(aserial blip 2)

Rough night.

There was a sudden moment of intense comfort and profound rest last night that virtually made my jaw drop. I had been crying for half an hour or so, initially because I didn't know how to process God's love for me (and that He was showing it)--I kept asking Him, "what am I supposed to do with this??" almost angrily. Then I was crying because the invisible hands that had been on me for several hours (for the second day in a row) were at peak intensity. When it's prolonged, it wears me down. I start feeling smaller and smaller and more and more ashamed. Often my face flushes.

When it's intense (which has only happened twice) it's like torture. It's like reliving an assault but worse because I can't call the cops or push the attaker away. 

Last night when I got home I couldn't take my coat off for more than ten minutes. When I went to pull it off I felt like it was my only article of clothing and I was removing it in front of a lustful, objectifying audience. I felt like I was being humiliated. 

I couldn't even zip it back up. I couldn't slump to the floor, lie on my bed, stand up straight, fold my arms or hug a pillow because any movement made my clothes move over my highly sensitive, easily irritated body and I was just so tender. It was like trying to move barbed wire over a bed of balloons.

So I stood hunched over a little to make my clothes fall away from me and I sobbed like I was being taken advantage of, and like I was helpless in it.

I think I have never begged like that in my life, not even in prayer. I begged and begged God to take it away. I had reached my limit and I was crying out desperately. It was like torture. It's like torture to be in my own body.

When I sensed that I might soon snap from the pain, I decided to pick up the pillow because I wasn't convinced this could hurt any more than it did. I squeezed gingerly (a simulated hug) and there was a little relief.

Hoping we were now officially in the decline, I put the pillow down but found I was wrong. So I writhed and pleaded and sobbed again.

Then I wanted to decide that enough was enough. I thought nothing could make this worse, so I had better barrel through instead of putting my life on hold. I simply decided the jacket had to come off and as I started removing it, I heard a very faint "trust me".

I took it off and I was OK.

I was OK.

The pain dropped from a nine out of ten to a six. Hurdle cleared, I was able to completely switch into my pyjamas--however slowly--trying to consciously swallow the pain and not be crippled by it.

I heard my housemate come in and wondered if she could hear me crying. I wondered if I wanted a hug. I didn't know. I felt so ashamed and roughed up, I wasn't sure I wanted to be touched. I eventually decided to go for one hug (but no chatting) but by the time I had emerged from my room, her door was closed. Alas.

I stood by my bed, kind of stunned for a moment, not expecting to have so tidily missed an opportunity.Would I be OK on my own? Should I go knock on her metaphorically always-open door? Feeling too small to go and ask, I climbed onto the corner of my bed and pulled a chunk of my triple-layer blanket to my chest.


And there it was. Huddled in a ball with my baggie hoodie on and hood up; my uber-comfortable pyjamas and warm socks; my softened, puffy, tear-streaked face not even on the pillow; and a mix of linens in my clutches,
I
felt
relief.


PHEW.

Finally the hands had left and my tears could stop. I might have gasped or something, feeling complete alleviation of something that had been making me want to scream for hours and hours.  I thanked Him from my heart.

That evening, I had brought home three types of junk food in hopes of decreasing my overall stress, and of avoiding relapsing with my wicked coping mechanism. (Yes, I know it's not the best but I felt desperate.)

But then lying there lounging in a pool of relief, feeling tension leave my whole body, all I wanted was water. I was feeling hot, achy, and stuffed like I was getting sick (though I think that was actually from stress, crying, and the cold weather) and being cozy on my soft bed with cool water to drink... it was just overwhelming. It was enough. It was good.


Why should I feel discouraged,
why should the shadows come,
why should my heart feel lonely
and long for heaven and home,

When Jesus is my portion?
My constant friend is He:
His eye is on the sparrow
and I know He watches me;
His eye is on the sparrow
and I know He watches me.