2 years ago i started this blog. 2 years ago i was in Singapore sitting at a 13 year old girl’s white wooden desk with cold tile cooling my feet and hot air frizzing my hair. 2 years ago i was an emotional zombie. i was carrying around a hurt that dragged on the ground when i walked around. a hurt that collected all the muck from my past. a weight that i couldn’t shake, i just walked slower, forgetting that i used to run, convincing myself that i hate to run, convinced that walking forward one inch was impossible.
it’s weird how i can remember that pain. that state of being. of numbness. i remember how i couldn’t even smile or lift my head. i was determined to not be happy because happiness hurts. people take away happiness. they beat that shit out of you. they give you opportunities and right when you start to believe you can, they take it back. spit in your face. cut into your gut and rub their superiority in your throbbing wounds. they don’t see that their selfishness is the knife in your back and that their forgetfulness is the final twist that seals it there.
it’s not that my life is a 180 better now. if anything, i struggle with the same exact things that i did back then. so what’s different? besides the 2 years of breath that has left and entered my body.
im graduating college in 30 days. that’s different. i feel like the time i spent, the hurts i collected are worth something. and that’s different. not worth something like if i took them to a pawn shop, i’d find out i was actually a millionaire. but worth connecting. my life experiences have been the most powerful connecting tool i’ve ever had. my deep hurts are what drives my compassion for the hurting people around me. it’s just that. when i’m hurting, when my wounds open up again, when i’m being petty and passive aggressive or just plain aggressive, when i’m giving up and regressing. i’m back in Singapore. trapped inside that prison in my mind.
so i guess the biggest difference has been that i’ve escaped that prison. that i believe. whether that belief fills my entire body or just barely fits into a mustard seed. i believe that prison is not my home. i believe i can be free.
the first time i was somewhat suicidal (in my runaway sense) was in the spring of 2015. and even after that time, i couldn’t shake my desire to die inwardly. do you know what i mean? not that inside of me i felt like dying. i mean, i wanted to disappear from the inside. like how a cool swishy jacket can be pushed into one of its own pockets and become really tiny. like how a black hole eats itself. i wanted to disapparate from the world so that there wasn’t a trace of me at all. not a stain of my existence. this was the prison i found myself in. and even when i had good days and was functional and everything else. it was like i was on parole. i just wasn’t convinced that i had a reason to be in the real world.
and i guess that’s the difference. no, i haven’t found my reason to be in the world exactly. besides knowing that i am living for God’s glory. and i’ve found that just living to not let things get as bad as they’ve been before burns out pretty quickly too. the difference is that i believe. this blog helps me to believe. your comments, your support helps me to believe. the Bible and the time i spend with him grounds me in my belief. because at the end of the day i have nothing. i am nothing. if not for what i believe.
happy 2 years. here’s to many more.