Skip to main content

Only you can save you

It was said kindly and it's true.

Nobody can make me feel differently, except me.

It lays heavy on my heart and has done all afternoon. I can't do it. I have tried.

I have tried 'health visitor-ing' myself. I repeat scriptures over and over. I say to myself and my inner child that I am loved, lovable, precious and good enough.

I have prayed for strength. I have prayed for peace. I've waited. I've tried my hardest to leave my pain, my shame, my failings at the foot of the cross. I listen to other Christians who repeat over and over I must trust God. That this will be OK, no brilliant, in the end. I say it over and over.

Yet my heart is heavy. Not metaphorically either. It feels like a stone crushing my chest, restricting my breathing sometimes. It hurts.

I know that none of you can pick me up and make this go away, even if you wanted to. Listening to me, holding me, it helps. It doesn't fix it though.

I can't change my attitude towards myself. I don't feel I will ever accept that this is a sickness. A true, unavoidable sickness rather than a horrible flaw in my inner self. That this is not my sin being exposed and me being too weak spirited to fight it.

Perhaps better support and understanding from people I thought knew better would have altered this view, perhaps not.

I don't know how to fix this. I am doing all I can. Truly. I'm trying so, so hard and I am exhausted all the time.

I've always said nobody can fix this. I know it is my responsibility. I know that you saying that this must come from me wasn't accusatory, you weren't laying the blame on me (maybe you were but I'm trying not to be paranoid!) but I don't think I can do it.

I don't want to be like this and I know I have all the tools and knowledge to fix this. Nobody has yet said anything that has surprised me. I may be surprised you understood me but I've already come to most of the conclusions myself in my rational mind.

I've done all the CBT stuff. A whole book. Face to face too. I'm great at gathering counter evidence. I'm great at finding the origins of my thoughts and how they link to my emotions and behaviour. I can relax every hit of my body and watch my thoughts float away like balloons.

I have spoken about my parents. My early years. Abuse. Sex. My children. My fears about parenting. My low self esteem. Bullying.

I can't dig any deeper. I've nothing left. Perhaps today I really have accepted that the answer comes only from me. That is not a good conclusion for me to come to because I have no more answers. My heart is heavier than ever.

Comments

Popular posts from this blog

Elusive Recovery

How do you get better? How do you recover? Do you suddenly wake with hope? Do you feel differently? Do you just notice after it has happened? What is recovery? Is recovery real?  How long does recovery take? Is it even possible? How will I know what recovery looks like? Why does it take so long? So long I gave up hope. What do I need to do now? To end this nightmare forever. I don't know how much longer I can bear this. How can I continue? To face another day. It feels like this will never end. They say it happens slowly. That recovery is possible for me. Do they really know that? Can it really be true? Is recovery possible? Is there a flicker of hope? Or is it just a fairy tale that's not truth? Each day that passes by, Hope slips further away. I feel this is life forever. The tunnel light seems dimmer. No hope, no light, just darkness forever more. I cannot see past this. The pain overwhelms me. I'm deep in a pit of despair. Recovery is a ...

Coming home

Pretty much exactly 5 months after my last church attendance I returned today. Since my last time I had only seen 3 people from the congregation face to face. People who live in my town. Who I've seen at least twice a week for years, I'd seen so few of them. Children had grown. Newborn babies now starting to move. Barely bumps now earth side. There were a few new faces too. We decided to go today because we had been invited for Sunday lunch by a couple from church. The sweet, kind hearted, godly doctor who was on duty the weekend I was first taken to hospital. I didn't give myself a choice this morning. I'd set up an excuse not to go for lunch already. Our car was broken. It was true, it was, but I knew it would be fixed in time to go. So I got up and we went. I'd spoken with my counsellor about not feeling it was my home any longer. That I wasn't part of the fellowship anymore. That physically I didn't know where to sit. Our usual seats, middle,front, with ...

Excluded

I wasn't prepared to feel this way. I wasn't prepared to feel close to tears when my child came home from your care. I wasn't prepared to pretend to smile at his work and songs and joy whilst burying the physical ache in my chest. I wasn't expecting to feel this exhausted and this alone. I wasn't expecting that yet another professional questioning your judgements and decision making to make me feel more conflicted then ever. I wasn't expecting to still feel so heartbroken after all this time. To miss the you. To miss the hard work. To miss me. I wasn't expecting this to happen at all though. So I guess it shouldn't be a surprise. I don't know what happens now.