I’ve had a good weekend, personally and with my husband. It’s been more lighthearted than we’ve had in a long time—so I shoulda known.
Since June 2012, anytime I can string two or three “good” days together, it seems that I inevitably pay for it. The evil one catches me off-guard and whispers fear, doubt and despair into my brain.I’m getting a little better at not letting him knock me off my perch (although I probably shouldn’t have “said” that out loud.) But for someone with my disorder, I have to be more vigilant.
I talked to my pastor on Friday about my problem of believing in God’s unconditional love. Maybe after five months of therapy the lid of the jar had been loosened enough for what my pastor said to really help me. Whatever; his words helped me. Maybe it’s because I think he really cares about me, and I’m not convinced my therapist really cares as much as I’m just another client. That’s probably not fair because the therapist has helped me a lot, but like I wrote in an earlier post, he’s not my friend and we won’t be “friends” when therapy is over. If he remembers who I am in two years, I’ll be surprised.
But I digress. This afternoon, the evil one has been after me. The doubts are here, the fear of my husband never finding another job, the depression over how I don’t know who I am and what in the world will happen to us is back.
I hate, hate, hate, this. I want to be settled in my soul.
BTW, the third granddaughter still has not made her appearance. Her poor mama has swollen feet and a belly that I just don’t think can stretch any more. C’mon, little one, quit being coy. Although I can’t blame her. Wouldn’t it be heaven to float in a warm space where food is always there and the cold, cruel reality is shielded from you?
Wow…I am really a mess. Pray for me, please.