I cannot say how difficult it can be to dedicate myself to blogging while fighting the daily discouragement of a mental illness. That doesn’t mean I haven’t been writing or dreaming up ideas for the plans I have for the beautiful fight, but it does speak truth as to why I haven’t been sitting down and pushing myself to click ‘publish’. So here is a little bit of how I’ve been feeling these days and weeks, and what I am learning through it all.
I’m passing through a season in which some days I feel my desires have changed. I don’t find any urge to read my bible. I don’t feel passion to play violin. And the more I consider why or tell myself that I should, the more I resist and run in the other direction.
Why am I panicking so much? Why am I on top of myself and fighting these thoughts as if I’m committing the greatest sin? Perhaps behind this deadness, behind this unwillingness to do, is the hidden truth. Perhaps my feeling of having sinned or being utterly wrong comes from my deep desire to resist, my wish to “disobey” and voice my never spoken “no”. No to what I don’t want, no to what I don’t feel like doing, and no to anything that holds me back from doing what I really want.
So I watch more videos from my favorite bloggers, I scroll through inspiring screens, I cook up new recipes, and write away. None of these are wrong, and all of them are good for me. Yet the way of experiencing them becomes silenced, and their beauty and inspiration no longer have the same affect.
What I choose to see or do are no longer satisfying or fulfilling me, but rather an attempt to resist, to push in the other direction. They are just motions and actions, replacements for what my heart desperately longs for; to be heard, to be recognized as me. I long to be.
I fear the seemingly loss of desire towards what I held so dear, and I never find contentment in the beauty I place before my eyes. Suffering lies on both sides.
There’s something there that I resist. Something so deep and far, yet that consumes my heart as it cringes in frustration. I was restricted, restricted to feel and punished in exchange for showing such. And it wasn’t just another who restricted me, but I restricted myself, because I had quickly learned that my feelings and thoughts, if expressed, had power. They had the power to cause another to explode and hit me, to cause sadness, and to cause one to walk away from me. My feelings had the power to make others leave me alone in the painful silence of the unknown. And so I often was, alone and without titles or names to all of the things and words and overwhelming feelings. So I sought for their meanings on my own, considering all of the possibilities they could have meant.
I decided it was better to not speak and to listen to the sad lies instructed. So I chose to resist, I chose to resist myself in exchange for love. I chose to push back and deny my unknown and unspoken feelings to keep another near. To not be cut off. To not be seen as a disobedient daughter, but the obedient one. And so I lived in the unhealthy way of survival that I had created, which today I live my days fighting against in order to teach myself the Truth - I do exist. And I matter.