I know I’m not making sense, but I’m trying to be honest

At the moment the sound of failure, frustration, and disappointment is ringing in my ear. Being overweight, constantly fatigued and having no ability to focus compounded by flashbacks to the most recent displays of my inability to retain any of the information that I take in spin me around and around and I’m nauseous.

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I think my lack of mental prowess is the most upsetting. Life can continue with the extra fat and I can keep on coasting by with doing the minimum that life requires (you know the daily schlep that is adulthood), but if my mind doesn’t pitch up soon, I’m in trouble. My academic career is on the line. My day to day purpose, the busy that keeps the monsters at bay. My husband sometimes calls me “anxiety girl”, my superpower is that I can jump to the worst possible outcome within seconds…


Well yeah, I might be flexing that muscle when I say this, but I’m trying to be honest: If I can’t be an academic because I can’t concentrate, then my life is essentially over because my dream career of being a writer will also be down the drain. See I need to be able to concentrate for longer than a minute to read books and I need some memory to enable to build up a store of knowledge and wisdom. To think, process, conceptualize I need the info I’ve assimilated to be available. I need to be able to think to write something that makes sense. In order to write about life, I need to be able to pull together all the strings and weave a tapestry. But you see, the strings… I don’t know where they went.

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The frustrating part does not only lie in the future but in the past as well. I wasn’t always like this. Once I was a witty, interesting girl, able to quote from many books and recall most of my life’s journey. I was really good with sums and logic and I was so creative, describing life in pictures, explaining complex ideas with metaphors… I wasn’t necessarily happy, that has been a life-long challenge but I was content despite the pain because I thought my life might amount to something. The vague memory of that time and the thought that I will never be that person again paralyzes me. I know what I am capable of, I’ve tasted the good life, I cannot keep on living on breadcrumbs forever.

I have been sitting in front of my laptop day in day out for weeks now, with very little to show for it except a bunch of random google searches which include “why would Ritalin stop working”. Yes, I’m on Ritalin, quite a high dose actually. And it does nothing for me. It used to help, for a while I thought my problems with concentration can be removed from the list of mental illness symptoms I have to wrestle with every day. Such a grand prank! So I guess now is as good a time as any to tell you that I was diagnosed with severe ADHD a few months back. That is a blog on its own, which I won’t commit to right now. Which brings me to my other existential crisis. I don’t know what the name of my mental illness is. I don’t feel comfortable enough in any of the mental illness camps to plop down and start singing kumbaya with them. I don’t know which colour ribbon to pick.

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Being a Christian has been my saving grace, I would not be alive anymore if it weren’t for God constantly interrupting my sentences and meddling in my life. At the same time, it wearies me facing the stark contrast between who I am and what someone who has taken the Gospel to heart looks like. I am forever berating myself and apologizing to God.


I love Jesus, however, my love is very crooked, low quality, the type you buy at a factory outlet shop… on sale. I want to be a shining star for Him and His Kingdom but being nice already takes a big bite out of my daily energy allowance. If only I didn’t have this nagging feeling that I am meant for so much more, then maybe I would have been able to accept my fate. But my grandiosity sits in on all the board meetings I have in my head and taunts me. It is like salt, it accentuates the flavour of every thing that is wrong with me.

I need Grace, I need the Father’s love to encourage me. But I also desperately need the healing only He can provide. Much is at stake.



2 thoughts on “I know I’m not making sense, but I’m trying to be honest

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