Sunday, September 23, 2012

Deliverance is hard

I was reading through old notebook pages and blog posts today. I looked back over the things I'd written since last July, since the doctor's appointment where I felt I was being led into a time of waiting, preparation for a time such as this.
I remember then knowing the answers would come soon but not knowing quite when. I remember the peace that passed all understanding that wrapped itself around me. I remember the quiet, still voice whispering, "This is the last part of the journey, you're almost there."
I remember being excited, and nervous and I was freaking out and anxious, but I was peaceful. I remember thinking of my entire undiagnosed period as walking through the wilderness and soon deliverance was coming.
Until today I barely remembered how everything started, the day I found out, the day He said no.
I'd almost forgotten the absolute faith I'd had back then. I'd almost forgotten that those were the days when my journey began - July 10. I was diagnosed on September 10. My waiting vigil lasted exactly 2 months.
So much has changed in those 2 months.
Looking back over things I had written, I think I knew the pain that was coming. I think I had an inkling of an idea how hard things would be for me when the diagnosis finally came.
Deliverance turned out to be hard. It's turning out to be harder then I ever imagined. It's grief and it's intense and crazy and scary and lonely and overwhelming.
It's hard to describe exactly what I'm feeling. This grief is mixed with different flavors and textures, and I think I'm only now starting to realize that.
It's been almost 2 weeks and there are still moments when the enormity of the loss I have suffered is enough to make me fall over and want to cry and scream and beg to just be ok again. I find it kind of funny that now I would do anything to be ok again. I would cut off my arm if I could just be healthy. It's not even that I'm feeling really sick right now, it's just knowing I will never feel really ok again.
I lost the girl I was supposed to be. I know that's crazy, and that I am supposed to be here, but it feels that way. It feels like all the dreams I had for myself, all the hope I had for being completely healed, it's all gone.
This loss is as high as Mt. Everest, as wide as the Pacific Ocean, as deep as the Grand Canyon and is taking on the apperance of a grave.
I know miracles can still happen, and I know God is going to work great things out of this time in my life, but I also know losing everything I did the day the diagnosis was final is something earth shattering for me, and my world will never be the same.
I think that's one thing I want people to know about getting diagnosed - because it was something I didn't even fully understand until it happened to me. Getting diagnosed with a chronic, and sometimes debilitating, illness, it changes your entire world. The loss, it's impacted me as strongly as the death of someone I care about. But this time nobody died, no real person anyway.
I also feel the need to stick up my hand and go, "But don't worry, I'll be ok." And that is the truth. Someday, I'll be ok. I won't be the same kind of ok I was before, but I'll be ok in some sense of the word. I feel the need to say, "Don't worry about me. Seriously, don't let me cause any trouble for you. I'm not crazy, just... you know, grieving." I'm not ok right now, but I know I am going to be. Someday the wound is going to be closed, and I am going to hurt a little less, and it's going to be fine. Maybe I keep saying that for my own sake, to keep reminding myself that someday things are going to get better, or maybe it's because somewhere deep inside I know it's true.
Just... deliverance is turning out to be a lot harder then I thought it would be. There is more sadness and pain and the hugeness of this loss is more then I ever thought it would be.
I feel like I keep trying to justify myself here, to justify what I'm feeling. (Been doing that a lot lately...) So I'm just going to say right now I'm not ok, and I'm grieving over this really big and real loss, and that's ok. Like my friend said in an email, as long as I realize that I am going to be ok. There is no shortcut to this grieving process, and it's something you just have to do. The only way to get through it is to feel every heart breaking, gut wrenching moment of it.

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