Half Empty

I've always seen my Starbucks cup as half empty. I'm a pessimist by nature.  In case you haven't figured that out already.   Always have been, and unless I'm struck by lightning, I probably always will be.  I hate to say it's the way God made me because I don't think He would make someone this way, so for the sake of argument, we'll just say I'm obnoxiously hard-wired like this.

In the beginning of my diagnoses 10 years ago, I cried, "WHY ME?" a lot.  Chaplain L likes to tell newcomers how I introduced myself as "I'm dying" to the support group.  I didn't even tell them my name that first week.  According to everything I'd read about my disease, I was dying.  She tells this story to give hope, because here I am ten glorious years later, having received a major spiritual healing, living a life I was told I would never live out.  I laugh and smile with her, knowing my Jesus cup is more than overflowing.  I wouldn't be here if it weren't for Jesus, if it weren't for God, if it weren't for this spiritual life I am leading.  I will never understand or comprehend why I was the one who was chosen for this healing, but I do know that I have to do it justice, even though most days I fail miserably.

Some days though, it's just too much.  Being a full time mom, homeschooling, being "sick," all the decisions I have to make.  The pain creeps back in, the illnesses.  My doctors don't have answers, don't return my calls.  They tell me to stay on the same dosages, to keep doing what I'm doing, even though I keep getting sicker.  The testing Noah still needs.  The answers we still don't have for either of us.  The deficits, the frustrations.  I can't ride him about everything and he seems to forget most things.  No matter what I try to put into practice, it doesn't seem to work.  My patience and understanding run out, then my energy runs low.  It gets tiresome.  Some days I'm tempted to put him back in public school and it makes me feel like such a failure.  I have nothing that is my own, no time to myself.  I can't be everything to everyone.  I can't handle everyone relying on me, needing me.  I know God is in this, but I'm not able to step back to look at the bigger picture and figure out where He is.  My overflowing Jesus cup creeps back down to half empty.  I want to give up, throw my hands up and just walk away.  But I can't, because I'm the mom.  This is my Woe of Motherhood.

These past few weeks, these past few days especially, my cup has completely run dry.  I don't have anything to give at all to anyone.  I can't even give to my family.  The other day I couldn't even shower.  I've even called in sick to "work," my only true safe place.  I'm afraid to answer the phone because I don't want to answer the "how are you" question.  I can't hug or be hugged because it's just too much right now.  I don't want to go anywhere because I don't want to take the chance I might run into someone I know.  I know all the signs of grieving and loss. I am overwhelmed by them. I am also overwhelmed by guilt:  Guilt for grieving so much over the loss of a child who is not my own to grieve.  What right do I have to feel as I do?  I know all the signs of my illnesses.  I am overwhelmed by them as well.  I am overwhelmed by my day-to-day tasks, even the simple ones.  I know and understand everything I'm going through, all the steps and feelings.  It doesn't make any of it any easier.  In some ways it makes it more difficult; I want to rebel against what I know and what I'm feeling.  I want to wallow in my physical and emotional pain, but the life I have created for us doesn't allow for that kind of "slow down" time.  Raising a ten year old with extra needs and a toddler doesn't allow for that.  I am angry and I want to lash out.  This is what rock bottom feels like.  I've been here before and I didn't like it then, either.  It's a dangerous place to be.  I'm hurting and I just want to curl up in a ball in my bed until this has passed.  But I know it doesn't work that way.  Like the children's book, Going on a Bear Hunt, I can't go under it or over it, I have to go through it.

I tell myself I'm not running from God, but in reality, that's exactly what I'm doing.  I tell myself I'm not angry at Him, but I'm sure that is exactly who I'm angry at.  This is the time I need to run TO Him though, this is when I need Him to refill my cup to overflowing.