grapefruit spoon

Every time I go past the Homewood (which is at least five times a week), I think about how close I have come to being a part of it. I feel so weird [intensely unsettled] every time I go through that little stretch on Delhi Street: General Hospital (which I have visited maybe ten times in the past year), various Homewood satellite buildings (one of which I've had several appointments in), and the Homewood Health Centre main building (outside which I once parked, not sure how to get out of the car; the outside of which I embarrassedly explored; the front doors of which I almost opened, the front desk of which I could see, the confusing signs on which alarmed me so surreally that I left).

It was scary thinking I could belong there. It was scary thinking my mind was not my own. It was scary thinking I had become so desperate for help/relief with what was going on inside my head. It's so impossible to have mental pain/issues. It's so impossible to use the malfunctioning organ to find treatment for itself. (How does one think about solutions to mental problems?)

It was frustrating thinking that I very likely didn't belong there but that I didn't know what was the downgraded option. What were the middle options between checking into an institute and talking to friends? The middle of that spectrum is a mystery to me.

It's impossible that these problems actually exist. How can there be something wrong with my brain? And how do I describe it? And how do I get them to believe me? How do I get out of this impossibility? What else is there to think about?

And then, often, this is all out of my head as soon as I reach Emma Street or Eramosa Road.


[I had actually finished and published the post here but conviction overwhelmed me and I had to take it down. It seems that God must have the last word despite how intense my emotions are.]


All I have are these words:

  Oh, what peace the Spirit of Jesus brings,
  through the trials He will carry me.
  One day in heaven our eyes will meet;
  filled with wonder, all the saints will sing:
 
  Hallelujah, what a Saviour!
  I owe everything to Him.
  Hallelujah, what a Saviour,
  hallelujah to my King.
   © 2007 "Hallelujah to my King" by Brenton Brown and Paul Baloche

I don't have it in me. I don't have much of anything in me but I can say those words. I can't emote or smile about those words but I can know them and speak [proclaim] them. I can lie on top of the life raft and let gravity keep me in place; I don't need strength or effort in order to stay put.

Here I am. Hallelujah to my Saviour-Shepherd-King. And hallelujah for that "one day". Yes, yes, yes.