Okay

Four weeks

Four weeks ago, if you asked me how I felt, I could not provide an answer. I received an onslaught of messages, each time reminding me that I was not okay. And there were tears every time I opened my phone. Among the rage and the apathy, I was overcome by an unconscionable and ironic joy in knowing that people cared about me. A soothing comfort I had not felt deeply in so long. How long was I deprived of love?

But this knowing was merely a temporary comfort. I have danced an endless waltz with Loneliness for as long as I can remember. Sometimes she is a miser, but I don’t mind her company. My mum tells me that I can’t rely on anyone but myself because all it does is bring you suffering. And I agree. All people can do is let you down. Yet, I know in my heart that God says it’s not the right way to live.

Three weeks

Three weeks ago, if you asked me how I felt, I would deflect. After losing my job and falling ill, I would remark that I found my life amusing—and the only way it could possibly be worse was if I got cancer. And while jokes are supposed to be funny, lots of you were decidedly sad instead, experiencing the sorrow I should have felt. But the joke got tiring. Though I suppose it meant I was no longer held down by anything else. The freedom from any responsibility, and the purest form of rest I so desperately craved was gifted to me in a little bow.

But on the off chance I didn’t deflect when you asked me how I felt, I would not be able to utter any words from my mouth. For my mind was doing everything in its power to keep it together. I would nod, hoping anyone who asked would not press any further. But I could not keep it together for those genuinely asking about my well-being. They’d see tears uncharacteristic of my stoic exterior, and sometimes they appeared so very shamefully in front of strangers.

Two weeks

Two weeks ago, if you asked me how I felt, I would answer truthfully. I felt nothing. Any feeling was elusive and I could not experience life the way I once did. It was as if there was a wall between my mind and body, disconnecting me from any positive or negative sensation. I’ve been doing very little, for I have no desire to do anything more, but I have since realised my “bare minimum” effort is still greater than others.

And I accredit my servant-heartedness to how my mum has modelled love. It’s not easy pouring out your cup over and over to those who are undeserving. But one thing she has not taught me is where I draw the line. I’m still trying to find a balance between taking care of myself and making efforts to love the people around me. Because it’s so easy to fall back into avoidant habits when disappointment occurs time and time again.

One week

One week ago, if you asked me how I felt, I still couldn’t give you a clear answer. Feelings are slowly returning, with the big emotions crashing down in waves… It’s mainly been rage. And I’ve been knee-deep into my avoidance, not spending much time with others for I have not felt much desire to do so. Solitude has always been a friend—the reliable one who doesn’t leave, and the only one willing to do the things I enjoy beside me. But sometimes, it gets boring hearing only hearing Solitude’s voice.

Still, she echoes my mother’s words. You can’t stay in bed all day. It’s not going to change anything. While there is nothing to look forward to (other than Jesus’ return) and no desire to do much, my convictions are as strong as ever. Worship in this lowly trough has looked like taking care of my body. Though my actions have meant I’ve been consuming more, I think I’m just contrarily neglecting myself. My body has physically been pushed to the point of exhaustion every single day.

Today

Today, if you asked me how I felt, I think I’d lie to you. I’m okay. I’m tired of explaining the apathy and how my heart has been closed off to the world. It really is easier being alone. Forget iron sharpens iron. I’m always the one dealing with the bigger loss, sacrificing the most to get nothing in return. No matter how much I try to model Jesus, there hasn’t been much joy in loving the sinner. It’s out of discipline and duty that I am still alive.

But perhaps, it has been too long since someone has loved me properly that everything feels so meaningless. Or rather, it’s been a long time since I’ve been able to trust anyone. It’s so easy to push away people who have let you down. But I am still fighting this pattern. Not because I want to, but because God placed this conviction on my heart. I have always been independent and seldom reliant on those around me. My head knows life is not a battle to be fought alone, but my heart doesn’t want to be disappointed anymore.

—

The forbidden pre has granted me a higher constitution that has enabled a fortnight-long workout bender, but the daily strain on my body was decidedly enough to confine me to bed for the morning when I was supposed to be out training. I guess it’s ironic that I’m subjecting myself to physical torture after two years of emotional damage inflicted in a relationship turned situationship. I guess I’ve always been a masochist (not really, I hate pain).

Things have been fine. But it’s just a little sad how easily I could do the things I love because I’ve always been doing it alone, and never with that “special person”. There was nothing to mourn. Still, thank you to the friends who have held space for my pain. I suppressed all the physical and emotional distress for so long that I didn’t realise how deep it cut. While it’s not my fault for my wounds, it’s my responsibility to heal from them. Honestly, it really sucks.

The lack of security, transparency, and repeated breaches of trust meant that complex betrayal trauma had developed. It’s what happens when there’s no relational consistency, so please forgive me for my hesitance and general distrust. Putting your trust in people who aren’t very good at keeping their word isn’t nice. Because when trust is broken enough in repeated offences, it can scar you for life. Even though I’ve escaped such circumstances, unknown triggers still send me into a spiral. The betrayals can’t logically happen again but there are times I’m presently living in it.

But if you’re worried about me, don’t be. Why? I’m confident there will be a day I bounce back from this. Because God made me a fighter—for when I am weak, then I am strong.