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?
I remember the first time I saw the Mel Gibson film, "Passion of the Christ." Every part of that movie brought history to life. The sacrifice of Jesus Christ on that cross impacted me. If I close my eyes and you do, it paralyzes and delivers a punch to the gut, still.
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?