The Sting of the Sword

The pain is real. And it's so hard to deal with. It's a knife to the heart, and a stab in the back. I let my guard down, and I was smacked in a vulnerable spot. I"m down here at rock bottom again; numbing, stuffing, concealing, not feeling. What's worse is I can't even seem to make myself want to care. At the beginning of my relapse, I didn't care in any way, shape or form. Now I care, but I don't want to care. Part of me still does not want to feel, wants to hide in the shadows and numb the pain.

I know that doing so won't get me anywhere, but I want to plunge. Plunge down the hole and hide forever. There is a part of me that no longer sees a point in trying to recover. Some part of me is broken, and I don't know how to fix it. For awhile, I thought things were getting better. And they were, I guess, but at the moment it feels so wrong. Recovery feels wrong. Why can't I just sit in my corner and hide in the darkness that has arisen? Perhaps acknowledging it is the first place to begin. Maybe the acknowledging is a step that will put me back on the wagon. Do I want to be back on the wagon? No, not really. Can't seem to find a point in it, because I know that the moment I allow myself to wake up and to feel, I will have to feel everything. All the hurt, the sadness, the agony, the betrayal, the resentment, the despair, the confusion, the mistrust, the not understanding, and most of all the depression that is eating me up inside. Everything.

This week I have spiraled down and down into the deepest recess of my mind, calling up all the hurt and bad feelings of everything that has ever happened to me. The result is that I no longer know what I am worth. And I feel crappier than ever. Back at rock bottom, back at the beginning.

Oh, I know this is all to build character and to let the Lord raise me up to be stronger than I was. But I don't want the character. I don't want to accept the trial of my faith I am having right now. The sting of the sword is sharp, and when it strikes, one needs to make sure that all their nooks and crannies and crevices are filled and blocked so that sword has less chance of getting in. My armor was tattered and torn, falling to bits and pieces though everything looked so sleek and shiny on the outside. When the first chink went missing, I chose not to fix it, thus allowing Satan to get in at my weak moment.

I'm on the brink of losing the best relationship I have ever been in, a healthy relationship with the most wonderful guy I have ever met, and a lot of it is because of my silly mistakes. He has stood by me even with all the things I have told him about until just recently. I didn't believe there was a limit. Maybe I don't understand love, or how someone can love me, or how to show someone I love them. Perhaps I have never understood love. Oft times I find myself rejecting the love others have for me, and finding ways to prove them that I am indeed not worthy of their love. Thus I withdraw when they reach out to love me, and put up walls between myself and them. Most of the time I don't even realize I am doing it until it has already been done. And then I turn it on myself, and resent myself even more due to my own shooting in the foot.

I guess that the only place to go from here is up. Up towards God, get back on the wagon, even if I don't want to. As I get back on and pick myself up, I only can hope and pray that God will be there to show me the way, as he has been in the past. I'll be praying fervently that He will help me to bear the pain that I have been numbing all week, and pull me through it. For even though the sting of the sword is sharp, the touch of the Master's hand is gentle and loving, and wraps around us tenderly as we pull off the bandaid, air out the infection, and allow the wound to heal. It may leave a scar, but that is just another battle wound in the fight for the right.