Skip to main content

It Is Not Real

Somewhere on the continuum between doubt and trust, I have discovered a place where truth has taken root deep inside and begun to grow toward the surface - but doubt, like old layers of skin, still clings to the outside. It is weakened and thinned out, but still there, a shell that covers me.

I still react to life in the old ways. When I have a bad encounter with someone, a voice inside my head still tells me I'm worthless and talks destruction into my ears. I'm cagey with people I'm just learning to trust, welcoming them one minute and putting up walls the next. On some days I feel a darkness leaning on my shoulders. I want to give up, quit fighting.

When you don't have any reason to hope, these reactions make perfect sense. I would never tell someone who was in a place of real doubt and fear that they just have to hold on, believe, stay strong. I was at that place for many years. The right thing, at that time, was to admit exactly how terrified I was and do whatever was necessary to protect myself from life and God. And God took care of His side of things, began the discussion, came and reasoned with me, told me stories and worked miracles, spoke my language and showed me love.

So now the evidence all points to something very different from the evil universe in which I previously existed. I truly believe in something and Someone better. Gradually that fragile belief is becoming stronger. I have a sense that I'm crossing a great divide, that I'll never go back.

But in the meantime, I'm still crossing. And I'm learning to carry myself through the old emotions. I'm realizing that even if I feel afraid or circumstances are repeating horrifyingly familiar patterns, that doesn't mean the story is going to end badly. I can't stop the emotions, but I can identify the truth that I know and I can believe it, even if I don't feel like it is true.

Comments

Kelly Sauer said…
I wish I had known. You, my sister... you remind me of one another. I've walked this road with her too.

Popular posts from this blog

How to Waste Time When You Could Be Watching a Zombie Movie

Today I read one of those horrible articles that the internet seems to have been designed for, consisting of 40 tips for becoming as successful as the author: "How to Live a Full Life (and Leave Nothing on the Table) by 30." Yes, that's really the title. Normally I wouldn't publish a blog post in response, but because I managed to Come Down with a Chronic Illness (and Achieve Basically Nothing Else) by 30 and Am Currently Feeling the Aftereffects of One of the Treatments I Periodically Take, Which Causes Me to Feel High and Lose My Inhibitions, I'm just going to go for it. (Author's point #33: "Seriously, You Can Do Whatever You Want." Why thank you, young man, I think I will!)

The author's name is Ryan Holiday, and he has published several books. It sounds like he is also very wealthy, because note point #15, "Sooner Is Not Better," where he says he had a weird goal of becoming a millionaire by 25, but it didn't happen until after

Lyme Recovery, Seven Years In

When I first got my Lyme diagnosis, I went to the library and borrowed all the books on Lyme disease I could find (there were only three, if I recall correctly). One book was the personal account of a woman whose undiagnosed Lyme crossed her placenta and infected her unborn son, who later died in childhood after horrific symptoms. That book and a second featured images of magnified ticks, and I would peek through the pages taking care not to accidentally touch the photographs. I realized I might never have children. I returned the books to the library.

The third book was Biography of a Germ by Arno Karlen, a scientific essay on the Lyme spirochete. I didn't finish it because I took it back to the library as part of my stop-scaring-myself-silly dragnet. But I remembered it fondly. The author methodically explored the Lyme bacteria, Borrelia burdorferi, as an organism in its own right, a marvel of evolutionary survival that relies on a complex chain of ticks, small ani…

Waking Up Is Hard to Do

Ever since I was six or so, I have battled alarm clocks. They've jolted me awake. I've turned them off. I've hit snooze. I've gone back to sleep. I've tried to awaken myself gently with the classical music station or Aaron Copland CDs. No matter what, I can't get out of bed when the alarm says I should.

When I was a child, my father and I would race after the school bus. As an adult, I was chronically late for work. I'm not a morning person. I don't sleep well and rarely feel rested. Lymies don't feel well in the mornings anyway, and it didn't help that I'm easily startled and was being shocked awake each day with the equivalent of those paddles they use on heart attack victims. All morning I'd feel groggy and queasy and antsy, with adrenaline pumping through me.

A couple years ago I got sick and had to stay home from work for a few days. When I was ready to get back to the office, I took it easy for a few alarm-clock-free mornings while…