Fussing With God Again

And here I was thinking that I had this suffering business down pat. I thought I had it licked. Thought I had learned enough through suffering that I would not have to suffer anymore. Or rather, that suffering would no longer hold the pain that I had been forced by life and circumstance to endure.

I thought that because CFS no longer had me in its grip that I would sail through life unobstructed by pain anymore. I could not have been more wrong. For, while some things have changed, others have remained the same and I find myself caught up in the despair of wanting change to come a lot faster and sooner than it is transpiring in my life.

I looked back at some of the things that I have written in this blog and wonder where I took a turn for the worst. For I have been complaining inwardly and quite recently outwardly to God. I’ve been fussing with Him again and that does not please me. I’m fussing because I seem to be existing and not living life. I am fussing because I had been so happy not so long ago, though it seems like it has been ages now in my current station of suffering.

Suffering takes on many forms and my present suffering may not seem to be very important in the eyes of some. But for me, it is debilitating. It is stifling me. I struggle. I bemoan my fate and I cry.

I cry because I am not the person I was when I was in the midst of suffering with CFS. I wonder where that fighter in me went. Did it go along with the illness? Did my suffering keep me strong instead of this scared-to-enter-the-world person that I am at this present moment?

I suffer because I am afraid to live. It has been so long since I have been a part of life that I have forgotten how to LIVE LIFE. Instead, I find myself drifting through the days…waiting. Waiting for…something. Something more than THIS. This…this…I know not what “this” even is. And so I wait. And I yearn. (And, yes, I complain.)

Suffering is speaking to me again and I do not want to hear what it has to say. I only want for it to end. Yet, that is not the way that suffering works. The more you resist suffering’s voice, the louder that voice becomes. And it is fairly shouting at me. In my complaint, however, I have been unable to decipher what suffering is trying to impart to me. But I am beginning to listen.

The more suffering is resisted, the more it hurts. And I am so very tired of hurting. I think that I will relax my grip and allow this unwanted teacher to show me the way out of my present misery.

I want more. More out of life. And less of this…whatever it is that is plaguing me. (I cannot define it. Only feel it.) I am going to have to go back to the lesson of patience and relearn its values and make it part of me again.

Instead of fussing with God, I must pull out my tools that I have acquired through suffering and work through these current circumstances until I am standing in the path of victory again. Instead of bemoaning my fate, I must “suck it up” because I am presently mucking it up through complaint and ingratitude. That mindset must change.

Nothing worthwhile in life comes easy. Suffering certainly does not. I am the only one who can determine that what is worthwhile is worth the suffering that I must do in order to obtain what rightfully belongs to me.

I am exchanging fussing with God with pouring my heart out in this blog. For this is where my suffering belongs. This is where suffering has meaning.


A Rant From a Dark Place

Forewarned is forearmed. I am telling you now that this post is not going to be pretty. It was written when I was in a dark place in my mind and heart. I am posting it here because I told you that I was going to be honest and transparent. This blog was not written as some tiptoe-through-the-tulip type therapy program. It was written by one who has suffered from some terrible and terrifying stuff, yet knows that she is more than a conqueror no matter what comes her way.

That being said, what I am about to post here is not pretty. It ain’t pretty at all. I have always been honest with God. Always. Some of my honesty has been less than stellar and this posting is  a peek into the less that was me at the time. What you read is exactly what I wrote over one year ago, mere months after I had to leave my beloved mountains and move over two thousand miles away because I had just lost my home and had nowhere else to go until my sister finally found out I had been homeless (I’d been homeless for two years) and sent me a bus ticket so that I could come and live with her.

These words are unedited. I just cut and pasted them into this post.

I cringe today when I read back my words. Yet, I will not keep them hidden from view because I believe that if I am honest about my darkness, that others will feel free enough to come out of hiding themselves and embrace the Light. It is for YOU that I am sharing this. (But, oh, God, how I am cringing in embarrassment right now. You’ll understand why after you’ve read this entry.)

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I just erased everything I had written and am beginning again. I am feeling blocked, uninspired, and I don’t want to have to pump myself up to get back into the saddle again. In truth, I don’t feel like getting back into the damn saddle at all!

I am feeling angry right now. Angry at God and angry at me. Angry at God because I feel (at the moment) as though He has been playing with me and I will forever have to go on struggling with life and myself and with Him. I feel angry and disappointed with myself because I no longer feel like the take charge person that I used to be. I feel like a tepid, used-up caricature of me and I just don’t know what to do with myself.

I want to turn off this damned laptop. I want to close it up and bury my head under the covers…although I have been damned tired (and I am sick of using the word “tired” all the flippin’ time, too!) of just laying around. I am sick of the floor and fucking worn out from thinking about not thinking of thinking….it’s all driving me batty! I have been telling myself that I am okay and I am believing it…but I am so not happy with having to keep telling myself and of encouraging myself.

I am frustrated with God. Frustrated with Him. I don’t feel as though that matters to Him one whit. He allows this frustration to go on and on and on and on and on and I am angry with Him somewhat over it, though not as angry as I used to be. I pray and I pray and I pray and I pray…and feel as though my feelings do not matter enough to God for Him to do anything about them.

I feel somewhat betrayed by the Father…because I have had to give up absolutely everything that was dear and important to me. I feel as though I could at least be getting some real feelings of relief and that some of the things that I have been praying for should have come in by now. I feel as though He is playing a game with me. Or worse, that He simply does not care enough about me to do anything about the circumstances that I am in. (I am surprised that I am typing all this because I did not think that this is what I truly feel about the Father. But I am writing this, so these feelings must be there.)

I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what to feel. I try not to feel anything at all, yet that does not help things too much because I AM feeling things…I just don’t know what those particular feelings are. I am speaking the Word and believe the words that I speak…and that makes this endless wait for SOMETHING so much harder for me.

I do not find life enjoyable. I find it boring and lonely and stressful. Stressful, in that I am spending so much time telling myself that everything is okay and keeping my faith active so I won’t get discouraged. But I guess I AM discouraged somewhat. I am just so weary of everything. I am weary of things that do not seem as though they have changed or will change.

I have not heard back from social security and I was so certain that I would, so I guess I am feeling a bit discouraged from that. I don’t want to be let down. I want that money to come in so that I will have something for myself. (I hate the fact that I have to have a payee because that complicates things for me and I was wanting to finally have some breathing room and freedom for myself, but if I get social security, I will be tied to my sister for as long as I am getting it. So, I feel cheated by that. But such is life. I will work with whatever I have to work with if I get the money. I am afraid to say that I am afraid that I won’t get it, but the point of this writing exercise is to write what I am feeling…so the truth, I tell.) I AM scared that I won’t be getting the money. Or at least, I am afraid that it is going to take longer than I had been expecting and I am so damned sick of waiting for things! I am sick of that!!!

I don’t know what to write and I don’t know where to find inspiration. Writing what I am writing is not doing much to help my mood, although it is quite enlightening to find that I am feeling the way that I am. I guess, if nothing else, this will be one long journal to myself and to God and maybe someday, I will receive some benefit from it.

I am stressing because I don’t have a lighter and only have a few cigarettes and I am not enjoying the few cigarettes that I am. It is one more thing that I am going to have to bear up under and I feel as though I have been doing nothing but bearing up under things and carrying other shit and enduring yet more stuff that I don’t what to do this shit anymore. Life, is what I am talking about. I am weary of my life and wish that it would simply just stop. Permanently. This is all old talk and old news and I am sick and tired of these feelings.

I just put on some classical music and will see how that helps my mood. I feel grungy and a bit tired (there goes that damn word again) and just do not know what to do. I don’t feel as though I have anything to grasp onto. No inspiration…no words…nothing. I feel as though I am just pecking on the keys and I don’t know what good any of this is doing, other than getting me writing again. Even if it is crap. Even if I am not saying anything inspiration. The whole idea of me getting started is to make the start. That is what I have to take away from this experience now. And worry about inspiration and words and brilliance later. Right now, I just need to write and write and write and write and let the Lord work on me as I write. I just needed to start…and I have. That is all that is important. Tomorrow, I will write more. If that more is more nothing, than that is what it will be. But it will be something. I have to discipline myself and discipline is neither fun, nor satisfying at the onset, but being happy is not what I am trying to achieve right now. All I want to do right now is write and that is exactly what I am doing. So I am already successful and have already accomplished a huge goal.

I will go downstairs and have a smoke and then I will come back up here and write an email or two and then maybe watch a bit of TV.

I have a problem. The problem is that I want to go somewhere with my writing tonight but I have no idea where I want my writing to go. I want to work on my novel, but feel like I don’t know where the words will come from. I have always had that fear and confronting that fear is a daunting task for me. I just don’t know how to overcome this block of uncertainty. I guess I will just keep right on plugging away and hope that the logjam will unstop somewhere and some words will spurt out of me.LOL

I am enjoying the classical music. Makes me feel like I am accomplishing something. I will just continue doing what I am doing and pray that the Lord will inspire me. (Inspire me, Father!)

I am starting to have a bit of fun with Relentless because I feel as though I am starting to fill in some of the pieces of the story. I am now asking myself questions and will write those questions down and then see where that takes me. One question leads to another and that is where I have been getting stuck. If I can just get the bulk of my questions out of my head and onto the page, the details will start to work themselves out.

I am back at the laptop and feeling like I want to give the whole process up. I have a headache I have been resisting, I feel hungry and full at the same time and I want to go out and smoke and I want to stop procrastinating and get some fucking things down here. I thought that I had started to make some headway, but that feeling was short-lived. I just want to take this thing back into my bedroom and put on another Star Trek and bum out. I feel bummed. And disappointed. I was so optimistic earlier and that lasted for about an hour or so. Now I feel like I am just wasting time while time wastes away. It is not even nine and I am wishing it were bedtime so I can go to sleep and let another day go away. I feel like all I am doing is marking time and time is moving slower and slower and I fear that I may be dipping into depression and the Lord is letting me sink.

I am so damned tired of trying to figure out how to please Him. On how to make Him or motivate Him or do something good enough for Him to move some things for me. My faith is giving away to despair and I don’t know if I even care enough about it anymore to resist. Resistance is futile. Life is futile to me, at the moment. I am so tired of caring. Wish I did not care at all. Wish I did not give a damn about anything. Morbid, I know.

Empty is what I feel now. That my life is empty. Not even worth me waking up for or two. I am back to dreading basically every moment again.

                                                                              ~ ~ ~

I can tell you that there is a merciful God in heaven, because a bolt of lightening did not come shooting through my head because I expressed these feelings to God. (“Expressed” is not the  right word. “Vomited”, would better describe that experience.)

I thank God that He does not love us because we are perfect. He just does. And I thank God that He understands when we get angry at Him and He does not hold it against us.

Do I still feel this way? Absolutely not. You’ll find out why as you keep reading this blog.