Sometimes I wonder how to keep going. Like this morning at church. Well, if you can't cry at church, (at least silently), then you might want to look for a different one. Actually, I don't really worry about permission; I just figure people should be allowed to cry at church, and I go ahead and cry sometimes. Hopefully in such a way that is not obvious.
And then prayer. This one couple has been around helping me through this mental illness stuff, usually just by talking, praying, and being there, which means alot. Letting me be there with them, which is one of the most helpful things. But the husband is on the prayer team, and I'm not too scared of him, and his wife is my friend, and I went to ask for prayer. The good old, I'm having trouble talking because I'm crying, kind of requesting. It was good, though. He asked somebody else to come, who does another kind of counseling. And this is the neat thing. I thought he'd be judgemental about my being on medication and being a Christian and struggling this much. But he wasn't. He was not judgemental. He didn't blame me. He said medication was fine. Etc. So that was nice. Because I was feeling pretty judgemental about myself, like, "what am I doing wrong? But I know that just because God hasn't healed me yet doesn't mean I'm doing something wrong... But, how do Christians deal with chronic illness? I need to know."
Apparently they pray, they cry, they keep in touch with friends, more or less, and they just keep slogging through their chronic illness, but they don't have to blame themselves. That's the good news there.
And then there is distracting chatter. I love it. And get frustrated if there's too much of it. So I enjoyed the church picnic and was happy to leave. And by the time I left, I had just enough encouragement and whatever I needed that I know I'm okay through tomorrow morning. And that's just how I'm living right now. Through defined bits of time. Too long might be too overwhelming. It's like saying, I'll write the first page of my 50 page essay. Now I'll write the second page. Now I'll write the third page. And if it was me, the third page might very well be the last, and the 50th page might well be the first by the end, so the analogy breaks down. But the moral of the story is, I'm living life a piece at a time.
And I'm emotionally exhausted, the kind that sleep might not relieve so much. Will a movie help? Or maybe a book. I've been wanting to read a fiction book. And exercise today; it's an exercise day in my normal schedule.