Funkity funk funk

So I'm not sure what is going on with me, but Kent's death brought up some stuff that a.) I don't know what it is, and b.) I don't know how to deal with it. Lots of emotions that I just kind of ignored, tried to move on as best I could because my life is still ticking forward, at least... but it came out in my sleep. Saturday night, the night after I found out, I had atrocious nightmares... I woke up in the wee hours of the morning, bile in my throat and my stomach aching and churning with an inhuman load of shame, mixed with a large dose of fear, as well as many other unpleasant emotions that I have no words for, suffice to say that it was like all the emotions from my years of victimization had been rolled into one mammoth, putrid ball and shoved down my throat. That's what I woke up to. The early morning was worst. I didn't want to be touched, talked to, nothing. But as the day progressed, it got better. I spent Sunday doing alot of nothing, trying to distract myself from the unpleasant pall that hung over my senses.

That, of course, led to an upsurge of self-hatred. I hate myself when I get nothing done. If I'm not busy, I am a failure of the worst sort.

Sunday night was better, but still bad dreams. In one of the dreams, I was praying to God, and ended up screaming at the top of my lungs (maybe so that God could hear me better?). He answered, which was great, but I still was out of sorts all Monday. Last night was better. I don't remember what I dreamed about, but it wasn't nightmares, thank the Lord. I've actually been getting to bed around 9:30 for the last few days consistently. Although I still sleep till 7, I do feel more rested. I think I'm going to keep it up, or at least try. It helps to get ready for bed before family worship.

So, with all that junk happening, I come to today--Therapy Day-- and find that I really want nothing to do with therapy at all. I don't want to wade through this stuff anymore. I mean, I do... but I don't. I'm tired of fighting an unseen enemy. The deeper I dig, the greater is my realized ignorance.

And yet... that comment from thestrippedsoul ("that rare breed that shares their heart and it encourages someone to keep fighting.") makes me stop and think... Me? encouraging someone? I mean, Lord knows that I'm not writing for anyone to read, necessarily. If they do, then great. I know it's a great tool to keep J updated on my state so that she can pray for me, be aware of trends that we need to talk about, etc. But I don't write for her. I don't write for some mysterious person out in cyberspace. I write for the health of my soul... I write for God, because otherwise I'm not really honest with him. But to think that someone is reading this stuff, the vomit of my soul, and finding it encouraging??? It's a paradox to me.

But that also makes me think of the greater purpose behind my walk through the valleys. It's not just for me. Sure, it'll be great to someday be a healthy person who operates normally. But more than that, I want to reach the end of the rainbow so that I can point other people that way, too. If I give up now, how can I ever offer anyone hope? I want to help others, so I must forge ahead... for their sakes.

I do know one thing. If my classmates insist on canvassing during the reunion, I'm not going. Canvassing, that is. That would be a huge step for me in taking a stand against doing things just to please other people and portray a certain image of myself... but I won't put myself through that again. No matter how much I want them to like me, and how afraid I am of their rejection... I can't do that again. I won't. It's like jumping into an active volcano for fun. Even if everyone else is doing it, I sure ain't! 

So... now commences the therapy day. Joy. I think I'll go practice the piano some more. I'm learning a few songs, my favorite of which (right now) is Etude in E.

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