The Stages of Letting Go - Denial

The Process of letting go - because it is just that - a process.

Sometimes letting go can appear a simple thing - sometimes it is. Sometimes letting go can be instant, a moment of no return.
It is that, too.

But I am finding the process of letting go can be likened to the process of grieving.

It has stages. 

These stages may all occur at once, or slowly, and,like the stages of grief, follow their course - although,not always in a particular order.

Despite the natural course of grief which ends in resolution, someones a stage can repeat, and that person may not get beyond that stage.

This is seen a lot and can be identified with an unwillingness to even remember or move on. Moving on, also called resolution in the stages of grief, is part of the grieving process and this is where healthy grief heads - the ability to grieve the loss but also remember the good times.

In the same way, we can be when we do not let go.

While we may not be grieving a person, I think there are similar stages which inhibit and affect how wedeal with things, and our ability to let go.

I think denial is huge. Denial can be seen in many forms:

Denial of anything to let go of, of the pain of the past, of feelings, emotions, thoughts - even if we thought we shouldn't have had them. We still cannot deny what is true.

Denial is the first stage of grief. While I am not suggesting letting go of things is or isn't a grieving process (it may well be) I am comparing similarities.

In the same way people clarify and ask for a second opinion when they hear of a loved one's death, in life we also discredit problems and pain which bubbles away under the surface.

We may consider the problem insignificant, or, be very aware of its existence, and know dredging it up will be painful beyond belief - so for own own sakes, we keep it hidden. I, too, am guilty of that.

The trouble here is that while denial eases the present pain, it only bandaids a seeping wound which grows deeper and more painful, as it hides, unexposed to light.

What I mean here is that in order to let go of something, we have to recognise that there is something to let go of.
To forgive, you have to see the unforgiveness, to heal a wound you have to know it is there.

To start healing and cleaning. 

To heal a wound you must know it is there.

Often  the pain warns us, but we can numb the pain with denial like an aspirin.

But aspirin doesn't heal the wound, or open it up, or clean it out. Rather, it helps us to forget. Sometimes only momentarily, but yes,we have forgotten! Until it wears off and we are back to where the pain started. In the same way, denial lies, alters the truth and minimises what is really wrong. 

A huge step to healing is accepting and recognising the wound. Then comes the difficult part - omce the aspirin has worn off, and the pain has become unbearable, the wound must be treated, cleaned out, and left to heal.

but sometimes the pain is too great - and we fear - or the fear is to great, and we refuse to allow the healing process to begin. We are terrified of what we might find underneath our bandaid, so we keep swigging asprin in the hopes it will go away by itself. Don't get me wrong here, but, like too much aspirin, denial eventually becomes dangerous, and causes us serious (and less-deniable) problems.

The wound finally reaches the point where it is painful beyond the work of aspirin, and beginning to debilitate, immobilse, and seep. Now everyone knows it is there.

What's worse, you now have no choice but to open it up and let it be treated - or else.

Unfortunately for us, our denial keeps these wounds hidden, leaving them to rot and get deeper.

God has always wanted to help us heal them. 

Denial hasn't. Denial has prevented the healing while it was still a small cut, surface level and easily cleaned. Denial and fear have let it rot, have let it become deadly. Because denial is deadly. Hiding, lying, denying the truth - will eventually catch up. Like invisible bacteria infecting a wound, denial works deeper than we know. 

The good news is that the master physician is the healer, and He does heal. No stage of sickness, no intense pain, and no problem is too big for Him. 

But like an unwilling hospital patient, he cannot help or heal us if we will not admit that we need healing.

If we think we can fix it ourselves.
If its not as bad as that.
If its not there at all.
Denial is dangerous.

Truth is life.
Truth is painful.
Truth is opening up the wound, dressing it, prodding it, cleaning it.
Making it bleed.
Truth and them love.

Love is the cleansing, as care is given. 

Then comes the healing.

But healing cannot be given to a hardened heart.

I think you know what I mean.

Don't let denial keep you in pain.

No pain is too great, no wound too deep.

He will heal you.

Let Him.

Sorting Through the Past - Facing It

How long can we avoid things too painful to bring to light again?
As long as we want to, for sure.
But that doesn't stop it being there.

I dealt with a lot while I was sick. But that didn't mean that I dealt with being sick.
A lot has changed - I have found my identity, God has freed me from depression and an eating disorder and fear - but there are always scars. I suppose my scars are scars of scars.

And God has been showing me it is time to heal them too.

To look back at the past 12 months

To see the pain - and the healing of old wounds

And accept what has happened - be grateful for it,

And move on.

It's that moving on which I find the hardest. That looking back to move forwards.

I know where I have come from.

I know where I have been.

It's a terrifying place.

But I also know the promise of tomorrow.

I could live only for tomorrow, but God won't let me. He doesn't want me to be forever scarred by my past, in fear or denial of the worst of the worst places. It is those places which I have to acknowledge the healing of in order to move forward.

I suppose one might say that you have to see the worst in order to understand the best.

To see the hurt in order to accept the healing.

God has healed me of these things. I will never be the same.

I guess the hardest part now is realising how bad they were.

How sick I was.

How much needed healing.

How much pain there was.

And how it will never be like that again.

I don't like looking through photos of me in hospital.
It reminds me of so much, and it is all so fresh.

Most of all, it reminds me of dealing with the pain that had been there for so long.

Sometimes, though, it is being reminded that pushes us forward onto the path of life - that path which God ordained and directed me towards, despite everything.

So I challenge you - as God has challenged me - to face up to the past.

Let Him show you what He wants to, what He needs to.

He wants your healing.

He wants you whole.

Sure, looking at my photos is heart wrenching, and makes me cry, and wish it hadn't been as hard.
But then I remember I would not be who I am now if not for that.

If not for pain.

If not for enduring.

If not for My God, and His great love.

If not for Him.

If there is something He is prompting you to face, then do it.

Surely pain of facing it has got to be better than carrying inward pain  around like a wounded, dying animal?

Let Him heal you.

As I will let Him heal me.

I will face up to these fears - this fear of how terrible, and dark, and deep, and deadly that place was.

I will remember.

And I will know who My God is and what exactly it is He has done for me.

He has taken me out of that place.

And I can never go back.

That alone gives me strength to go on.

Christmas, Gastroparesis, Eosinophilic Gastroenteritis and God - and How it all Fits Together

It's been a while since my last 'stomach' updates. There are many reasons for this. Some being, I suppose, my own questioning on just how many people actually read my updates, now that I am not, let's say, deathly ill.
In the same token, I suppose I have been inspired by the amount of searches people do about these particular illnessess, and how little there is out there about them.
But again, life has its hard times and sometimes it is these hard times that are not easily brought up again - without the pain, sorrow and hardship of yesterday.
There are many things I do not wish to go into and have not written about lately due to these difficulties.
Having come from such a painful experience, and while being healed slowly and gradually by the Almighty, there are some things which have left their scars.
Fortunately for me I have a God who would see me free of even the remembrance of these scars, but sometimes they do wait about before being dealt with.
Don't get me wrong - I have received so much healing in the past 12 months and most of it has been because of what has went on in my life - during and after, and even before my illness.
But the reason for not writing might be, perhaps, because of the unwillingness on my part to fully remember the bad parts about that time of healing.
I think it is that talking about it that brings healing, however.
Until now I have been to busy - and not ready - to write.
But now, on the eve of a year's end, I see this hope in the future burning brightly, coming ever closer, knowing now it can never and will never be taken from me - that Hope of Christ. It is because of this hope that I have finally grasped, that fear can be shaken off and the healing of the healing begin.
And only God can do that. But maybe its time. Time again.

Christmas.
In some ways, it was easier than I thought it would be. But in many ways, it was much, much harder. The time leading up to Christmas reminded me so strongly of the year before - and when my internal struggles became external - and the frightening, emotional rollercoaster that followed. This Christmas there were a few times, I must admit, when I was forced to rely entirely on my strength God (as should be all times), but heavily, in order for the fear of yesterday to pass. That is sometimes scary. But God is bigger.
He's got me through this so far.
I was given a message of hope this year, by God. Hope that is more than I have ever known or felt or believed possible. True hope - never ending. This hope - and purpose - has been slowly given, and is something I will hold onto dearly. This hope is what has made this Christmas different.

Eosinophilic Gastroenteritis.
This has had its ups and downs lately. After an amazing encounter or two with God in August during some prayer ministry sessions, I have been receiving gradual healing. It has not been overnight, but I am pleased to say that I have added some colour - in the form of carrots and sweet potato - to my diet. That may not seem much but to my very restricted diet, it is huge.
Unfortunately my eosinophils can be temperamental. On my bad or stressed days/weeks they can decide to throw a tantrum and start to repel everything. Thankfully this doesn't happen too often, unless I try something different, like strawberries.

Gastroparesis.
I still question the validity of this diagnosis but some days I wonder. Some days my stomach chucks a patty x2 with not only the vomiting but also the refusal to move or digest food. This generally only happens when I am stressed or very tired, or eat something very heavy going.
The fortunate part about all this is that I am learning exactly what my body is saying - and when I am stressed - and when to recognise it, obviously, as it goes to my stomach.

Food.
In general, has been very good. I find myself not craving other foods at all - unless I am absolutely starving and in a shopping store. I try to make sure that doesn't happen as it only leads to starving exasperation - a bad place to be. In saying that, I am very happy with my food and I love my cereal - it keeps me happy.

God.
A desert is a scary place to be, and hard. The funny thing about it is, tough, that God is there in the midst of all that. He has been so close, always there. Indescribably there.

The point of this all -
is, I suppose, to encourage, speculate, and simply talk. There is so much more to all this but now maybe, just maybe, having said something has helped even me with struggles that would otherwise remain wordless within.
And may that Hope forever more shine like the Sun - like My Son - Jesus Christ.

The Danger of Derailing Trains - and How to Prevent It

To write, or not to.

Writing requires thought.

Tought which, after a long, endless day at work, seems to become more and more mangled and disconnected.  At which point, speech itself becomes nothing more than jumbled sounds resembling, perhaps, some exotic variety of monkey...

Still, I have given you enough description to easily understand the current state of my mind.  Mush. Pulp. Oooh. Pulp.

Yeah, that sounds like my day.  Like my head. 
Millions of fragments of various thoughts racing (not walking) their way about my mind, each intent on its own train being first.

Trains of thought, that is.  Yes, I can see why they call them that. Each individual thought roams about with the subtlety of a train - make that one without controls or brakes. 
Yet just as suddenly as one great long freighter takes centre-stage, it is quickly de-railed by another, perhaps smaller, yet obviously as important, engine.
Just like those fast-pelt trains chugging along full speed in the old Western movies, these trains seem to never stop.  And they certainly don't like being driven.

I, for one, have always thought that it was pointless trying to lasso these wild beasts as they apparently don't stop or slow down for anyone.  Let 'em run loose.
Well, that's not always true. It's time - time to find the traindriver whithin yourself and master the madness in your mind. (Not madness, you say? Bah - you are human, as am I, the mind is madness.)

I used to think my thoughts were entirely my own. But I have recently learnt otherwise.
Tricky devil uses these 'trains of thought' to create as much catastrophe as possible!
Add to that the fact that, like in real life, if these trains are left to run loose they cause havoc and inevitably end up in destructive collisions. And that is exactly what the enemy wants - destruction.
He will cause your thoughts to de-rail, collide, blow up, run havoc and destroy you if you don't recognise that you can run your own trains!

My trains are crazy.  Sometimes they are colourful, bright, and fast.  Other times they are simply fast, dark and furious. Sometimes they are slow, pensive and lurking. And, sometimes, they are covered in graffitti.

But there's one thing that doesn't change.  They are MY trains.

 Like the professional manager of a real life train company, I should protect my trains from graffitti. I should control the speed, power outage and destination of my trains.
All this I should do, simply because my business will fail if I do not. Neglect leads to destruction.

Truth is, if our thoughts becomes toxic, pensive, powerful and dangerous, we will end up de-railing and eventually self-destruct.  Blow up. Destroy ourselves from whithin - not to mention possible passengers along with us.

My trains have long been given full reign of my mind. I have never really 'thought' of consequences. (This seems to have been a common trend in my life till now, pah)
Again, not giving thought to this has kept me in darkness about the mutiny aboard my trains.
Deceived. Kept in darkness.

But no more. There is a very simple way to say what I am saying in the above example.

'Think about what you are thinking about.'

It's that simple.  We choose what we think on. Sure, the enemy may put those thoughts there in the first place, but we always have that choice to think about them or not to.

There is one really simple thing we should all do, as christians,  - regularly.

   Romans 12:2 clearly states:

"Do not conform to the pattern of this world, but be transformed by the renewing of your mind. Then you will be able to test and approve what God’s will is—his good, pleasing and perfect will."

 

 Renew your mind. Think as God thinks. 

. Remember, only God can help you change your thoughts, to become holy and pure.

Philippians 4:8-9 states:

^{8 "}Finally, brothers and sisters, whatever is true, whatever is noble, whatever is right, whatever is pure, whatever is lovely, whatever is admirable—if anything is excellent or praiseworthy—think about such things. ⁹ Whatever you have learned or received or heard from me, or seen in me—put it into practice. And the God of peace will be with you."

This verse is an excellent reference and guide to follow regarding what we shouldbe thinking.

- Again, only God can change what and how you think.
He is the only one who can prevent these trains derailing.

Keep in mind that unless you set these trains on a course, they will automatically derail.
It's a default setting - called SIN.
 

Weak

The opposite of strong.
And I do not mean simple not being as strong as the body builder on tv, or even as strong as someone who goes to the gym.
What about not having any strength at all?

I do not write this as a means to complain, or talk about just 'how I feel'. No. There is something much deeper here.

Have you ever felt weak?

Maybe it was after a time of strenous physical activity, like running a long distance or working hard all day. The end result is the feeling that your body cannot take anymore, and your legs feel as though they will pack it in if you dare ask anymore of them.

That is how I feel all the time.

Weak. 

Even walking is a challenge at the moment, and anything else physical is certainly out of the question. I spend the majority of my days at the moment in bed or in a loungechair. Comfortable... not really. But it beats being stuck in bed with nothing to do.
Part of me questions whether I am being lazy some days... and I attempt way too much. This results in me being stuck in bed for longer. Ah, so I am learning to listen to my body. I am also learning to listen to that still, small voice when I have nowhere to go, nothing to do, nothing to distract my mind with, and no one to talk to. And it tells me many things.

One of those things is simply the amazing fact that occassionally it takes something like this - being stuck, unable to physically move - to be still enough to one, listen, and two, actually be quiet enough to hear what the father is saying.

And really, it all goes back to how busy be are. We are just too busy. So much to do, so many priorities, so many plans, a long agenda. But how much of that is God's plan? Or have we, possibly, gone astray from His original plan in our own desire to be fulfilled, busy, have a job, and continue onwards in the mundane highway of our own making? How much more does He have in store for us, or wants us to experience, but we derail these plans He has because we are so busy and obsessed with our own?

It certainly makes for an interesting thought. I myself am guilty of having done this. I do not even suggest it do condemn - but rather, as something to think on.

So think on it - does it have to take a life-altering thing for God to be able to talk to us? Are we SO busy that He cannot get through? Or perhaps we should take the time to stop, and ask, and simply listen to whatever it is he wants to say - without prayer requests, whining, etc, etc. Simply listen. Be still. And know. Revelation will come.

Hunger, Cravings - and Finding Satisfaction

 

I am always hungry.

Not just hungry. Starving.

It comes from the pit of my belly - the very same belly which is in constant agony or lurching around like a ship on the ocean in a storm - often an audible hunger, and pains, but more often than not a mere, dull sense of constant hunger. And its true. I am hungry. My body is starving. 

Being hungry all the time, even though you may or may not be. Sometimes I think the hunger is only in our minds. I my own case I do wonder how much of it is my mind, how much my body. Where do the cravings come from? And why? When I dream of fruit cake and potato chips - is that my body or my mind? Are these the 'desires of the flesh that one gives into? I am not yet sure. Or am I craving some mineral or salt, and this is my body's way of trying to tell me that?

Every time I empty my belly I want to fill it. Every time it is filled and then emptied and then filled again, I am still hungry. The constant vomiting only makes me hungrier. With that hunger comes anger, I suppose. Anger at the food which never satisfies, never fills, never really appetises. Never tastes right, never really stays down. But what is God teaching me here, I wonder?
On the days when I don't eat anything at all I am still hungry - but the hunger I ignore because it is easier to endure hunger than pain and an aching stomach. These days seem better but the hunger is still there.

I still desire food. It is still very difficult to watch people eat certain foods, or to help prepare food. Particular foods, too. I crave certain foods, particularly those which do not agree with my stomach right now. I dream about foods. I can even taste foods without actually having eaten them - stupid tastebuds and brain, you mock me! I am not over food yet - I will admit that.

Perhaps this part of me has to die also. I cannot simply go an eat these foods as I would otherwise have done. Perhaps that is a good thing - having to die to self. But even that is a choice. I still have to mentally choose to think about something else. Its hard, craving something you cannot have. There's not even the option of giving in to the cravings - you just can't have it. Then comes the choosing to think on somethung else part - killing that craving - which often doesn't happen. And it comes back. A different form, perhaps chocolate cake this time. But again, that choice. Always there is a choice. And often it is easier to give in. But is it? Is it really easier? Or do the repercussions last longer than that choice?

I think that hunger was there. Long before I got sick. I think it might explain why I ate the way I did - that feeling of never having enough. Of never being satisfied.
I thought about it. Long and hard. What does it mean to be satisfied? Truly, genuinely satisfied? What does the word mean to me?

Satisfaction - completeness, wholeness, happiness, blissfully unaware of anything aside from the present.
I also thought of moments (non-food related) when I have been 'satisfied'. There weren't many, but if I did have to recall them they might be: A job well done - a long day's work in the sheepyards, now we are finished and showering off all that dirt. The silence walking home at dusk, the beauty in the sky as the colours run in the sunset. The pure bliss of breathing in cold, moist air as it sprays directly off the ocean. The warmth of lying, soaking up the sun. The warmth of sitting in front of the fire in the middle of winter. And, of course, a belly full of food. I had to add that one. Ahh dear, food. =P 

And yet the only time I find the opposite of this hunger is when I sleep. Decent sleep, that in itself is a feeling of satisfaction. How I long for sleep. Even now my sleep is broken and unconsistant. 

Oh, satisfaction. Of being filled.
How I long for you.
I hope, and desperateley search for you. I must, and will find you. I will.

How does one find satisfaction? It must be in God. God longs for us to be satisfied. To be satisfied in Him. I long to do this also, I just don't know how. Or perhaps, I do. Perhaps though, it is not as simple as allowing Him to satisfy us. Perhaps it is. Perhaps it is giving up our own satisfactions in order for Him to be able to satisfy. Perhaps that is as simple as it gets.
Perhaps that rich man who did not give up all he owned did not really want to follow Jesus badly enough. He could not let go. I do not want to be like that man. Yet letting go is so hard. It is pain. It is sorrow. And grief. And uncertainty. And fear. And trusting another. But it is where God would take us.

God  I long to be satisfied. I long to still that hunger which aches whithin my being. I long to be filled, to be whole.
May I find this in you. Bestow it upon me, O God, grant me my request. I seek it; Your word says I will find it. I seek. I will find. I trust. And believe. And wait in expectarion. 
Have I ever been satisfied?
May I find this satisfaction in You and You only. May I be able to give up the things I have for Your plans and purposes. May I give up my food for Your food, and willingly. Give me the ability to do so. 
May I be filled - and filled forever from the spring of Living water.  Of Life.

On Butterflies

Butterflies.
They are beautiful. Delicate, dancing, lighter than air, artistic, and also useful as pollenators. They can be seen flitting from flower to flower in the springtime, often too numerous to count, yet each an indivual, delicate and petite.
Why am I talking about butterflies? Because God is talking to me about butterflies. I like butterflies, I do. They are all of the above, and much more - and yes, so very beautiful. To paint or draw them is actually quite difficult - because there is simply too much detail to capture quickly. In the same way it would be arderous to paint or draw every fine hair on a  dog's back, is the painting of a butterfly. I know from experience, so I don't draw that many of them. A simple butterfly still takes time to draw - the shape differs greatly from creature to creature, not to mention the colouration, the patterning, the pose.
God has been talking to me about butterflies. Particularly about how I am like a butterfly. That part, I must admit, I don't like so much. I like butterflies. I really do. They are simply stunning. But to be compared to a fragile, petite, flitting little creature is a little disconcerting - especially when I want nothing more than to be a bold, brave, strong lion right now. God, why a butterfly? Why such a delicate creature?
For the last few years, I have been getting many prophecies about a great variety of things - my destiny, the plan that God has for me, and I know it is all going to be pretty amazing. That's all very good and well. But that's just it - it's always there for tomorrow. And always that seems discouraging, because, well, we live in the now, don't we?

And its that now where I am getting more and more of this butterfly business. That this time, this now, is God transforming me from an ugly little caterpillar into a beautiful butterfly. My transformation into adulthood too, I suppose. But God, a butterfly? Eh, so, what do I like about them? (Still, couldn't I be a winged lion? =D =D No such thing, is there..)
Yes, well, butterflies. They are beautiful. They are absolutely unique, and intelligently designed, and no two are exactly the same. The way they are made up is detailed, defined, and so much thought was put into their creation. The legs are slender, the antennae elegant, the eyes compact and small - yet they see so much. The body is also well proportioned, and then they are completed with a beautiful set of wings - with which do they not only fly, but act as a protection device in some cases, as well as a display of nature and creativity. The patterns are exsqusite, and the colour palette is extensive.

Important to me, now, is that butterfly transformation. I believe it is very relevant to me, and to my now.
Butterflies begin as eggs. They are laid on a leaf, or tree, an left by their parent to hatch.
These eggs do hatch, of course, and the resulting caterpillars are fat, ugly, and spend their time eating and hiding from predators. (It is funny the resemblance I see here - my thoughts have altered from that time, and now it is time to move on from there.)
They remain caterpillars for quite some time, I suppose. Doing nothing. Slimy gross creatures.
And then they become pupae, or for want of a better word, a grub in a coocoon.
As we all know, these then leave the coocoon in a transformed state and exit as butterflies - much altered from that grubby little creature which entered.

Metamorphosis - a process of transformation. Of growth. Of alteration. Of change.

I believe this is my metamorphosis. Only I am yet to escape the coocoon - or maybe perhaps I am still in that struggling stage, the stage of near completion.
Either way, it is an interesting thought. I only hope I get there soon - this struggle is often more than I can take. Ah, God. The when is up to you.

The Truth about me - and Discovering Self-Worth

The more I look at life in the past few weeks, the more revelations I am getting about my own views, what they were, are, what they should not have been and what they are becoming.

Everything has changed so much, and I am now altering my opinions, views and perspectives. And it has been God, all along. Gently prodding, showing me things with new eyes. It has been so far (it's not over yet!) incredible, although difficult, and I would like to continue sharing these things as God reveals them to me. Reluctantly, kicking and screaming, or quietly led - it really doesn't matter how, the truth of the matter is, if our perspectives need to change they need to change. We simply need to be willing (or at least partially!) for God to do what He wants to do with that. Another challenge. Oh how I enjoy these!
So, perspectives. Time for change. Time to look at things in a new way.  Here comes a deep one - hold your breath, and let's begin. It's very important. Please read carefully, thoughtfully, don't take offence, try to understand where I'm coming from, and just listen. You'll see things with new eyes too.


One of these perspectives I particularly want to address can be related to my recent illness, and all of the emotional struggles I have been having/discovering are problems, and these include my eating habits, my previous views on food, as well as the interesting eating disorder I had but didn't even know was there, ruling my life! And there is a lot more to it than that, and it is very, very important.

What I see now is that so much of what I thought and believed about things had to do with my perspective. My perspective - of me. Bear with me.
Yes, I am going to look at me. But this changes everything about everything.

Ask yourself this question - How do I see myself? (Why is this relevant? Because you are a person, and even though our lives revolve around God and other people, you are still you. Haha, you are the only you. There isn't another, you can't be anyone else. Goodness, it's mindboggling. Anyway, you are a person.)
So did you ask that question? And let me ask something else? Just how honest were you? Haha, nice try. Now, hold that question in your mind for a while - don't push it away, but do keep reading.
So it was my turn to ask that question. All of this mess finally came to the surface in a way I couldn't handle anymore, couldn't push down, couldn't stop crying. God, help. O God.
And it was time. Time to look at the real issues. So God asked that question of me. I asked me.

How do I see myself?

Honestly. To really ask.  Ask that question of myself. To truthfully answer -  I didn't really know.
Who I was, yes, well, I was me, Anna - and I that person was made complete in Jesus Christ. (My very identity was and is wrapped up in who I am as a Christian and how that makes me who I am. As a Christian, what I believe and think was based entirely around my relationship with Jesus. We were pretty close - my very being is in Him and everything He is.) But myself? Oh, I was unsure. I was me, yes. Haha. I was a person. But other than that, a little lost.


I also didn't really believe in myself. How do I explain that? Well, let's see. Not only does this eating issue disorder have more history than I will care to admit, it actually stems from my own views of me. I lacked confidence. Yes, I knew who I was, and people would often comment on the sense of 'peace' that eminated from my eyes (although that is sometimes a mystery to me, given what turmoil I have endured for the past few years) but inside, I was confused and, well, just plain lost. And I lacked confidence in myself. I did not believe in the fact that I really was a beautiful, incredible, and unique creation of God - they say that about everyone, don't they? What really made me unique? Or different? Why was I different? And oh, the constant battle of destiny, one that has plagued me for so many years. Basically a definition of the person of who I was would be to say that I was looking for my place in life whilst trying to live it, and be who I was. Whoever that was.
And the thing is, I sort of knew who I was. Sort of did, sort of didn't. But now. Oh, I see what I was lacking.

So, previously, I have a complexion with my oddly shaped nose, for goodness sake, and a disgusting skin condition on my face, terrible skin and a ridiculously curvy figure - anything physical was out of the question when it came to self-worth. Even when it came to who I was - my personality was a grey area. The way I saw myself was me as being a happy, enthusiastic, encouraging person who was only interested in everyone else, and loving them to my best ability, and that in itself is fine - in balance. But I was so busy doing that I had no time for simply being - and knowing me.
I am learning, now, about loving me. Oh, I tolerated me. Looking in the mirror, eh, yeah, okay today. I can pull something off. But always dissatisfaction with that fringe. It sits wrong. Those jeans are not quite skinny enough. Haha, or more, the figure inside those jeans. Oh well, it doesn't matter anyway.
Yes. It Does matter.
It does. It matters so much. But I couldn't see that. In my spiralling world of keeping things together, pretending things were perfectly fine, I was destroying myself.
I wanted to be a woman - not a child, not a teenager, not just some girl. But I was missing something. But what?
Shame is not really something I have struggled with, apart from the bingeing, but it was there, in a small amount. Why, I don't know, and where it came from, I don't know. It was more dissappointment with myself. Which, really, presents a question - why are you dissappionted - what are your expectations?
I didn't know. What were my expectations of myself? Did I have any? Or was I just so busy moving on with my life and just being I didn't know I had placed any on myself?
We all have expectations - however reasonable (or not), regardless of whether we know they are there.
So what were my expectations? I didn't know. I was lost. I wanted to be a woman, but I struggled with my age, size, shape, weight (oh weight - it is more the figure than anything), height, looks, and what I thought I should look like. As I am sure we all do at some point in life, I wished to look different - brown hair, a little taller, certainly less curvature, less fat, more of a curvy nose, longer eyelashes.... but why? Because I did not like the way I was made.  I suppose that makes me seem ungrateful for the way God has made me - as though I didn't want the unique gift that Ha had made me - but I just wanted to be like everyone else, beautiful, in the same way they all are. All uniquely the same. Haha. So why did I want to be different? Because I did not love or accept who I was.

Accept, well, maybe tolerate, as though I had no other option - well, I don't, I can't exactly go get a nose job haha, though the thought crossed my mind... and trying to 'feel beautiful' with what I saw as a nose as ugly as mine just really wasn't a problem - alright if you're a monkey and you never have to see yourself. But I want to be a beautiful woman!
but You Are.
Yes God, you keep telling me. And it's all lovely, and so Christian, all this self-worth stuff.  And so unrealistic! Screw all this god's little princess nonsense, I am not that kind of beautiful, nor will be, so I will stop trying, and just be the best me I can be - inwardly, anyway, and focus on everyone else. They say beauty is on the inside, so that is how I will find my value.

How wrong you were.
Oh, how wrong, self. You truly didn't see. Who you are is who you see. It is who you believe in. It is why. 
I had such ridiculous views! I was really, really lost in them. And now I see. Like someone who has been awakened from a deep sleep. Wow. Just wow.
It is about how you see yourself.
It really is. I cannot emphasise enough. I have seen, simply by looking around at so many people recently, particularly women as I attempt to understand the process of entering womanhood, the huge power self-worth has over us - the way we see ourselves.
It is such an important aspect that affects everything. The way we carry ourselves, the value we place on ourselves, the way we see others - it all has to do with the way we see us. With How I see ME.  
What I think of me matters. It actually does. And what YOU think of you matters.
So why does it matter? Well, I would say that is obvious, but it isn't really. It matters because it defines the very person we become. It defines eternity. It defines our lives, our futures, our destiny.

It is also what determines how we react to what others think, say and feel about us.

I am reminded now, of a silly but very relevant quote from my favourite cartoon characters. The quote itself is out of the new Tintin movie- and is the scene where Captain Haddock pins Tintin down for quitting after the bad guy gets away with the map to the hidden treasure. What he says, roughly quoted:

"People can say of you, 'loser, stupid, you idiot, you worthless piece of lubber.  
But Never say of yourself, "I am a failure." Because what you think about you is the message you send out, that's what they will pick up on."

And it is so true. We hear it so often we drone it out, and forget the importance of the statement. It is truth. If I call myself a failure, or don't even call myself it, but carry that around on my shoulders, people pick up on that. They do. I will use the example of, say, when you see a person walk into a room, and he slumps his shoulders, and does not look up. One can immediately tell that person is burdened, weighed down, dissapointed - and ashamed. On the other hand, you also notice the difference between this man and an arrogant bikey who walks in with an air of haughtiness and looking for trouble. Yes, he is about to knock someone's block off, but he at least has the confidence to do it. That is, basically, what I am attempting to explain. He knows he can punch someone's lights out, and so he walks into a room with the attitude that he will. Because he knows he can. And that is where we must look at self-worth.
What do we know?
And what do we know about ourselves?

What do I know - or not know - about me?
I didn't know who I was. I didn't know what my value was in. Yes, in being a good person, perhaps. In being loving, caring, kind, compassionate, supportive, friendly, wise, understanding... and all of those are great qualities. But all of those are about serving others, and meeting other's needs, and attending to the wants and desires of other people. That in itself is wonderful - but if that is taking away from, or distracting, or preventing me valuing and looking inwards at myself, then again it becomes a problem. Another cover, another mask, another way of pretending everything is fine.
Now, let's see. A few things that I am discovering.

It is okay to look at me. Wow.

To look inwards, to look closely, and to look long and hard. Now to look, and evaluate. to be dissappoionted, that is the first thing. But why? Again with the expectations.
What else did I see? Sadness. Grief. Anger. Hate. Biterness. Sorrow. Shame. The feeling of unworthiness. Ugliness. Fat. Unattractive. Frightened.  Tiredness. All of that. Did you see any of that? Probably not. I am very, very good at hiding what is really going on, at putting on a mask - which most of you are familar with as being who I am - a mask which has the ability to not only disguise, but also to tell a very different story.
Now that I admitted to myself what I was, and was not, I suppose it was time to look at why, when I really got down to it, I was so dissappointed with what I discovered. And that, I learnt, (or am still learning) is about expectations.
I had no expectations of myself.
Good or bad. Nothing. I didn't look at me. Me, who was that? Me in Christ, yes, that's right. That's my entirety. Yes, it is, but there is more to it than that. So there, in bold, is the reason for all that. No expectations of anything. Why? Id on't understand, or know, why I had no expectations. Nothing. It is a curiosity to me. But now, looking at it, I can see just how well the enemy had me trapped not only in a sense of how I thought about myself physically, but also emotionally and mentally. I only saw myself as a person to help other people, not as the person that I am who needs helping. (Or not helping in the terms of neediness, but the fact that I am a person too, just as much person as that person I am helping.)
I am a person.
I have needs! I have wants, desires, and feelings. And I was not letting myself even be a person! I was not looking closely enough at me, and not even caring about how I felt about myself, let alone looking after myself properly. I am not talking just physically here, I am talking mentally, emotionally, and also spirituallly.
Because of the way I saw myself without realising I did (i.e. I felt dissappointed with myself) I was not able to meet my own needs. Sure, I respected myself and all that hooha. But I didn't really.

Now we get to one of the real issues.
 Self-worth. It defines who we are, how we see ourselves, and how others see us. So, I obviously didn't see myself as very valuable, because I was constantly questioning (or at least, now that I have looked at how I saw myself I was) my own value subconsciously. I see that now. I see so much now, of what has been hidden for so long, and what has been needing to change. I did not value myself, nor did I value my own uniqueness. Instead I tried to hide behind my mask and pretend I did care. Ah, the caring. Not caring has a lot to do with how we see ourselves. If we don't care about how we see ourselves, we are basically saying that our opinions mean nothing - that there is no point listening to what we have to say. And that's the thing. We all want to be heard - so telling ourselves it doesn't matter is the biggest lie ever. Ahah, again, another lie of the enemy. Sneaky little bugger.
The truth is, it does matter. Our opinion does matter, what we think does have an effect on something, and caring should be a priority. I should care. And its that caring that makes the difference.
I need to care about what I think about me.
I need to value me.
Very important. Not only do I need to create good expectations of myself, but I need to be able to live up to them. And that is a good thing! It is exactly what God intended, and to deprive myself of that is absolutely ridiculous - and again, the enemy wins at that point.
I need to care.
I cannot think well of myself if I don't care. You cannot think well of YOU if you don't care. Why do I need to think well of me? Why is that even relevant? What is wrong with pretending?
Because, at some point, if you don't care, it will destroy you. Or suffocate you. Or surface. Like it is doing now, for me. You cannot not care without consequence.   It is like neglecting cleaning out your swimming pool - eventually, it will become unusable and everyone will see it. (Or it will become disgusting and will turn people away.)


Body Image is one of these cares.

On a physical level, I felt so unworthy of being beautiful that I thought if I did pay attention to how I looked that would be vanity and pride - and that this is a disgusting personality trait I would be better off to avoid. Truth is, pride comes in many shapes and forms and being too proud to be vain is also a form of pride - it is just well hidden.

You need to care. You, a person, also need to look inwards at you, and stop running from the fear that you might/ and will find something horrible, and see what you are, and then look again.
And then look again. It is that next look, that new look, I will discuss in a moment.
First I want to piece togetger the body image as well, because it plays a huge part in all this.

My own body image was shot. When I looked at my figure previously I saw: short, unattractive, curvy, hippy, chunky, broad shoulders, a bent, unusual, ugly nose, terrible skin, bad complexion, pale blonde eyelashes that look ridiculous with mascara, the list is endless. And thats the thing.
I only saw what was wrong with me.
There - the enemy had me trapped in a spiral I would not admit was happening - one of negativity - and I was feeding that. How? Oh yes, I dressed well, looked appropriate... But it was more the way I avoided mirrors. Or cringed when I saw a side-shot photo of my nose. Again the dissatissfaction.
Now, because of the way I saw myself, the eating disorder was born. It was simply a manifestation of something that went far deeper.
This eating disorder, the bingeing, was not only about the control but it was about my weight. I will be specific about the weight itself because that is something I put far to much of a focus on.

So why did the weight matter? Well, it did. It does. I am going to elaborate in detail, so prepare yourself haha.
60 kilos. That was my weight, from the time I turned 15 - 16, and underwent  a physical change in shape - I grew hips, and padded to them, much to my annoyance. (I'm pretty sure it's normal... )
Prior to growing and changing shape, weight hadn't really been an issue for me as I could seem to manage a few kilos if I put them on - simply by compensating with a little more running or exercise. I also didnt really like food.
Around the same time I began my new job working the first veterinary clinic I volunteered at - this being my first job I was fairly nervous about doing things right - another time period which has been very influential in my life, however not always in a good way. One thing I particularly struggled with was confidence, and this was made worse at work where, whilst I struggled to grasp concepts about what I was learning, I also struggled with difficult staff and employers.
I also struggled with my shape and appearance, especially with my face and its skin condition (sores) being particularly noticable.
So I already carried shame, despair, dissatisfaction, dissapointment, fear of failure.
It was all there, hidden beneath the surface.
Now, back to the weight.
So they say weight itself is not the issue, that it is about being healthy and finding a weightt that is healhty for you and for your body. But the weight is an issue. We focus on it too much. On that one kilo, or half, or two. On that number. 60.5 kg - oh no, I am fat, I cannot ever lose weight, it never changes. Exercise more, stimulate appetite. Eat more. 59.5kg. Yes! I am finally getting somewhere. I am powetful, I can do this. Increase exercise. One day. A.other. Third day, forget, lose motivation. Despair. 61.5kg. Oh no! I have gotten fatter! I must try harder. Again, repeat cycle. This would happen for weeks. At the same time, I was also eating irrattionally and as a way of resolving stress. White chocolate. Meat pies. And then things I didnt even like, or really want, or need. Simply because they were there. Or on special. Or looked nice, so I cooked them. But never really needed. Oh, I can say no. Of course I can. I just don't need to.
Anf it was all hiding behind the fear that I would never be able to control (him again!) my size or weight, and there was the fear of being fat and unhappy and unattractive. In many ways that fear still lurks. But God will kill him yet. Now, where was I?
Oh yes, the weight. Looking at it now, there is no way 60kgs was overweight for my shape. Not excessively so. I had fat reserves, yes, probably 5kg too many, give or take, but for my size and shape, it really wasn't physically a problem.  I was eating too much and food that was not really what my body needed but size wise, there is no rational reason for that fear. Ah but there never is a rational reason with fear. Fear is erratic.

I made such an issue over the weight. It was an idol. And the truth of the matter is, I wasn't healthy. I was not eating the foods that would benefit my body, and as a result my body was also hanging onto any fat reserves it had - hence the neverending cycle. 
As well as the weeks that I would obsess about it, I also have periodss where I would get so discouraged and give up that I wouldnt think about it, and end up eating better, and not even overeating for weeks at a time - and staying at the same weight. Not losing it, but not gaining it either. And at those times the exercise also was healthy and balanced.
And then it would spiral again, triggered bu something emotional, my own struggles at the time, or seeing a photo of myself and feeling ashamed of those tighter-than-they-should be jeans.... I thought, if they were skinnier, I would then be attractive, and then I would finally be happy...
What a hideous LIE.
It really is. A lie of the enemy, swallowed hook line and sinker.
'If you're skinnier you'll be happy.'
The lie that satisfaction can found apart from God.
And apart from God's perspective - of you.

So there is the weight, the dissapointment with self, the shame and guilt and fear.

The figure, the shape. Then there was getting sick. And losing weight.
At first.
At first I put on a few kilos. 61.5kg I got to. I was devestated - terrified, in fact - that finally, I would get fat, it would overtake me, and I would not be able to control my size. I was almost a size 11, a thought so devestating to me, yet it seemed I couldn't do anything about it. Ahah - I reasoned! I could even go to the gym and make it behave there. I didnt want to become the commando but if that meant I would be fitter,and not get fat, it would be a last ditch attempt. So, now let me tell you that this is all fairly recent. Surprised? Hold onto your horsies - this renewing God is doing really is hot off the press.
So, all this was going down right about the same time as everything else (did I mention I have also been fighting depression for the last six months? Eh thats another topic)
And basically all fell apart right about Christmas time. Convenient, as we were all shuffling living over in Tamworth awaiting Abi and her popping outedness.

Ah so, the weight. At first, as I said, I put it on, and was shocked. So I got aggressive, picked on my arm flab, and started to work out on it - homemade weights and outside walks. Building myscle was surprisingly easy - I actually retained the muscle, for while - and I did notice that it looked better. Oh well, at least that sort of made me feel better about wearing a sleeveless top. Sort of.
And right in the middle of all that, I started getting sick with vomiting (well no, it had been in-off for about a month) and not tolerating food. Of course, the thought niggling in my mind was that maybe I was doing it to myself; maybe I was crazy, just a little, despite being unvoluntary vomiting. The weight started coming off, and to be honest, I was thrilled. Still eating normally, to some degree, and I was losing weight. Easy! 5kgs. Yes, I noticed the difference. Everyone did. I looked and felt better about myself for it. Again that nagging thought - maybe you are doing it. But what overrode that thought was the fact that I knew I was sick. Deep down, I knew. Something was wrong, and people were not taking me seriously. It was only when I kept losing weight that they did. 10 kilos. Yeah, people are gunna notice that. 15 kilos. Even I was beginning to get scared. When I was hospitalised the first time, I had lost 15 kilos over a 6 week period. If thats not rapid weigjt loss I don't know what is! Around the same time, the vomiting worsened, food tolerance issues became unbearable, and eating a real problem. I also just ate whatever because I knew it wouldn't stay down anyway. (Well, to some extent - some foods hurt too much) The vomiting was not self inflicted, I assure you, and it hasn't ever been (again, why would I voluntarily do that, its gross, and painful, and exercise is easier), but it meant that I was getting malnourished. Severely. I was starving. My body, wasting away. All my reserves getting used up. And eventually, it shuts down. That is the stage I was at when I first went into hospital. It had affected my electrolytes abd potassium - essential for normal body function.

My weight, upon entering hospital, was 46.5kg. Even I was scared. I could see all my ribs, my backbone, my hips, etc.
A lot of that was because I had no body fluid left either. Once I got on a drip, I put on abour 5 kilos overnight - something that occurred on both hospital trips.
The second, well really third hospital visit, I went home, and dropped again - to 44kg. Upon returning to fluids, I went back to being 50kg almost overnight. Its amazing what fluid can do.
Now, coming home, I have dropped weight again, but managed to stay a consistant 43.0kg for about two weeks - give or take a few hundred grams. The last few days, it has gone up and down all over the house - and I feel as though I am actually still losing body mass. I give up with weight at gastroparesis - they do not agree. So, well, I have lost a LOT of weight. Too graphic? I apologise. I must say, I did not know I even had this much to lose. It is amazing what the body can tolerate.
 I had put far too much importance on that number, on the weight itself. I am beginning to realise now just how much of it is actually about being healthy, not size and not a number on the scales.

And now, my feelings on my fat reserves have altered immensly. Why? Lets just say you don't appreciate what you have until you lose it. Firstly, I will never think the same about my figure again. I miss my hips, or at least partially! I miss having something up top, haha. Secondly, I get cold easily! I certainly miss being able to regulate my body temperature. It's also uncomfortable feeling your tailbone when you sleep and not being able to get your hips in the right position.

So why am I being so open about it? Because I believe it is important.

And now back to self-worth. It is time to elaborate. I already looked at what I didn't like. What I hated about me. About what I saw, both physically and otherwise, when I looked at me. I didn't like it. And now, and in the midst of being sick, I have seen so much. I have seen how wrong I was, and how blind I had been. Watching people, and seeing what I hadn't observed before, and discovering my old perspective come crasing down.

And then one day, I found this quote on a picture, and I stopped, and read it again.

You cannot look after what you do not love.

And it hit me. Just like that. Wow. Just wow. That is so true. I hated myself. I find everything wrong.
And why? Because I do not value me. I do not value me. Wow. Something to get my head round.
I need to value me if I want to love.

So how, and how could I gave that same satisfaction, and reassurance, and confidence in myself?
By choosing to make a few conscious decisions.

I need to LOVE me. Not merely accept, and certainly not worship or idolise, but I need to love, in the truest sense, my very oprson. Love is understanding, appreciation, acceptance, respect, compasion, trust, security.

I need to admire me. To hold me in high esteem.
I need to think well of myself.
I need to care what I think.
I need to find what I like about myself, and enjoy that.
I need to appreciate me.
I neef to want to spend time with me.
I need to like myself.
I need to love what I am, how I am, where I am.
I need to love what I have, not just tolerate it.
I need to fall in love with MY figure, stop wishing I had yours, and love the way that I am physically.
I need to feel good in what I wear - not vanity, but self worth
I need to be happy, satisfied with my uniqueness

I need to be happy with, to love, to appreciate, understand and enjoy the person God made me. Me. Not you. Or her. Me.
God delights in me, the bible makes that very clear. Now I need to delight in me too.

As a painter/artist, I must see it this way - as the creater of an artwork, I see all that was put into it. I know its many flaws. What you see is very different. I can choose to see only what is wrong, or I can delight in how well this piece of art turned out;  in what I DO like about it.

Instead of looking in that mirror and cringing, I need to look in the mirror and think - oh, that top is flattering with your face, and your hair looks lovely up. This is not me primping myself up, lying, or being vain - but rather, I am relearning how to look at myself and put positive, Godly affirmation into my life by allowing me to be comfortable in who I am!
Recently I have been learning just how important this is.

My expectations need to be good ones. I need not be afraid of looking at myself, not afraid of being vain, not afraid of things I cannot change. (Oh where is that courage lion?)

My expectations need to be:
I expect to be valued, treated well by people, respected, trusted, relied upon, understood, loved, admired and known by people - because I love me and who I am, I am confident that I am cherished and known and loved by the God of the universe, and I am WORTHY of the sacrifice of his son's life on that cross. Because he said so, I am worthy and have been washed clean by the blood of Jesus, and there is no questioning that.

I am loved. I am valued. I am beautiful.

And so now, now back to how I see things now, today. About my figure. I am going to learn to love it! One thing I discovered is that regardless of weight distribution, shape stays the same! I will never be a tall, skinny greyhound, so I may as well not live in denial and pretend it will happen - yes I have lost weight but the hips themselves haven't moved, so I had better stop hoping that will change - and accept, delightedly, the way I was made. I have hips! Okay, that is womanly. I should be thankful for my womanly figure - it is a thing of beauty.
About my weight. It's not about a number. Its about eating the right food that nourishes your body while also being allowed to enjoy the textures, tastes, and flavours. And white chocolate is awesome!
About my values and expectations. They are changing.
About my view of me - I am learning to love who I was made. And its exciting.


 - an old part of me has died, been destroyed. God has given me a new perspective. I am sharing that perspective.
And it will take time to build. But it is beginning.

And so. There ends one topic, and begins another.

But I feel that the above, all of it, is just SO important, and not just to me. This is a huge part of YOU. Stop right there. Stop running. I'm looking right at you. Look into my eyes. You. This is for you. All of what I have been through, yes it is my struggle. But I want to ask you, hobestly. Is it yours, too? Do you know who you are? And do you love you? I know iy looks like I am easily saying this. Well, I am not. It is with great pain that I do. But I want you to look past fear. And ask yourself - the same thing I asked me, when prodded by God.

Do you know who you are?

Another challenge I leave with you. Walk this journey with me? You are not alone. Do not fear.

Part of Me Has to Die, in Order to Be Made New

Part of me has to die today. Part of my old life, if not perhaps all. Some part of me has to die. All I knew has to be destroyed - before God can rebuild. It has to be taken away before I can have new. Old for new. 

These are yesterday's thoughts. God was doing something then, and still is.
I got desperate enough, to finally relent my control, and ask for healing. I was so afraid of being healed, and of going back to what I was in. I feared the eating disorder would return. I feared my depression would return. I feared I would feel nothing. I feared I would kill myself. I feared I would spend the rest of my life with all of the emotional scars of the past, and prefferred to be sick healed of these than to be well and carry my burdens, or worse yet, slip back into that pit. fear, fear fear.

 But finally, I let go. And it hurt. And I was absolutely bloody terrified. And the thought of not being healed and killing myself from the madness of this all also plagued me. All day, in fact.
But I am seeing so many things now.

I have to be desperate enough.
God is doing something so much bigger than what I can see. It is already affecting me, but also my family hugely, and I know further. It is a ripple effect. It is like a stone, thrown into the water. After that first splash, comes one ripple. Then another, until it reaches the surfave of the dam. It is also like a root. Pull up one, and another will likely follow. Well, this has unearthed a very big tree.

God is remaking me. Everything I am, or rather was, has been destroyed, questioned, torn apart or repaced - and I am being given new perspectives. I have just had to get to the point of allowing God to do what he wants to do with it all, in me, and letting go.
Oh and letting go.
Oh and I fear.
But God is for me.

Open, Weeping Sores

 Weeping.

And not healing. Sores and wounds of the past. Sometimes they almost go away, but they are still there. Always there. And when they do heal, always remain the scars.
Bitter reminders.

Of what do I speak? Of a few things, actually. One of these being a physical thing - I have, for as long as I can remember, always had sensitive skin. Getting rashes as allergic reactions to food, weather, touching
Things - is all fairly normal for me. I couldn't wear wool, it drove my skin crazy, was allergic to bottlebrush flowers, some dog and cat hair... The list goes on. Now add to this sensitive skin a condition, so to speak, of little sores. Before you jump to diagnosing it - no, it is not ecezema. I call it that to get people off my case. It is not acne, or pimples, or the amount of chocolate I eat. It is skin which does not heal, and often swells up in a pimple-like manner - at which point becimes infected, red, flaky, and itchy, and I am left with a mess -the  worst part being the fact that it is on my face. I have always had it, and have tried many experiments to test for triggers - none of which have really proved to be successful. Applications of creams, ointments, washes, scrubs, and medications I have tried to a greater or lesser extent also - and all of these have been unsuccessful, if not more irriatating. So, Ihaven't tried anything with it for a while, and it was actually apparently starting to settle down. As well as this, I am curious to see if it has hormonal roots however, as I do notice some hormonal tendancies.

Now, the reason I am discussing this is because of relevancy - that and the fact that it has returned with a vengance over the past two weeks. Living with skin like my face is a very difficult thing to do - emotionally, and just mentally, it is a battle when you constantly question your appearance. Knowing your face looks as bad as it does, and knowing make up does not really alter things, and all this knowing you cannot currently change - well, at some point this does affect one's self eesteem, whether you want it to or not.
But physically, it drives me crazy when it is at its worst. I often awake at night and find that I have scratched a lot of my sores because they have been so itchy (hot weather does not help) and often moist. Of course it is dirty and bleeding and my fingernails often bloodied. It is very irritating sometimes. And one can't make an itch go away. One cannot 'just stop scratching' when it is so itchy, and has been, for so long. Yes scratching becomes a habit, but when that's the only thing you know...
Now, relevancy. Ah yes, my current problem is that it has returned. Only seemingly this time, as a result of the medication. These sores are blistering and weeping and actually coming up from the under the surface of the skin. There are no pimples to squeeze - simply sores and itchiness and pain. Its quite aggravating and obviously makes something like a town trip, in public, rather miserable. I seem to manage okay with the makeup - cover-up more like, however smooth skin certainly is not an option. Never really has been.

Ah yes - so where was I...

Indeed. Relevancy. Right now, everything is relevant. I have weeping sores that are coming up from the inside. Perhaps I can view this as an analogy - I have a disgusting mess inside that is finally coming out. No more, it cannot be pushed down. No more forcing those feelings away, no more just getting over it. I am not one to swallow tears, but these also cannnot be stopped. No more. History, it has a way of surfacing at inconvenient times. The past can no longer be ignored; it must finally be dealt with. Of which do I speak? Of no particular incident. I merely reffer to the huge collection of wounds that seem to be surfacing now. Oh and they hurt. They hurt. And irritate. But perhaps in the hurting comes healing. Perhaps there is an end, and not only do these wounds heal and form scabs, but maybe there is the hope that the scabs fall away - and not remain as so many other ugly scars have. Perhaps these scars will become lighter with time, and will not need 'covering' with a foundation or coloured creams.

I do hope. I hope, despite all this. Despite the fact that I am covered in scars, and always have been. I do hope. Some day, God will heal this affliction of mine - and renew this surface and underneath. Whether physically or spiritually, I choose to believe the healing will come.
And that the grossness of now will be but a breath in comparison.

This must be my purification. 

I must be a very dirty vessel. But then think - I will be very clean by the end....

Worn, Weary, and Fighting With God - Yes, I am Humanly Flawed

Oh, I woke up in a fine mood this morning. After having slept inthis strange routine of 4 hours sleep a night, my body was finally adjusting... and now, after having had a sleep from 9:00pm - 4:00am, the body is entirely wrecked and thrown out. This is partially because I have had to alter the amount of medication I am taking - on dcotor's orders of course - and it is yet again screwing with me.

This morning's thoughts were fine indeed.

Everything is meaningless. A chasing after the wind. What pessimistic thoughts.
My soul is troubled. A restless night. Thoughts I cannot place or understand seem to have tormented my dreams. I do not know which is better - to have no sleep or to have more and be so disturbed this way.
Why does it feel so strange?
Thoughts, fears, emotions, - and nothing. The cold grip of nothingness stares. But why?
I know the plans and purposes God has for my life are far greater than my own. I know they are there - and choose to believe and hope in them. So why this sense of unease, as though a question remained in the air, as though even these things are doubted?
God give me a revelation - my soul is in turmoil for no apparent reason.
It is uneasy - and I cannot place why. Or perhaps, yes maybe.
The search for the meaning of life.

Why have you troubled my thoughts all night? I do not even understand why this indeed is troubling me at all.
I know that God alone gives me purpose, a hope in Christ for eternal life and a future. So, why does my mind question the now? Perhaps that is it - it is easy to see an accept and believe that which is in the future, yet have no immediate direction or purpose for the now. Perhaps that is my struggle. Peraps finding meaning in toay seems so pointess and neverendingly the same. All so meaningless. Everyday, the same constant strugglr. Why?

So why, God, is this so hard? I admit I cannot control these feelings at which presently are seeming to overwhelm me entirely. I cannot make them stop and they seem to defy my very being. And then I get so angry, God. I cannot pretend I do not get angry - this is becoming a new thing to me - but I do wish I was not. I am so tired of this, my soul is troubled and I want to give up. There, I have said what I am feeling - angry, troubled and comfused. WILL THIS EVER END, GOD?
Forgive the emphasis. I'm tired. I'm worn. My heart is heavy. Words of a song I have come to know well.
Yet there has to be an end.

What can I do but cling desperately to the hope that there is a destiny and purpose somewhere more than tomorrow? What about today?
And I pray that I find meaning in today - instead of this endless turmoil. Oh God, my heart is faint and I am discouraged. Help me to continue this walking step by step without needung to see the bigger picture.
I cry. It never seems to end.

""Worn"
(Tenth Avenue North)

I’m Tired I’m worn
My heart is heavy
From the work it takes
To keep on breathing
I’ve made mistakes
I’ve let my hope fail
My soul feels crushed
By the weight of this world

And I know that you can give me rest
So I cry out with all that I have left

I know I need to lift my eyes up
But I'm too weak
Life just won’t let up
And I know that you can give me rest
So I cry out with all that I have left


My prayers are wearing thin
Yeah, I’m worn
Even before the day begins
Yeah, I’m worn
I’ve lost my will to fight
I’m worn
So, heaven come and flood my eyes 

Let me see redemption win
Let me know the struggle ends
That you can mend a heart
That’s frail and torn
I wanna know a song can rise
From the ashes of a broken life
And all that’s dead inside can be reborn
Cause all that’s dead inside will be reborn
 
Though I’m worn
Yeah I’m worn"


Story of my life. It just never seems to end.
Why God, why?
What is the meaning of all this?
Why do I question everything?
And why do you keep hope alive?
Why?

What is life, what is meaning?


- The book of Job. Maybe a little melodramatic, but given my mood this morning, it seemed fitting..

"²⁰ “Why is light given to those in misery,
    and life to the bitter of soul,
²¹ to those who long for death that does not come,
    who search for it more than for hidden treasure,
²² who are filled with gladness
    and rejoice when they reach the grave?
²³ Why is life given to a man
    whose way is hidden,
    whom God has hedged in?
²⁴ For sighing has become my daily food;
    my groans pour out like water.
²⁵ What I feared has come upon me;
    what I dreaded has happened to me.
²⁶ I have no peace, no quietness;
    I have no rest, but only turmoil."

-Job 3:20-26 

Why is light given to misery?

-

Call it an interlude. I spent the day in this strange frame of mind. Well, I suppose it is not strange. But I struggle so much. And it seems the better I get, the worse I feel for  a period of time.
So angry - I have been fighting with myself all day. I will admit, I am angry at God. Yet at the same time, I wish I was not. I knowhe can handle my ranting however so I do rant. Oh, I rant. I question Him, and in the same breath question my questioning him. I accuse him, and at the same instant declare that He is lord over the situation and that I know He has all intentions worked together for my good.
What frustrates me most is the ridiculous way I argue with myself and with God.
I feel like Job - in oh so many ways. Right now, my skin has broken out in the most terrible rash and I feel just as Job did - covered with weeping sores and afflictions.
Yet he would not curse God. He did not sin in all he did. He said even, God has the power to give and take away. I do not curse God. I am proud, yes, and angry, and I do question what he is doing  - but I pray that I may accept whatever that may be in the knowledge it is for my good.
And I still fight. Oh, this is so much  harder than I thought. Why am I so strong-headed, so stubborn, so difficult to change?! It frustrates me so how I can argue with God and declare him lord with the same breath. Oh me, oh self, oh oh. Why so human? God, am human, and flawed. And I hate that fact. But only you can change who I am. May I be able to allow you to.

If only I could get past this emotional roller-coaster!  I feel, feel, I am so tired of feeling! Yet God gave us feelings! Ach, there has to be an end to it all, some balance, some peace. Call me crazy, if you wish - I am simply discovering just how human, and flawed, I am. Oh it brings me to my knees. Ach, God, you have such a way of doing things. How you do it! Here I am again, on my knees. Again. And that's not such a bad thing.

Wow, reading that scares me a little. Please do not consider me an emotional nutcase! My life is a mess right now - that's no excuse - but maybe some of this venting/explaining/attempting to will bring sanity in the long run...

Ah, so, the trials of today. That aside, I actually achieved something - the washing up, and I even was ableto cook andeat my lunch like a normal person without having an emotional breakdown! Mashed potato gets a little old, but I am finding ways of altering its core ingredients to make it taste amazing! It makes all the difference. Plus cheese. Cheese is yummeh. It also helps to eat mashed potato on a plate with gravy - feels 'normal' instead of in a bowl. It does matter.

..... Tomorrow. Dread and hope all at once. Eh, let's just focus on sleep.

I will end with this verse.

"Why are you downcast, oh my soul? Why so disturbed within me?
Put your hope in God, for I will yet praise him - my saviour and my God"
- Psalm 42:5

~Anna

Food is Not Even the Issue. It is About Control.

Written at 12:00-2:00 am this morning (Wed, 20 March 2013) after a day of complete and utter exhaustion of yesterday - even my emotional state was totally wrecked, and non-functional, hah. So very tired, is this poor body. Recovery will be long, eh?? Let the musings begin.

Food is not even the issue. It is about control.
I will lie here and pray.
And I will accept this. Not because I do not think God cannot change circumstances.
But I cannot be in denial forever. Today, right now, I cannot eat normal food. It is something I will have to accept. I must find a way in which I can still enjoy the food I can eat - and stop lamenting all of my losses. I am certainly not of the opinion that this will be easy - I am also sure that grief, until dealt, with is a cyclic thing - so I know all my old fears and dreads will resurface. But perhaps I can find consolation in thinking that someday, regardless of what the future holds, I will be not only able to see food in a healthy light, but also have had my perspectives altered on what is actually important in life my proirities and opinions - I can see God is aready doing that now.

I say food is not really the issue, but it is and it isn't. In a physical manner, food only sustains our bodies for the short period we live on this earth - then we die and it is of no more importance than the same dust we were both formed of - physically speaking. I could go into lists of the importance of food on a deeper level - and to some degree I will.
Firstly though, please do not think that I will, from now on hold views that all food is evil and that the enjoyment of it is sin. I could not, and it is a crazy thought. Obviously I do and will continue to struggle with the object for this moment in time - and will be subject to emotional triggers and reactions because of that. But I do not wish for you to not enjoy your food, an dI will certainly not despise you for taking pleasure in it. I daresay I will only despise myself and the food.
So, food. It is not bad. Not only does it provide us with nourishment, but it provides us with the experience of taste, and pleasure! And that is good, and pleasing, and God has given us taste buds and flavours, and the ability to cook and grow food - an endless list of blessings.
Now, there has to be a way for me to accept (for this time, for today, without worrying about tomorrow, yet not in denial of reality) my own circumstances of what I cannot change - and be satisfied, no, find pleasure in that. This will be a challenge, I know, but I must make the most of what I do have, and let go of what I cannot alter.
Perhaps my list of good tasting food is considerably small. Food I can tolerate right now, that is. And it will take time, and experimentation, and pain and failure, and anger, and dissappointment with that food - but there will be and end to it. Even if that end is not me being able to eat 'normal' food as I want - but being able to enjoy that which I can, with a new mindset.

So, I mentioned food is not really the issue. When you look at it (okay, when I look at it) physically, as I stated, it only sustains us. Now I shall look at it deeper. These may or may not be your views, that is ok. Right now I am merely explaining some of my own findings - about personal discoveries. Maybe they are the same or different for others. Maybe not.
Okay. Food. Emotionally, what does it represent? Control. In many ways, perhaps this is my very battle with God. Perhaps food is merely a surface issue, a strand of a root. So why control? And why is it represented, for me, by food? To be honest, I am not really sure. Perhaps in my love affair with food, I was comforted with the knowledge that it was there. Always available, to be enjoyed.
But the eating of it - and I notice, the cyclic eating/bingeing of it I did - all triggered around those days and times when things were or were not going well. Stress related, perhaps. Haha. So this control - or apparent lack of it when I ate all the white chocolate - has something to do with my own ability to cope, or not, with difficult circumstances. In our anguish, we always turn to something. Good little chistian me, that something I tured to was always God, no? Double haha. It would be ridiculous to pretend that I turned to God each and everytime I struggled - and I know I am only human and the rest of you fail here too, haha. In my case it was food. I only see that now. Food, for me, represented escape, temporary relief from that stressful tafe assignment, and despite the following repercussions of guilt and shame, it was seemingly worth the momentary freedom felt enjoying something that was probably 'bad' - which made the enjoyment better, the guilt worse.
So when I ate, I was in control. I was in command of something. No I wasn't! Not being able to stop eating all that chocolate is not control - it is a false sense of it. Temporary, followed by guilt and disgust. And then bashing one's self up with one's poor christian discipline - well indeed.

So, this bingeing/eating discovery of mine is relatively new to me ( I do not have anorexia, chillax) I believe it has had a stronger hold on me than I would admit - and I am also discovering what a huge issue  food, eating, weight gain/loss, body image and self-value is in many ways for so many of us - but the issue is aways so well disguised - and there is such a desperate need for freedom here in so many areas of peoples lives. But that topic is not for today. Do expect to see more discussion on the matter, however - it needs adressing eventually.

Control. Food. And me.
I controlled food, so I thought, when I ate. Perhaps it controlled me. Okay, yes it did.
Now that I have lost it, food has upset me to emotional levels In a way I never thought possible. Ah, but why?
Because it is about my fight for control of something. Be that stress, circumstances, something - and anything.
So what can I do now? Well. God is showing me. I can hold onto it. Or I can let go. And not simply let of the food - this is merely a representation of something deeper.
Now that I see my desperate need to control something, I must be able to let go of that need, of that searching (not simply transfer to something else), admit that I cannot control circumstances in life (for my entire life, and should stop trying to), and relinquish my hold on anything. Then perhaps I might be willing to admit to God that I cannot control anything, and ask that he might give me the grace to allow me to be willing to give him that control. Notice I say willing - that is the hardest part of it all - not just seeing the need but wanting to change that - and being able to. Eh, is hard.

But being willing to give all of that control - in its entirity - to God.
This thought is absolutely terrifying on many levels, yet I know that it is essential.
Now, because of this, a minor thing like food, I see my own need to relinquish something that is not mine - nor should be mine. Control.

You know, I post this post here second to a post I wrote yesterday morning on dog training and the control of dogs. I find it interesting, and ironic, the opposite ways these two topics seemingly work out. In Kaelen's case, I am discussing the importance of having that control over him as a dog, as it affects his ability to work and function, and trust, and my own ability to get done what I need to do with a dog that obeys.

And here I am also explaining the way God is having me hand over my own control of a situation and life I cannot handle.
As I said, I find this paraellel very ironic - perhaps the way in which I must trust and hand ovrer control is not dissimilar to the way in which dear Kaelen will learn to trust and be controlled by his master. It is a cery interesting thought.

Well, I am by no means completed in my thoughts, nor am likely to be. There are so many swimming around in my mind, but again, taking each day as it comes is the biggest battle of all. One day, one step,one fear at a time. All so overwhelming and changing, and unpredictable and scary.

But I do challenge you - it is easy to watch as I go through such an obvious relinquishing of my own control of things and circumstances I can do little about - but now I must be bold enougn to push a little deeper, and perhaps, dare I put this question in your mind today... If you are reading my struggle and watching me suffer (haha) then you are subject to my opinion too =D
So, dare I ask, for you, if it is not food, what is it? Sobering thought.

And now food. And eating. Erch.

~Anna