Life happens to us all. I admit I pouted more than I should. As a non-crier, I cried a few times. I begged God to end this cycle, and we fought in the canyons of hopelessness. He won.
When I am bound by bipolar, I fear movement. I cast this unimaginable shadow over myself that darkens with each passing day. I proved this earlier this month when I looked out my office window and noticed the sun.
For fear of losing myself, I take time to get in my head and to lift my spirits through the strength of Jesus Christ. On my own, I fail to save myself. I know this, so I fight to reach in and surrender.
"God, if you have to take my son, I will let him go."
I will never forget the pain in those words. I was heartbroken and angry. How would God do this to us?
How do we love those who not only appear unlovable in their mess but also hate us in it, as well? I had dodged fists and verbal attacks, put up bail money (only once), picked up my grand-kids from a ravaged house with a passed out mom, and cleaned out more hidden empty bottles than I can count. Still, the pain I felt when the handcuffs went on killed me. The hopelessness was burning through my soul the way Satan enjoys.
How can I share my vulnerability with others, and still, they say I am strong? It is a dynamic that is hard to grasp, especially when my current state of being is weak.
Strength in me.
"Lord, do I have enough in me to handle this"
Why do I write and speak on the topic of mental health, namely bipolar disorder?
I follow a few social media style support networks for Christians with depression, and it baffles me that in 2020 we still hear the misguided answer that the devil is living in us through this mental illness. Allow me to correct this with calm words on a screen, as in person, it may get heated.