I confess I still hold within me the spirit of a girl who had secretly not supposed she would live very long.
Nor supposed herself as one deserving of much happiness.
Ah, if you could see it ...
A healed body, with a soul that dares not rise from the sickbed, but for a brief stroll in the gardens.
I had known this would be the hardest part, but not how hard the hardest truly could be.
This love goes against my very nature.
I struggle to wake up.
I will spend days in full-on battle for the Kingdom, then find myself weeping in bed the following night.
How can this ever be changed?
It seems to be my endless battle, this fight for my state of mind.
I live half in unabashed hope, half in uncontrollable anxiety.
I am an unending series of inconsistencies. & I startle those who know depths of me to confusion.
Someone reading my journals might easily think me bipolar.
There are days where a switch just flips, & I am found once more in the depths of depression. There are times when this lasts for an hour.
Times when it lasts for a month.
Wake me, wake me.
I am not afraid of the dark.
But then there are days when I am.
There are days when I am even afraid to close my eyes & try to sleep, knowing how unpredictable my own head is. Not trusting it.
How strange, to feel unsafe in one's own mind.
That toddler-like fear of shadows on such familiar walls.
My elementary habit of pretending I simply do not see, do not feel.
I know people who wouldn't know how to read this post. Who'd ask for explanation. For my mind is a riddle, & my heart, a vague poem ... & they struggle to understand. Or they cannot reconcile this image to the one that they see.
How strange, to know two Lydias.
I've experienced that confusion myself.
"I don't know who I am."
My soul feels as though it is under some feverish stupor ... not knowing what is real, & what is false. The truth seems too good. The lies seem too real.
I need to wake up.
Lay my heart bare, once & forever.
Willing to be healed, once more.
Choosing hope, when fear is easy habit.
I am fine today, I reason.
"Fine" is borderline apathy.
When you lose your empathies, your senses follow shortly.
I discover that I am on the precipice of a pit.
I choose to turn away.
Jesus, ever waken me.
My blind & sickly soul needs Your touch.
Remove the illusions.
Heal me wholly.