Today I found myself sitting in the bathroom with the fan on and the door locked, quietly sobbing. It was a bad day. I spent most of it locked in my head, wondering, worrying, making horrible predictions about the future. I spent quite a bit of time trapping loved ones in these precious little boxes of self-pity, built entirely out of meaningless instances I have taken out of context in order to prove that they really don’t love me at all like they say they do. I was locked in my head— swimming about, sifting through stressors and insecurities and anger and fear until I felt the only possible solution was to break a whole lot of stuff. Lamps, mirrors, kitchen chairs— whatever I could get my hands on, really. But being the good passive aggressive Christian that I am, I didn’t destroy my parents’ house. Instead, I locked myself in the bathroom and cried (after angrily hitting a ruler against a suitcase many times).
It’s been one of those years, you know? Followed by one of those months, and then one of those weeks, and then… apparently, one of those days. The most frustrating thing about it was that I couldn’t pin-point exactly what made me want to grab the next person I saw by the ears and shake them until I passed out. I suppose I could blame it on whatever it was that triggered it. Probably something I saw on Facebook, or my stupid tank top, how the sleeve kept on falling down over my shoulder (I hate that!). But really, it was so much more. It was one of those moments where the world comes crashing down: that shadowy, imaginary world where you’ve got everything that has ever worried you, angered you, or caused you or your family pain under control. There it all is, laid out in nice concentric circles so you can see it all at the same time and assure yourself you’ve got this. Then those nice little circles turn into razor sharp ninja throwing stars, and they come racing toward you all at the same time and you freak. out.
That is what happened to me today. I know, I know. I really should have been dealing with that shadowy world a long time ago. I know that it’s partly my fault. I’ve sort of bought into this lie that I have to be ok all the time, which doesn’t mean that I am ok all the time, just that I pretend to be. I really don’t do enough crying in the bathroom, that’s what it is. I don’t do enough crying on friends’ shoulders, either (probably because they don’t love me at all like they say they do). It’s taken me a long time to learn how to take care of myself, and still, it is usually one step forward, two steps back. Until someone who loves me (truly, I’m so lucky to have as many people who love me as I do) grabs me by the shoulders and tells me to quit being a martyr before I lose my mind (or destroy someone’s house).
I think most of us have played the martyr at one point or another. Bottle it up, shove it way deep down inside— “I can handle this”— until the lid blows off from all the pressure and we club someone to death with the nearest tree branch. Some people go most of their lives keeping it all shoved away. Me, well, I made it ‘til today. I’m sure I could have found some other corner of my mind to shove all those skeletons into. Or I could have kept hitting that suitcase until it was just four wheels and some zippers. But instead I went into the bathroom and cried. And then I took a drive, and I screamed, several times, at the top of my lungs. And then I laughed.
I might have to do it again tomorrow. I’ll probably have to do something similar to it many, many times throughout my life. Hopefully I’ll quit making those boxes and I’ll cry into someone’s arms, instead of the bathroom mirror. The cobwebs have not all been cleared away yet, but I think I made the right decision, for once. And I’m feeling a little bit better.
The choice is not simply between destroying ourselves or destroying others. I believe we can decide against destruction altogether, as long as we're willing to let a little of our human show.
Dear (Our Names Here): Stop being a martyr and go scream at something.
Sincerely, Your Increasingly Fragile Psyche.
Sistapants, I love you!!! We all do this to ourselves and, for me at least, its because we have these standards for ourselves, which you hit on, that we have to be a certain way. As I read The Will to Change, I've become aware that centuries of patriarchy have contributed to my impossible standards for myself. Another contributor is I refuse to turn to God until I'm broken into peices and only He can put me back together. But as the poet said, "He collects our tears." It is good to have a God that is so close that He can catch every tear. He doesn't miss a single drop and as Rob Bell says, "He sheds a tear when we do."
ReplyDeleteFriend, I hope that this summer is exactly what you need at this point in your journey. I hope that you are refreshed and refilled. I hope that your journey to Nepal is safe and rewarding for you and for those you will bless. And I hope that I get to see you in August so we can sit with a cup of coffee and chat. Its been way too long. May God give you the peace that surpasses all understanding and may you remember that Christ is always close enough to catch every tear and even shed some at your side.
Brothapants, I love YOU! Thank you so much, I really needed to be reminded of that. I don't think I've learned quite yet how to invite God into this mess, or rather how to recognize Him in it already. I can't wait to see you in August! Be praying for me, and I'll be praying for you. Miss you, friend. Thanks again. :)
ReplyDeleteand p.s. I'm so glad you're still reading Will to Change. :)
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