Motherhood, Madness, God and Me

Today I learned to knit. I knitted and knitted. I taught my children. They enjoyed it. It was something I asked my husband to teach them in one of my letters, because I promised my son I would help him knit a scarf. We went out this morning. We cuddled. I was left exhausted. My mind was more settled. The knitting, and achieving my promise helped. Then, at bedtime, the pain in my chest returned. Heavy, crushing. I try to fill my calender with plans, promises, to delay myself, to make me wait. Each thing I write I wonder if I will be around to make it. I am reading a lot of scripture. Trying to change my thoughts. I now have my photo of 8 year old me. I look at her and tell her the things she needs to know. She looks older than 8. She looks cheerful. Was I already hiding then? Was that before or after? Was I already good at masking? I can't remember. I'm trying. I'm trying so hard. I read today that God never tempts us more than we can deal with and will always send us a...

Sometimes getting out of bed is so hard. Like really, really hard. The thought of facing people and pretending you are full of Easter joy when inside your heart is certainly not focused on the gift of the resurrection but instead on how much people hurt you. How continued rejection and lack of encouragement overwhelm you and you fall foul of your sinful heart again and again and again. Please pray for me. I don't need likes or replies, I need prayer. I need to stop hoping in people. Even Christians. I need to empty my heart of the illusion I should matter to anyone else. I need to be satisfied with the love of God only. I need an Easter miracle. Or to remember I've already had one. Please pray for me.

Thank God it was sunny when I left the house. It meant my red puffy eyes were hidden from view. Today is a bad day. There were triggers, nothing major but my afternoon was spent crying. Crying for the old me. Crying for the way things were. Crying for the version of me who was capable and reliable. That night I did die. I descended to a different place. A place of medication which makes you fat and tired. A place where people fear you. A place where you are always going to be remembered as the one who tried to kill herself. A place where confidential conversations are shared "in love". I tried to hold it together until I was alone. Desperately trying to keep up the appearance of recovery. It didn't work like that though. I almost made it but as my friend left I couldn't help out. Our friendship kind of illustrates to me how much I have lost. I'm still angry. I know none of this is her fault. It's all just such a mess. I wish I could share openly once aga...