The Chaos of Anxiety

Ins and outs,
ups and downs,
and round and round,
the thoughts twine and dance like autumn leaves in the wind.
Gusting together in groups,
only to be taken in a flurried swirl with the next buffet of anxious breath.

Leafy thoughts that had once hung in the neat beauty of Fibonacci order,
have become a riotous cacophony of merging coloured chaos.
The ideas once sap green and fresh,
crunch lifeless underfoot.
Once cherished epiphanies,
now lost in the slurry of mud and composting humus.

I used to know exactly where each rational thought belonged.
Now they seem to lie randomly across brain matter,
like a stack of papers,
shuffled by a gust of wind - unwelcomed guest,
let in through a window left ajar.

The gust has sent a door banging, somewhere distant in the the mind.
The sudden burst of noise jolting the senses into hyper-alert.
Intense concentration is allowed for a moment,
to focus on just one tiny, exquisitely ordered detail.

Too soon, the other thoughts barge their way back in - rudely and arrogantly,
pompous, ugly, loud mouthed and opinionated.
The quieter more serene voices are drowned by the noisy.
The still, small trickle,
swamped with the murky flood-waters of unreason.
Debris and rubbish caught up in it all,
come along for the ride.
The toll is devastating!
The clean up - overwhelming.
Where to even start?

How to sort out the real from the perceived?
The truth from thoughts that deceive?
Where is the the treasure, the pearls
among the trash heap of deafening voices,
- the deafening hum of synapsual activity?

There is the tender voice of a Shepherd, come to seek me out -
me, madly bleating on the precipice of insanity.
How can I hear his still, small voice,
above the beating of my heart?
How can I hear his soothing voice,
above the grinding of my clenched teeth -
over the wailing of my sorry self?!

Be still choking voices of my mind.
Be still violent beating of my heart
Be still, oh my soul.

Psalm 46[a]

For the director of music. Of the Sons of Korah. According to alamoth.[b] A song.

1 God is our refuge and strength,
    an ever-present help in trouble.
2 Therefore we will not fear, though the earth give way
    and the mountains fall into the heart of the sea,
3 though its waters roar and foam
    and the mountains quake with their surging.[c]

4 There is a river whose streams make glad the city of God,
    the holy place where the Most High dwells.
5 God is within her, she will not fall;
    God will help her at break of day.
6 Nations are in uproar, kingdoms fall;
    he lifts his voice, the earth melts.

7 The Lord Almighty is with us;
    the God of Jacob is our fortress.

8 Come and see what the Lord has done,
    the desolations he has brought on the earth.
9 He makes wars cease
    to the ends of the earth.
He breaks the bow and shatters the spear;
    he burns the shields[d] with fire.
10 He says, “Be still, and know that I am God;
    I will be exalted among the nations,
    I will be exalted in the earth.”

11 The Lord Almighty is with us;
    the God of Jacob is our fortress.

Amy Carmichael

I was reminded of this book ('His Thoughts Said, His Father Said' by Amy Carmichael) by a friend who shared about having a blow-fly buzzing around her head. I will have to track down another copy, as I have lost mine along the way ... Amy's writing has been such an encouragement to me in the past.

http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Amy_Carmichael

Leave that book

Her thoughts said, “I have been reading a spiritual book and I am confused and tired with trying to understand.”

Her Father said, “Leave that book and read the Book that thou lovest best; thou wilt find it much simpler.”

Flies

Her thoughts said, “When I would seek Him whom my soul loveth, confusions like flies buzz about me.”

Her Father said, “Press through these confusions as thou wouldest press through a swarm of gnats. Take no notice of them. Be not stayed by them. Be not occupied with them. Be not entangled by them.”

Ye shall be trusted

The daughter knew that if she came to serve the Lord she must prepare her soul for temptation; but she had never expected the particular temptation that confronted her now.

Her Father asked her if she had expected to choose her temptations. The daughter said, “No,” but she longed to have done with temptation for ever!

Her Father said, “One day it shall be so.” “As a dream when one awaketh, so it will be… But thou must learn to endure and to conquer. Blessed is the one who endureth temptation.”

And He told her of hidden manna prepared for the overcomer. “Watch for the hidden manna,” He said, “It will come in hidden ways.”

Then to the daughter it was given to taste of the manna hidden in a word she had not found before: ‘Put your trust in the Lord God, and you shall be trusted.’ The daughter was greatly delighted with that word, and she prayed that she might be made worthy of so great a thing as the trust of her Father!

A breath may be a prayer

Her thoughts said, “Suddenly a question is asked, suddenly a decision must be made. The answer and the decision affect the lives of others. In me is no wisdom at all. Sometimes it is as if I could not even pray.”

Her Father said, “A breath may be a prayer; I hide not Mine ear at thy breathing. But be a simple child with Me. Ask for the thing you need most. I will not upbraid you. [I will not criticize you.] If any lack wisdom, let her ask. And as thou goest on thy way thou shalt do as occasion serve thee; for God is with thee. Do you lack strength? The Lord of hosts will be strength to them that turn the battle at the gate.”

Wearied with Her journey

Her thoughts said, “I could do better work for my Lord if it were not that I'm tired. I am tired of being tired.”

Her Father said, “Jesus, being wearied with His journey, sat thus on the well. Are you not willing to be wearied with your journey? Many are wearied in the service of self, the world, earthly glory -- you are loosed from that bondage. Rejoice in the liberty to be weary for God's sake, the One who loved you and gave Himself for you. Abide in His love, and you will learn to give as He gave, even in weariness; to live as He lived, more than conqueror over the flesh.”

The age-long minute

Thou art the Lord who slept upon the pillow,

Thou are the Lord who soothed the furious sea,

What matter beating wind and tossing billow

If only we are in the boat with Thee?

Hold us in quiet through the age-long minute

While Thou art silent, and the wind is shrill:

Can the boat sink while Thou, dear Lord, art in it?

Can the heart faint that waiteth on Thy will?

So, Incredibly Sad

I filed the papers for the Divorce at the court yesterday ... it was sickeningly easy. Easier than applying for a Centrelink payment. I couldn’t stop the tears, as I watched the lady stamp the papers and enter the data into the computer. There is no funeral, no ceremony, just a five minute hearing at the courts in a months time.

No rigmarole - the end of nearly 10 years of ‘marriage’.

It is so, incredibly sad.

I messaged him before I headed in - just letting him know what I was doing ... and that I was doing it with sadness. ‘It’s up to you’, was his reply. Yes .... it is up to me. If only he could have at least seen once, that it had actually been up to him. No begging for me to reconsider. No declarations of love. No tears and remorse. No repentant life changes. No responsibility taken - for anything ... ‘it’s up to you’. Why does even that feel like a blow, on the dullness of my despondent heart.

It took me weeks to even print the papers off - I felt sick, just looking at the title. In the end my sister did it for me. It took me several more, to fill in a simple 6 page document, the majority of which was circling yes or no. How could this ‘self-driven’ process, be a gift out of Gods hands? It felt so mean. So nasty. So cold. So uncaring. So unloving. So final.

The same accusing thoughts come flying in and clash with the painful memories and the justifications. They wage war, wear me out, confuse me. My emotions swing like a pendulum. One minute I defend myself, the next I accuse myself of blowing things out of proportion, of not being willing to forgive, of not being willing to love enough, to work hard enough .... The thoughts whirl around and around - they swarm and attack. My heart feels like lead, my head aches - there is no relief.

Then a clear voice speaks, again and again, over and over - soft and kind ‘listen to me, listen to me’. It whispers peace, peace in the Cross. And as this peace washes over me, the other voices go quiet ... and the joy in His grace fills me again.

Poems of Brokeness

The Jungle
So much inside, wanting release.
So many words and thoughts and feelings unsaid.
They jumble around,
they swarm and attack -
with confusion, with pain

... with a weight so heavy it is hard to bear.

I strain my face, my heart toward heaven.
My hoarse throat tries to speak.
But the words don't come,
they stick to the roof of my mouth,
they coil around into tight circles -
that I haven't the strength to undo.

This feels like madness.
Can I place at the cross this mess? How?
Where can I find sense? Where can I find meaning?
I search and search, but end up more entwined.


Incline your ear to me O Lord.
Unravel the confusion.
Let me walk with you in this jungle,
until I can see again,
the beauty of the garden.


Psalm 69¹
Save me, O God,
for the waters have come up to my neck.
² I sink in the miry depths,
where there is no foothold.
I have come into the deep waters;
the floods engulf me.
³ I am worn out calling for help;
my throat is parched.
My eyes fail,
looking for my God.
(Psalm 69 Looking for You - Sons of Korah)

China Cup
I remember joy.
I remember the tenderness of my heart.
There was so much room to love many.
Things were so simple.
I was so free.

How did it come to this;
this self loathing?
This fear?
No longer able to trust.
No longer able to love freely.
Like a china cup full of cracks
- it won't take much to break me into pieces.

Desperately trying to hold things together.
One harsh word and I am scattered.
Pieces lost along the way,
I can no longer gather them all up.

Pieces of me are missing,
this china cup leaks.
Faulty.


Maybe
Maybe it is my fault.
Maybe it is me.
Maybe if I didn't point the finger, didn't stand up for what I believe.
Maybe if I kept my mouth shut, if I kept quiet and still.
Maybe if I just let things lie, didn't rock the boat
and swallowed down the bitter pill

Maybe if I had loved more.
Maybe if I had complained less.
Maybe if I had just let things slide and worked harder to forget.
Maybe if I had been perfect, if I had worked harder and passed the test.
Maybe if I had asked for nothing and expected even less.

Maybe it was my fault,
Maybe it was me.
Maybe I deserved it all,
who would want to live with me?




'Kindness'
Your 'kindness', is like salt and vinegar rubbed into my weeping wounds.
Your 'gifts and flowers', a cruel display of a love not mine.
Your 'thoughtfulness', has all the cunning of a bribe.
Your 'openess', a sick game.
Your 'dreams', a twisted unreality.
Your 'affection', a slap in the face.

This perfect charade, so well played,
even you're believing in your charm.

This foolish heart softens.
My mind is carried on the fragile wings of hope ...
I settle in your hands.
Poisoned darts fall thick and fast,
Bewildered, I find myself crushed again by the sick reality of ... abuse.

Coming to terms with Abuse

"It is hard for me to admit that my relationship is abusive. It seems somehow too harsh a word to use - but since I have started using it and started to look back on my marriage for signs of it - it seems to rear its ugly dark head, where-ever I look. It scares me. It is ever so subtle and ever so overt. It is confusing, because it is mixed up with happier memories and feelings of love. It feels somehow disloyal and unkind to point it out. There is also the fact that there are degrees of it to a certain extent probably in every relationship.

It also seems as though I am somehow avoiding my own faults - by focusing on his. It becomes a giant in my mind- also confusing, am I making more of it, than I should? Or have I spent a huge amount of time covering it up, hiding it, ignoring it, placating it, avoiding it, denying it - to myself? Why? You have to survive and keep living somehow.

Is there any hope that things could ever change? I find myself feeling sorry for him -as though it is some illness, or something he can't help. It is certainly the symptom of his own misery - again, this makes it confusing. Makes me feel bad for making an issue of it, or expecting him to be accountable. How can I hold it against him? I feel guilt - for the grief and misery I will put him through, now that I am no longer prepared to live with grief and misery.

Weird. How did it get so mixed up? Why can I not see this clearly for what it is? For when I look - it's everywhere, pervading every part of our relationship. The mix of terror, confusion, deep piercing hurt, anguish, grief, uneasiness, fear, mistrust, humiliation, determination to survive - make it work. All this mixed with moments of love, joy, hope - tentative hope. Feelings of 'this is how it should be', 'why isn't it like this always?', 'He does care', 'he doesn't really mean those things', ‘he does admit he was wrong'. 



Then the hope and trust is shattered - again. The roller coaster ride continues. Nothing has really changed.

Gradually the trust is eroded. Gradually not all the pieces can be put back together. Gradually a taller, thicker, wider wall is built, to protect.


Vulnerability is no longer possible.


Words of love, affection, affirmation - gradually lose their meaning as the hypocrisy becomes clearer and clearer. They can no longer be believed, trusted. As hope is proved false again and again. There is nothing left but despair. The most laughably trivial things will bring back that stupid spark of hope. A cup of tea, a kind word, a shared dream. Maybe it's possible? Maybe things will be better now? Insidious- hope. The eternal optimist. Willing to hide the obvious reality.


Yet somehow not so obvious. How could I have let this go on and on? I thought I was being loving, forgiving, full of grace. Pretending it isn't there has only made it worse.




There is for some reason great shame attached. When someone else talks about the abuse, I immediately feel my marriage and he are under attack and I want to spring to the defensive. It also hurts to admit it. And someone else pointing it out, makes me face this hurt. That is scary. If it is faced up to and brought too much out into the open - I can't carefully package it away. It makes me concerned for him and I want to protect him and hide his faults from the judgment of others. Whether the other is right or not.

Such a weird mix of jumbled feelings."