The End of Me

"...Today I want to die.  I want to get out of this life and on to the next.  I am tired of fighting.  Tired of failing.  I am tired."

These were words I left on my computer just last night.  Hopeless.  This Christian walk is tough and I fail miserably daily.  It doesn't matter how hard I try, how hard I fight, the failures come.  I hurt constantly and I feel hopeless.  I have struggled with depression my entire life and I feel like it will never get better.  I feel alone always.  Even being with someone doesn't mean that you are not alone. I have tried to go the path of least resistance and I have fought through the battles and have had a few victories. 

Today, I had a most unexpected moment of realization.  For my entire life I have been angry.  Sure, there are days that I find things to be happy about, but the anger is always there - ready to surface.  While recently evaluating our relationship, my gentleman friend (I feel way too old to use the title "boyfriend") expressed that what he needs from me is to be kind, caring, loving and not so angry.  That was really hard to hear.  But the truth usually is hard to hear.  Over the years, I have battled against smoking, drinking, obesity, homosexuality, depression and anger.  With God's help, I have overcome all of them with the exception of anger.  (I am again waging war on the bulge, but at one time I lost 80 pounds with God, diet and exercise)  What I felt at the beginning of each battle was complete defeat, then anger to the point of action.  Last night, I felt the familiar hopelessness that comes before the rising of the Phoenix within.  The hopelessness bled over into today and while at work, I was angry and put on my "leave me alone" face any time someone came around.  Then my gentleman friend called and said he was on his way to my side of town and wanted to know if I could have lunch with him.  I said "yes", but my gut instinct was to get angry and think, "Sure, if you are heading to this side of town for work, THAT is when you call me to have lunch."  As is customary when I am full of myself, I had a nice, BIG, FAT slap in the face when I arrived and found out that he was worried about me and just wanted to make sure I was okay and that he did not have to work on that side of town.  But being the jerk that I had already decided to be today, I managed to come up with some reason to take it out on him.  And I wonder why I was alone for so many years....

After a discussion that ended with him calmly saying, "I think you need to get out of the car now," I got out of his and into mine before hurrying back to work.  This was a shock to me...  That someone could handle anger with the calmness that he did.  He was not unkind or ugly to me - he had just simply had enough and needed time and space.  He has never seen me truly angry - not the way my poor family has, but he has witnessed some minor atomic explosions.  And today, I didn't get angry - in our discussion, I never raised my voice or name-called, but we were at an obvious impasse.  Then this evening, during our relationship-eval when  he said he needed for me to be less angry, I realized just how far I still have to go.  I am a Christian.  I should be "getting" these things by now.  But I am so imperfect, so human.  I am not sure what prompted the next part of our discussion, but I will liken it to vomiting.  When you feel SO sick and you know that you have to vomit in order to feel better....  the intense wettening of the mouth, followed by the dreaded walk to the toilet that leads to sitting there staring into the water and praying that it go "quickly".  All the while, you know that if you just get it over with, you will feel better.  And then the heave comes...... I began telling him where my anger comes from.  As I sit here typing the words, it is hard for me to believe that I opened myself up to anyone, let alone now sharing it in this forum. 

As a child, I witnessed my mother's anger manifested in the physical sense - hitting walls, throwing thing, smacking us and yelling at us.  A a young child and into my early teen years, I had a problem with bed-wetting.  As a little one, you expect when you are hurting that you will be comforted by your mommy.  You expect reassurance and love, kisses and hugs but when I had to wake her up from her sleeping to help me change my sheets, I was met with disdain and anger by words that cut instead of words that comfort.  I very vivdly remember an incident when I was 7 when I woke up wet and instead of facing the anger, I changed my own sheets and cleaned myself up.  It was that moment that confirmed the truth of my childhood -  "I was not enough".  Who can resist a child, especially their own?  And yet, I do not blame my mother, she was dealing with her own pain.  The fact remains that my spirit was broken as a child and I have carried the anger well into my adulthood.  There is more but for the sake of keeping this semi-short, I will hasten on to the post-vomitous feeling of relief.  After sharing the darkness of where my anger stems for maybe the first time in my life, I felt a little lighter.  I still have a long way to go and I have decided it is time to address this demon.  I made a call to the man who spoke Sunday morning in class.  The one who talked about his own rage. 

I know I need help.  I know I cannot do it alone.  Again, I am calling on God for his mercy.  I have come to the end of me. "Though the battles rage....  Your blessings still will come" a line in Tim Hughes' "Give Us Your Courage".  A line that I feel deeply in this moment.