What they don’t tell you is that when the cold fire of metal handcuffs encircles your wrists, even loosely, you’ll believe, for a second, that you are a criminal. You are not safe. You’re a danger to yourself and these metal rings prove it.
Last night I started reading J. P. Moreland’s book Finding Quiet. In it, he discusses his personal battles with both depression and anxiety. This morning, the first thought that entered my brain was “be anxious for nothing.” I knew the verse was in Matthew but I could not remember where, so I grabbed my Kindle... Continue Reading →
On the rare mornings I feel too much, my heart slams itself against my trachea and the world nestles hard on my esophagus. It is not unlike a hummingbird flinging itself against a still, sharp, rain-washed window. On the rare mornings I feel too much, my breathing collapses upon itself, repeatedly, like someone squeezing my... Continue Reading →
I know how to stop myself from having a panic attack. Sometimes, it doesn't work. On the days that it does, it makes recovery seem like within the reach of my fingertips. On the days when it doesn't, on the days when I hide in my bed, under my bedsheets, hiding myself from the world,... Continue Reading →
Dear Anxiety and PTSD-induced Panic Attacks, I hate you. No, I loathe you. You are the bane of my existence and the reason I can't enjoy the things that once brought me peace and happiness like God or writing or reading. Yes, even reading (don't ask, just know that it is horrendous). You make me... Continue Reading →
My pastor talked about sex last Tuesday night. I knew that before I got there, thanks to the Facebook post on our mid-week service page. In hindsight, I probably should not have gone, but I'm getting ahead of myself. For context, we're currently going through the book of Ephesians and Tuesday night's passage of Scripture... Continue Reading →