The depression that once degraded my sanity now roams aimlessly around the outside world. I am now hidden in Jesus’ perfect love but can still see her- my old demon. She EATS AWAY at others, I scream at her to leave them alone but she laughs knowing they allow her to be there. All I can do is watch from the window on the second floor as she walks silently behind the backs of people and I pray, rebuking her metacarpus from drowning them in their own thoughts. If they just turned around and looked her in those blackened eyes they would see her lifeless heartache! Jealousy! Oh how she is jealous of this life Jesus has given us, she drifts because she has been banished from the true purpose she was created for, now waiting for the wrath of God to consume her completely, a literal sitting duck, pathetic is what she is. A foot stool for my King is what she is.
I look at old pictures. Different faces, different places, but one thought- “Let the light come in.” I remember my thoughts and feelings with every day, week, month, and season. Desperate to feel anything and willing to make anything work, I dragged someone down with me. But now I have crossed the Jordan river and my thoughts have been baptized. I have walked through the water fall where the blood of Christ falls on me. The red blood that puts everything in perspective. The blood cells that contain fear, anger, and sorrow but complete surrender- washed over me.
I was at the train station waiting for my ride to come. I waited on the bench from Monday till the following Sunday. I was stuck, it seemed like a week but I was there for months. Christ came down and spoke with fire in His mouth, I wasn’t sure what I should do but He reassured me: “Do you have a heart daughter?” I nodded as tears ran down my cheeks and suicidally leaped off my face. “Then get up and walk with me because that heart belongs to me.” Not a single train has ridden by.
I stare at my green suitcase that sits in the middle of my room, touching the bed and in the right position for the light that comes through my window to sit on directly. The images my eyes take in are mere articles of clothing while the images produced in my head are clothes I would wear walking to class or grabbing dinner in a little town far from this place. I stare at my green suitcase that holds depression and disabling sadness zipped up inside itself. I am careful to keep it shut. I am careful to fill the empty parts of myself with your word. Fearful of manifesting anything short of your grace and not capable of lasting another attack. Wavering between the known and the unknown. My clearest answer being taking that suitcase with me to Lynchburg where there, and only there, could I open the suitcase and witness crippling depression crawl out and die before it could live in this heart again.
Instead I only hear you faintly, blocked by my own thoughts. It gets bad some days, so aggressive and continuous that my Bible doesn’t leave my right hand. It no longer sleeps in my bag but fights the war in the midst of sunlight. I’m so desperate for peace in my thoughts. But wave after wave of nothingness crashes on me. I get moments of still water though, they are so indescribably sweet. I used to get glimpses of heaven and now the furthest thing I can imagine is the promise of change in my life in four years. I’m only supposed to think of heaven in my downfall but I can’t even sleep long enough to have a rested mind. I guess this is the part where Jesus rescues me, he is my king after all. But until then I’ll keep looking for Him because God ONLY KNOWS THE CORRECTION NEEDED. Part with my soul the wicked desires that house there, Jesus please, come stand in my door way so that my mind has no other option but to look at your Glory. Please, I’m fucking desperate.
I feel stuck and in a corner, left to nothing but Netflix and a tall glass of water. I actually came to this point, feeling alone- more like deserted. At the end of each week I still have that open circle of praising not knowing that my weeks are filled with uncertainty and pain from family. Each day I see them dance around my shattered dreams, stomping with elegance as if nothing tragic could happen from their parading. As if my dreams are only pictures hung up on the walls of our house. Still framed moments of hope, those are my dreams, still framed. I can’t go anywhere if my dreams are meant to stay in the house, meanwhile I’ll get yelled at if I don’t leave the house. Do something with your life Kayla. Go somewhere. Get somewhere. All things the family says and then they go burning the bridges that would get me to my promise land. Such big dreams I have for such a big God I serve. But maybe He wants me to be happy just being in the chair that I’m sleeping in tonight knowing that He’s the dream. He’s reality. He’s everything. He’s forever- this isn’t.
This past year, this past season of amazing grace…it will never be the same. I will never have my Lala, and my Tasi, and my Baree, and my Kharen, and my Marie all around me. I will never have my unwed sister or live with Lala for a time that isn’t a visit. I will never get to be in a space where we are all their for ourselves and not for the sole purpose of being together. That’s the best way, when we arn’t there just to be in each other’s presence. I want it to stay that way forever, I was supposed to have three more years with them but that’s gone now I feel robbed of recklessly spent time. Jesus lead me to greener pastures, please take me away from the broken heart I have from the blessings you gave me. The Lord gives and the Lord takes away.
Early in the morning is when I think about you. I go to the gym to get you off my mind. I go shopping to distract myself. I drive fast to speed up time.
Sunset in the afternoon is when I think of you. I read my books so I can take my thoughts to the place where yours float. I eat my bowl of fruit to taste some sweetness. I fly on planes because I like pretending I’m on my way to see you.
Late at night is when I think about you. I play the piano hoping the air carries to wherever you are. I pray because God is the only one who actually knows who you are. I write because you come alive in my words. I don’t hug or hold hands with anyone knowing you’re coming to me.
“There is no greater agony than bearing an untold story inside you.” – Maya Angelou
I became quite enamored with a girl who had gorgeous ginger hair- it was almost unreal. And she loved to Irish jig her heart away- this caught the attention of mine. She taught me what beauty looked like from a softly spoken voice. She lived her life along side me for almost four years but we never crossed paths until the time to depart dawned on us. She was fairy-like, ushering her pixie dust to alter everything she touched for the better. When she touched my soul it awoke from an eternal winter of impulsive foolishness. I think a part of me hurt her deeply but she was stationary, she was calm. She was a strong and charming wood and I, an ignited match with kinetic energy that could rue a forest in its entirety. When our forces came together a fire arose but she didn’t burn. Rather, I burned myself out. I tried to destroy what I couldn’t understand, I avoided my destructive nature and traded my love (what little of it I was made of) for wrath. She was still. She engulfed my conniption and housed all the damage, like shipwrecks underneath a calm sea. A short lived fairytale of respected delegates congregating in the corner house of misfits. Other people came and went but I always stayed near and she….so dear…..to my heart.
Seems I have to fight for joy these days, has a war been waged on my peace? I think so.