak. March with my head held high, don't cower out of fear that others will think me fat, sickly, unattractive. March like Joan of Arc. March like the archangel Michael. March like Dorothy Day. 

I believe I was told to march in faith. Set goals, have dreams, and lean into Jesus to achieve them. Most importantly, continue marching forward, even when cloaked in misery. In the end, maybe the suffering will stop, maybe it won't. Maybe I'm living out my time in Purgatory while still here. Perhaps I'll reach old age and still be battling these demons. But if that's the case, I will remember the oft-evoked truth: joy cometh in the morning. So if I don't escape suffering in this life, I will find joy the moment I arrive in the next, as long as I'm steadfast in my convictions, marching toward the ultimate goal of joy: everlasting life with Jesus. 

Or maybe God meant something important will happen next March. Who knows? 

Charlotte  

Back

I can't believe it's been over a year (well over a year!) since I last wrote a post. For shame! It feels like it's been an eternity... and also like it's been no time at all. Could have been yesterday, as far as my brain can tell. This last year has been hard. Really hard. I'd go so far as to say that the last 18 months or so have been the worst of my adult life. I've not felt the way I do lately since I was in high school, before I got away from home. But! I've taken a few steps over the last two or three weeks and I'm hoping (expecting) things to turn around soon. It'll take a lot of effort, but I'll do it. 

My birthday this year upset me, mostly because I couldn't stop muttering to myself, "You're 27 and have no life.." All. Day. Long. Dramatic, negative? Maybe. But also true. And due, at least partially, to my own actions... or inaction, truthfully. A lot of what I've experienced has been entirely out of my control, but sometimes what really defined the situations were my decisions and responses. Not always, but often enough that I believe my life could be different, better, had I been a stronger person who made smarter choices. And also if I had stronger antidepressants. 😂

I had intended to do a "new year" post for 2018, but then January turned into February and then who knows why but February ended, and March was upon us. And I thought March was too late for that post. But last week it occurred to me that birthdays are just as good a time for reflection and resolutions as January is - if not better! So here we are. 27. 

More that anything else, I want to resolve to fight more this year. Fight against my own demons, fight against any ailments rather than just sigh and accept every new limitation thrown my way by health issues, fight for my goals. I think I've done an okay job dealing with my circumstances... but only okay. I could and should do better for myself. When my GI met with me and told me the results of my biopsy - that my liver was damaged but that they couldn't figure out why - I did as I always do: made a joke, laughed, and thought "great, I'm never going to get better." Defensive mechanism, passivity. I think there were times when being passive was best, when the alternative would have been to despair. But now that I've been more mindful of my actions, or lack thereof, I want to change strategy, I want to be more active. 

Recently I've felt all of my negative emotions keenly. Instead of feeling a general depression or disinterest in life I've felt specifically lonely and sad. I've realized just how bad it has been for me to have no friends. (I have friends but they all live 12-15 hours away... somewhat difficult to see each other.) I've been absurdly lonely, and not only is that bad in itself, but it's caused me to make bad decisions; I've hung out with people I don't like... and who don't like me... just because they're there. I've let people walk on me over and over again because I've convinced myself that if I cut them out, I won't make other friends. Deep down I know that's not true. Which means I have to be smart and not hang around the wrong people. But it's so hard, and sometimes I feel like I can't handle doing anymore hard things. 

Beyond that, my plans for the year aren't too specific, because I really need to work on a few general areas. I need to somehow work on confidence (suggestions welcome!). I need to start having actual dreams again. I need to figure out what I'd like to do long-term. I hope to meet a man (contingent, probably, on having confidence and leaving the house 😑). There are some small, specific things I'd like to work on: weight, read more, write more, get outside more, do my hair and makeup. Oh! And there is a big one: money. I need to get better with money management. This will probably be hardest because I have no one to learn from; the adults in my family are not responsible with money, and I grew up poor, so it's not as though I'm surrounded by people who can teach me. I foresee a lot of trips to the library for this. 

Which reminds me (library -> books -> this), have started a small (nay, tiny) business, born first from a desire to create bookish things: book marks, framed quotes, literary themed paintings, etc. and grown into a desire to create in general. Refinished furniture, planters, candles, and more. I'm in the final prep stages and should be able to start selling things soon. I'm excited for a few reasons, some extra money for one, and hopefully some relief from depression, too (hobbies help). 

I'll be blogging often, both here and on Filthy Casket Book Reviews, so stay posted.