I have spent years and years struggling, more than half my life really, with the mere fact that I exist and the biggest struggle in this whole God-thing is that I still don’t feel like I deserve life.
Life was easier in a lot of ways on the inside, where I didn’t have to think and life got done anyway. Wake up and get dressed at 7:00, prepare meals for 7:30 clean up at 8…. Shower or read or nap or have a cup of tea or two or three and feed everyone at 11:30.
The afternoons were the easiest though. Days locked away with the lights out. My body relaxing into the unknown and the unknown being safer than where I was. You can’t kill someone who is already dead, and I was very much no longer alive. I had no reason to fight anymore, no reason to disobey. No reason to pull apart the razor and dishonour myself by pressing the cool blade into my flesh. There was Patricia Cornwell, Stephen King, Devotions and the Bible to read. When I really wanted to kill time I would pick up a Tom Clancy novel. Learning all of the intricate parts of a military airplane before dinner at 4:30, this was normal. This scary life I led is also missed.
Evenings went by quickly with writing and reading and praying and games. For me though? Mostly it was writing and those darned books that made the days turn into months.
People died. Good people, died. Leaving their kids orphaned because they had chosen this life. I never understood why. I never got it. I would go to sleep around 11 like I try to now. Coaxing myself to sleep with a book in my hands. Often I would read it straight through before I was willing to give it up and re-enter this life. Re-emerging into a reality that was far from real and deep down I knew it. I just didn’t know how to escape. For awhile I wasn’t sure I even wanted to escape.
Brainwashed into the mundane and between it all there was this feeling of being wanted so desperately that someone would go through all of that, risk all of that, just to keep me? Emotionally brainwashed I was. Lost, worn, and tired. Not sure if I was in Heaven or Hell, concluding that I had to be in purgatory because real life couldn’t hurt like that. Real life couldn’t be this, could it?
Mornings always sucked. They meant I had to wake up into this world I dreaded. Looking back now I can see that every moment I spent awake was a moment in which I tried to escape, to die.
I had no honour. It was stripped away with all of my possessions, my clothes, covered up in bruises and scars. My battle wounds. A battle I am not yet sure I have won.
All that is good in my life easily sends me into a tailspin. One where my plane crashes and I don’t even try to escape.
I wonder if my plane went down if I would fight to be freed and survive like my cousin did or if I would simply throw my hands in the air and let the earth consume me, swallowing me whole.
How do you give honour to your life when it terrifies you? How do you hurt yourself and love the Lord? How do you wake up to God each day and feel like you are a mere mistake?
It is hard to give honour when you’re so full of pain…