Transitions

I find that the hardest times to write are the times of transition, when nothing feels stationary, nothing feels secure, and nothing feels real anymore. Times like this, when everything feels upside down and inside out, times when one is never quite sure whether one is awake or asleep, they are the hardest times to write about. These are the times when everything inside of me and everything outside of me feel so mixed up that the thought of trying to write about it feels about as easy as sorting scrambled eggs out into yolks, whites, and milk. I am never quite sure whether the things I say will be true tomorrow, tonight, or even five minutes from now, for even how I feel is in such continual movement that I cannot trust even my feelings to point me towards reality. In times like this I have learned that I am the last person I can trust to know what is happening and what is real.

But it is still so hard to find out what is real, for I cannot even see the Truth-Bringers with anything remotely resembling a clear perspective. It seems my perspective on everything is tainted by the chaos that temporarily takes over my life. I cannot see my family straight, I cannot see my friends straight, I cannot see my man straight, and it seems I cannot see God at all. Everything feels so stirred up and yet so dry and I feel so alone in all of the chaos. It's amazing, isn't it, that chaos can have the effect of making one feel alone. One would think that stillness would make one feel alone and chaos would not; reality, however, seems to work backwards to this way of thinking.

It's funny how difficult it is not to cling to the past in the midst of change, even when one knows deep inside that it is impossible to go back to the past. We know that the past is not the best for us, and yet we want the familiar because it looks and feels so much more comfortable than the unknown future that is so absolutely terrifying in its mysteriousness. Even when I manage to avoid clinging to the past, it is so hard to live in the now in times of transition; the now is simply too chaotic, too messy, too painful, too transitional and temporary, too unsettling to be worth really living in. The now feels so in-between that it doesn't even feel like real life, and I'm never quite sure whether it's a dream or a nightmare.

And as much as I know that this time won't last, I still feel so small and weak and very alone in times like these. My days feel so empty, my heart feels so fragile, my soul feels so bereft, and my eyes burn from the tears that seem at once so logical and so irrational. I want someone or something to cling to and yet it seems like everything I thought I could rely on has been systematically been taken away from me leaving me more hurt and alone than I thought I could be. I feel like I can't find God in the time when I most need Him, and it hurts like the closest thing to hell I've ever experienced, especially when my other relationships feel so inadequate when held up to the gaping hole in my heart.

But I know that it's temporary, and life is not completely joyless or empty. I still have my relationships, and I still have God even when I can't feel Him. It is just so hard sometimes to trust the truth over my own feelings because my feelings seem so much more real than anything else when they are so painful and intense. I know I will come out of this not just alive, but more alive than I was before, and some days my hope in God's ability to bring me through is the only thing that keeps me going (and just barely at that). I'm not sure if any of this makes sense to anyone, but know that there is always hope. If you still live, there is still hope!