6th March 2016, Prismacolor pencils on A3 cartridge paper
I feel like I’m bobbing in water, being pushed under by every wave. I cry every day. This is my reality.
It’s as if I’m playing a game but I don’t know the rules. Each time I turn up to play I find out I’ve broken a rule. I dread turning up because I keep getting battered. I try to keep going but I get battered again. I feel like I’m in danger, threatened. I’m sick with fear.
I can’t be with people because I feel worse around them and I think I’ll only end up hurting them. The thought that I’ll end up all alone – honestly, right now, that sounds good to me. Anything else is stressful.
I hide. I cover myself with a thousand fig leaves. I turn into someone I don’t know. I disappear. Only my pain is here.
I relate to Elizabeth Gilbert in Eat Pray Love. I’m thankful for her words because they give me words to express myself. They give me insight into why I feel the way I do and she lets me know it’s okay. Her words comfort me, and I can finally give a name to what I’m going through: identity crisis.
I have no borders, I feel all the world’s pain as my own.
I’m shaken. Destroyed. I feel like the opposite of who I am. My identity has been shattered. Shredded. Stripped. I don’t believe in myself. I’ve lost myself.
I want relief. But I just don’t see relief coming.
I want to get out of this fig-leaf system where I try to cover myself, hold myself together, and look okay to the outside world. I want to know the reality of the cross system where Jesus died for me because he loves the inside me. It can’t be worse than this. Sacrifice sounds better than stress.
* * *
I wrote that last sentence in my journal intuitively. It felt right but I didn’t know what it meant. After thinking about it, it made sense.
Sacrifice. The Great Problem Solver sacrificed his life. So I can stop stressing about mine. He loves me even when I break all the rules. Me. Without fig leaves.
I have no strength anymore to run after fig leaves and hold onto them for dear life. Jesus was exposed and vulnerable on the cross. He showed his pain and brokenness to the world. He was fig-leafless. He shows me I can be fig-leafless too.