A breath of fresh air

I need to write.

There are so many things that I don't take the time to reflect upon. When I do reflect on my day, I find myself seeing God's fingerprint and hand in everything. I still love the lines that Anna Nalick sung in her song...

"2 AM and I'm still awake, writing a song. If I get it all down on paper, it's no longer inside of me threatening the life it belongs to..."

Sometimes I just need this time. It doesn't feel like I can speak the things that are weighing on my heart or process the thoughts in my mind. When I write, things become so clear. I may not come up with clear solutions, but I discover what is in my heart. It's like the source of my emotions rises to the surface; a bit of me that was hiding in the depths is able to surface for a breath of air.

That's what writing is to me. A breath of fresh air. A lifesaver in the midst of the raging sea.
It is a way that I connect with God. I feel Him beckoning..."over here, there's something you have missed". And the way I am able to weave in Scripture and art that reflects His glory. I love it.

Lately, I have felt as though there was not enough room for everything.

I felt like I put way too much effort into things that just didn't work out.
I tried waking up early to work on assignments and start my day off right with quality time with God and breakfast... with hopes of exercising once the routine was set.

Yet, when I went to sleep early it didn't matter. I would sleep for countless hours.

I tried to stay up late to fit in my assignments. Then I would wake up feeling rushed and tired.

Setting habits and routines are so hard. But I recognize how important it is, especially for people with mental illness. I am just so frustrated at how hard it has been and the health problems I have had this semester. When they do happen I feel like it's my fault and when I try to explain it to get help in school I feel like I'm making excuses.

It should not be that way.

Just as if I were sick with the flu or as if I broke a bone, I should feel comfortable enough to explain that something is wrong and not feel ashamed to get help.

I just feel like I always cry in those moments.

That's when the thoughts come in that
"I'm too weak" "they probably think I'm crying to get better grades" "why do I always cry? Is something wrong with me?" "when will I ever get through this?"

On the other hand, I am so blessed to have the assistance and support that I do. I just don't understand why I still feel that way. There is a stigma attached to mental illness and years of hurt that have built up, not even due to intentional harm from people but just the nature of the trauma that happened in episodes and misunderstanding from people who thought I was just slower at doing things.

That slower processing that occurred with different medicine changes caused me to view myself as someone who was inferior. My ex-boyfriend recognized that he would get frustrated at me too much and realized that it was too much so we ended our relationship. I was left thinking that maybe no one would be able to "deal with me" or understand me fully. I have even had jobs or volunteer where people would get impatient with me for the time it took for me to complete tasks.

Now, as far as relationships go, I dream of a husband who will see me as God sees me. One that sees the beauty in my perceived flaws, that can laugh with me at silly things, and be there with me through the hardest times. He doesn't have to cry with me, give me answers to life's questions or even understand completely what I'm going through. Just to say,"I'm here" is enough.

It still seems like someone like that will never come. There is some piece of me that still holds on to a lie that it is not possible to have a healthy relationship that stems from many divorces and marital problems that I saw happening around me..."And that was the day that I promised that I'd never sing of love if it doesn't exist..."

That song spoke directly to my fear... only instead of living with a distance and pushing guys away, I searched for acceptance and comfort that I knew was found in one person alone.

"Why the searching, O tired soul? ," My heart cries.


"I'm here."
I still remember those words clear as day as I watched "Robin Hood". I was pining for a relationship where someone would take great risk for me and pursue me as Robin Hood pursued Marian.

How many times do we chase after what's been in front of us all along?

Like the story of the prodigal son, the Father stands waiting. I imagine him with a tear in his eye, his lips curled up in a warm smile as he holds out his arms.

And I remember his promises. The promise that He will never leave nor forsake me. The promise that nothing could ever separate me from His love. The promise that my family will be okay. The promise that He has someone special for me. The promise that He will go before me and be with me. The promise that He will use me as an advocate. The promise that He will use my voice... I am a daughter with purpose and meaning, value and important things to say.