Hoping Through Hopelessness

I wrote this two weeks ago.  Actually, I wrote about four posts discussing the pain I was in, but I immediately deleted every single one.  Too scary to be so vulnerable.  But this one I saved, and today I read through it and decided I want to post it, mostly because yesterday I got kind of comforted, and I want to write about that, only it won't make sense if I haven't also shared where I was before. 

Under the cut for cussing.  The deeper I go within myself, the more comfort I find in expressing my pain and confusion in words that might offend you.  Be forewarned and just stay away if you want to avoid it--that's fine.

 

It's been a weird time.  All last year, during theology and especially counseling classes, I kept noticing new facets of myself, unhealthy patterns or selfish habits or just plain sin.  Some of those things were dealt with, but a lot of them felt too big and too scary to deal with alone.  Since I'm not good at being vulnerable with people (yup, that's one of the things I learned), I shoved all this new knowledge to the back of my brain, assuring myself that when I started counseling during my second year, all that shit could come out to play.

Apparently my brain locked onto "second year" and ignored the "counseling" part.  There were some setbacks and whatnot on the campus end of things, so for the first four weeks of school, my brain was flooded with "OH DID YOU NOTICE HOW YOU JUST DID THAT--YOU DO THAT ALL THE TIME" and "LOOK AT YOU, STILL DOING THAT THING, ALWAYS DOING THAT THING, YOU'LL NEVER STOP" and it was just exhausting.

The easiest thing to talk about is depression.  I've mentioned it before, so it feels safer to discuss.  I don't know the exact right label, because while it might be low dopamine, it feels more experiential than biological.  What it is, really, is that I'm extremely sensitive.  Bad things weigh me down, and I just find it incredibly difficult to simply stand up.

"Get up, please!"

"I can't get up!  I can't get up!"

"For God's sake, the water's only waist high."

Why the hell am I studying counseling, then?  I DON'T KNOW.  Sometimes the brokenness of the world settles on me, and it seems debilitating, it seems utterly hopeless, and how in the world is anyone supposed to make it through this awful life with any semblance of happiness?  People are carved in sharp edges, and all we do is rub against each other, creating more pain, more edges, more weapons to be used on and on down the line.

That's my brain space, and that's not even me thinking about me specifically.

Anyway, so I went to the Mumford & Sons concert on Wednesday, and it was fantastic.  It was pure fun, which I needed, and Liz was there, which I needed, but mostly it was their songs and their words.  

"When all I knew was steeped in blackened hopes
Well I was lost...

And I was still but I was under your spell
When I was told by Jesus all was well
So all must be well
Just give me time
Well you know your desires and mine
So wrap my flesh in ivy and in twine
For I must be well" 

When I left the venue, I was alone because Liz was going back to Fort Worth.  The parking lots were at a standstill trying to get out, and I listened to a few songs for awhile, then turned everything off and started sobbing.  I haven't read my Bible (except for class assigned readings) in months, and all my prayers are delightful surface fluff ("thanks for my cat, God!" "please be with so-and-so, God!"), but I've been studiously avoiding a real confrontation with God, mostly because He seems truly awful sometimes.

So I told Him that.  I told Him He did a horrible job creating the world, and why the hell had He made us if He knew we were going to screw everything up so badly, and I didn't even care if He saw the bigger picture, this nauseating pain can't be worth it.  I told Him I was so sorry I was a fuck-up, that I can't wrap my head around Him, that I don't even want to most of the time; I'd rather live my life my own way, and isn't that awful?  We talked for a long time, me pouring my heart out in betrayal and doubt and hopelessness.  I heard Him a few times, reminding me that He didn't come to condemn the world but to save it, because He loves us so damn much.  I can't even comprehend, He must be mental, thank God He's mental.  I told Him that I'm just so tired, and if all of life is a struggle, a tension between declared holiness and becoming holy, a disconnect between idealism and realism, well, what is even the point?  How many cities can I live in, how many friends can I make, how many compliments can I hoard, and when will something stick, when will something make me feel okay?  And what about You, God?  I was told that once I had you this emptiness would go away, that YOU were the hole inside me, but ever since I got real about knowing You, it's just gotten WORSE.  

I thought of Romans 1:16 then, I don't know why.  "For I am not ashamed of the gospel, because it is the power of God that brings salvation to everyone who believes: first to the Jew, then to the Gentile."  When I memorized Romans 1 (earning salvation, trying to look good, party of one), that verse terrified me.  Because the thing is, I'm awful at evangelizing.  I care a crazy lot about what people think of me, and opening conversations with "If you die tonight, where will you go?" sounds like misery.  But that was the evangelism I was taught, and since I hate it, I thought that meant I was awful.  I thought that meant I was ashamed of the gospel.  Luckily, events from this summer changed that for me, and anyway, Romans 1:16 went through my head like an accusation, but I just kind of stutter-laugh-cried and said, "Your gospel is the fucking best news in the world!  I'm NOT ashamed of the hope that the God who created me loves me through every stupid decision I make.  I might be ashamed of Your people and of myself, but I'm NOT ashamed of You." 

That's the running theme, really.  I have a WIDE streak of pride, and for years when I would read prayers about people being worms and God's great love for the detestable, my reaction was something around, "Yeesh, they have not fully understood God's grace.  Good thing I have, har har."  But my word, I get it now.  I feel SO LOW.  My insides have been cracked open and I am astounded by how darkness touches everything I do, every facet of who I am.  And while it is HARD and painful and debilitating, it's also revealing more and more grace.  The more I know who I am, the more beautiful God becomes.

So even though this sucks, and my Thursday counseling sessions are going to be a beast (partly because we're dealing with this shit, partly because I REFUSE TO SHOW NEGATIVE EMOTIONS TO OTHER HUMAN BEINGS, start your bets on when I'll cry in sessions, should have been this week, probably won't happen until #10, ugh).  Got lost there.

My point is.  I'm hating myself right now.  I'm still incredibly sensitive to my own pain and the collective pain of the world.  I don't get why any of this is worth it.  But in the midst of all this darkness, God is shining brighter than ever.  I'm still not reading my Bible or deliberately praying, but He is everywhere and I am so grateful.

"Never get out!" he yelled.  "That's it.  Of course.  We shall never get out..."

Lucy leant her head on the edge of the fighting-top and whispered, "Aslan, Aslan, if ever you loved us at all, send us help now."  The darkness did not grow any less, but she began to feel a little--a very, very little--better....

"Look!" cried Rynelf's voice hoarsely from the bows.  There was a tiny speck of light ahead, and while they watched a broad beam of light fell from it upon the ship.  It did not alter the surrounding darkness, but the whole ship was lit up as if by a searchlight....

Lucy looked along the beam and presently saw something in it.  At first it looked like a cross, then it looked like an aeroplane, then it looked like a kite, and at last with a whirring of wings it was right overhead and was an albatross.  It circled three times round the mast and then perched for an instant on the crest of the gilded dragon at the prow.  It called out in a strong sweet voice what seemed to be words though no one understood them.  After that it spread its wings, rose, and began to fly slowly ahead, bearing a little to starboard.  Drinian steered after it not doubting that it offered good guidance.  But no one except Lucy knew that as it circled the mast it had whispered, "Courage, dear heart," and the voice, she felt sure, was Aslan's, and with the voice a delicious smell breathed in her face.

--C.S. Lewis's The Voyage of the Dawn Treader