If you were diabetic...

Depression is officially worse than Diabetes. For years, I've fought it, at times able to hold it at bay without help. Well, last year, I finally had to admit that I was tired of fighting so hard all the time and I asked for some help. I remember so many conversations with Anne about the pros and cons of medicine, most of which consisted of me being stubborn and her actually knowing what was best. (hm, that's still kinda true..) She said "If you were diabetic, would you take insulin?" yep. well isn't that just ironic? ha! Amidst several of these illustrations, she said "Amy, if I felt the way you do, I'd take something." Well, that did it. I respect her so much and care so much about her opinion and God used her to move me, through many layers of history, resentment, anger, uncertainty, fear, and sadness, to a place of acceptance regarding medication. I argued that treating it wasn't the same as having Diabetes or some other physical disease, but then it helped. It gave me back my life. It reminded me that depression is not my identity, that I don't have to live in this fog where life is too much to handle. It reminded me that I love to laugh. It lifted the darkness just enough to give me some strength and some hope that my life could be good and fun again. It opened a door for there to be real progress and growth in therapy instead of just the sadness police. I remember being amazed at how fast it helped, yet still skeptical. and I also remember when one pill wasn't enough. I felt so much better compared to where I had been that I had a hard time realizing that there was still more freedom to be had. My meter of what is "normal" was smashed a long time ago by years of sadness and hidden grief. I was told multiple times in multiple ways that I wasn't getting the full benefit that meds could bring. Still, I felt crazy. Not only did I need depression meds, I needed 2. Well, they were right. I need 2. The darkness continued to lift and I felt like I could breathe deep for the first time in years. I remember times of lamenting in my car over the fact that I am dependent on these medicines to function in life and I remember times of rejoicing in my car just singing praises to the Lord for these 2 pills that I have to take everyday. I felt rescued and cared for.

Depression is deceitful. It makes you forget those times of freedom. It surrounds you with doubt and paints despair where there once was joy. It comes quick and it's sneaky. and all of a sudden, you feel like your life has been flipped upside down and smashed into the ground. Guess what; when that's your life, it's hard to see the reality of what is happening. Sometimes it takes some scary things to shock you into the truth that you need help. again. And then the shame comes. again? really? I feel like a problem child, always asking for favors and concessions to be made for my health. I have appointments and bad days and other diseases that complicate matters. I'm so tired of not being able to handle my own life. and I have a hard time getting out of bed and going to work in the morning but doesn't everyone have a hard time getting up and going to work in the morning? it's so hard to know. but I know that I have had mornings where I have been glad to get up and go take care of those precious kids. and I know that it's been a while since I've been glad. I'm not a vegetable. I still laugh and I still smile. It's just not as full, not as rich, not as real. Depression dulls things. it makes everything seem dull and heavy. Even my forehead feels heavier, like it's going to press down and usurp my eyes. It seems like moving or making decisions or pressing on to another day is like walking through thick gooey mud. You have to keep moving or you'll get sucked under but it's hard as hell and sometimes you really wonder if it might be better to just stop and let the mud wash over you and sometimes you wish you had gone a different way and when you come out on the other side, you're still covered in mud and wondering if you'll ever know what it's like to be clean again and trying to brush it off just spreads it everywhere and eventually you just give up and accept the fact that you're the messy girl who trudged, ever so slowly, through the mud. A good friend of mine said "Don't forget, you can't take God out of the equation." Of course you can't. He's the one who made the mud and made the girl. He's the one who knows that the mud is really making her clean. He's the one who trudged through the mud already, who knows what it's like to taste despair and darkness, who is powerful enough that at any moment he could snatch the girl out of the mud and paint rainbows and butterflies around her. If he wanted to. Job says to God, in a weak moment, "I wish I had never been born..." and God says "Where were you when I put the stars in the heavens?.." among many other things. For real, though. Who am I to know what is best or why this is part of my story?

There's this song I love...shocker, I know! it's called "No Fight Left" by JJ Heller and it says "there's no place I can go where you don't already know how to reach right down and pull me out...I need you, I need you, I need you.." I've probably written about this song before because it's one of the few that I've found that really express how I feel when I'm in the midst of this. There's no fight left in me, but maybe that's where I should be. Maybe that's what God wants from me. He wants me to give up trying and give it all to Him. I could be mad at God because I know that if he wanted to, he could jerk me right out of this place tonight. but I'm not mad at him because I know that if he wanted to he could jerk me right out of this place tonight. He could rescue me here and now but he's choosing to leave me here and I've lived through this enough to know that he's a God who has beautiful, powerful purpose behind the things that he does. He hasn't forgotten me but instead he says in Zechariah 2 that he is a "wall of fire" around me and that he "will be the glory in [my] midst." Piper says "He is never content to give us the protection of his fire; he will always give us the pleasure of his presence." After all, he knows when I sit and when I rise and even when I settle on the far side of the sea, his hand is still there. and eventually, the night will shine like the day because even the darkness is not dark to him. Praise God that the darkness is not dark to him! I'm restless until I rest in him and there's nothing that can satisfy my soul but him and he loves me and will always be enough. He just has to remind me sometimes. Such a severe mercy.

the Bell Jar

I've never been much of a home body, which I speculate is mostly a result of my rather ostentatious extravertedness. I love people. I love being around people and pursing people and gathering people together around a table or for a cause. I guess even extraverts get tired. I'm tired. There are so many things to think about, so many things to deal with or decide or work through. The past few days have just been rough. I can feel the bell jar hovering over my head ready to drop down and trap me. Most of you probably don't know what I'm talking about when I say 'bell jar'...There's this book, The Bell Jar by Sylvia Plath. It's a favorite. She uses beautiful descriptive language and metaphor to describe the experience of severe depression in a time when mental illness was gravely misunderstood. One of my favorite quotes comes when she is talking about memories. She remembers everything that has happened to her, everything good and bad, all of the cruel and inhumane "treatment" she underwent for major depressive disorder, all of the side effects and the confused looks and the lack of understanding. She says "Maybe forgetfulness, like a kind snow, would numb and cover them. But they were part of me. They were my landscape." They were her landscape. Sometimes I wish a kind snow of forgetfulness would just come and cover all of me and my thoughts and my broken body and that I could just melt into this couch with the snow. But a wise friend once said to me as I wrestled with the "whys" of my own diagnosis of major depressive disorder, "Amy, maybe depression is just a part of your story, maybe God is going to use this experience to allow you to love and help other women someday." Maybe He will. maybe he already has in a way that I can't see. I know, deep down, that there is purpose to all of this. and even in the midst of my unbelief, I know that God is not abandoning me. It's just so hard. My heart is so weary. When I think about my landscape, it feels desolate and dark and dry. It hasn't always felt that way. Depression is a beast of a disease. It traps you in a cycle of defeat and even when you break free of the cycle, there's always this tiny fear in the background that it's coming back to devour you again. it's like being chased. always looking over your shoulder, wondering if this is the time it will catch up and engulf you. It's scary but I know I'm not stuck here. People I trust, who love me and know way more than I know, tell me everyday that I will get through this and that this is not forever. now I just have to believe them :)

I'm camping out in Psalm 139...again. The whole thing is a beautiful reminder of how God cares for his children but there's this verse that says "All the days ordained for me were written in your book before one of them came to be." vs. 16. Guess what that means. That means that God is not surprised by me, he isn't shocked by diabetes or depression or degenerative discs (alliteration...ha!) but instead, he knew they were going to happen. He knows just how he's going to use them for his glory and my good and to further his kingdom. It's ok to struggle, it's ok to struggle, it's ok to struggle. I have a hard time believing that. I like having things figured out and analyzed and perfected. I don't like uncertainty and not knowing and brokenness and struggle and blind trust. The Lord is loving me, this is his mercy to me. and yes, I'm angry as hell. I hate this, I hate the fact that I can't take a break from diabetes or I could die. I hate that I've gained 45 pounds. I hate that I have such an unhealthy relationship with food. I hate that I am so tired all the time. I hate that I don't really look forward to leaving my bed or my couch. I hate that I don't feel like me. but God can handle my anger. it's not too much for him. I'm angry at the way things have to be and I'm working on expressing my anger (I'm not very good at that). and I'm praying that God brings something beautiful and joyful into my life that distracts me from myself and reminds me of his goodness. and that I begin to learn to really rest, knowing that his hand is guiding me and holding me fast and that he has searched me and knows me and still loves me all the way to the bottom and all the way to the top. Lord, help my unbelief.








   

more good days than bad days this week, which is encouraging. it feels like today is gonna be tough. i'm trying really hard to claim truth and trust that my identity and worth are rooted in Jesus and not in what I think of myself or what people think of me. i'm tired. but not sleepy. my new bed has been awesome! waking up in the mornings is a much more pleasant experience than it has been in years and i really do feel more rested. too bad my brain didn't get the memo that we're supposed to be better. i want so badly to be positive and to not overreact to things and to take deep breaths and take things in stride. but i'm having a hard time going with the flow. it's a little turbulent at the moment and most days i just want to jump ship and wait this out somewhere else but i don't really have that option. my neck hurts and i just want to rip my head off. the truth is, i'm angry at my body. i feel like my body is my enemy and like it has totally betrayed me. and i know that i can't really separate me from my body but in my head, i do. i don't want this body to be who i am. i hate being needy. hate it. but i am so needy right now that i don't know what to do with myself. and it's been a couple years of neediness but never to this depth. i have a hard time admitting that i'm not ok and asking for help, usually because i'm not sure what would help, which unfortunately doesn't mesh well with intense need. ahh! i am so overwhelmed that i feel like i'm drowning. i feel like i'm buried in a pile of rubble, stuck underneath and i'm not quite strong enough to get out. it feels like my voice isn't working. like i want more than anything to scream for help but for some reason i can't. i feel like the next thing might just do me in. yesterday i met with an awesome lady, one of the diabetes educators at duke, who is diabetic and maybe the nicest person on the planet. she understands what is happening to me in a way that no one else really does. and she said so many of the same things that Anne says all the time. she was much more like a therapist or just a good friend than an educator. i have a feeling that she's going to become one of my lifelines. so thankful for her. hopefully she will be able to help me. she promised that this is not forever but that eventually, diabetes fades into the background. it's only a tiny speck in the grand scheme of who i am. there's a magnifying glass on that speck right now. a really giant powerful one. hopefully i won't lose my mind before we get past the crisis part.

a long list

Another day down. Today my clinic finished at noon and no one needed help. I stocked everything that I could find to stock and still had some time left over! Craziness..

One of our favorite little kiddos landed in the Peds Cardiac ICU today. Precious 7 year old child with osteosarcoma, in the maintenance phase of her chemo, attempting to move on with her life. But studies show damage to her heart as a result of the high doses of chemo that have been destroying the cells in her body for the past year or so. We give these kids chemo every day but sometimes we forget that it's poison. until something like this happens. it killed the tumor but it also killed a part of her heart. It's such a tough balance. the risk/benefit balance. Is the benefit worth the risk? There are so many questions.

Today, my body hurts. and a friend mentioned the word 'fibromyalgia' yesterday. and another friend mentioned it today. and then when I described my symptoms to my mom, she asked if I thought I might have it. all of these suggestions were totally separate of each other. Now I'm trying to decide if it's worth adding another doctor to my repertoire and probably another pill to my already overflowing pill case. My body really does hurt. I have good days and bad days and ok days. Some days I don't take any Ibuprofen. Some days I have a hard time going 6 hours in between doses. who knows? There's a rheumatologist at Duke who does research on fibromyalgia. Dr. Rice. now I have to decide if it's worth a visit.

why are bodies so complicated? there are so many parts and pieces and they all affect each other in different ways and sometimes it's just so hard to separate one issue from the next. and sometimes I wonder if I'm just making all this stuff up. but the last time I thought I was making stuff up, my pancreas had actually stopped working. the list just seems to keep getting longer and longer.

The good thing is, God is not surprised by this. He knows me better than I know myself and He's got this.

raw

I need to write more. I think I've had some version of writer's block lately. I think I just need to sit down and type.

My heart is weary. There's a song that I love. It says "These are old shoes that I'm walking in, I'm wearing weary like it's a second skin." I feel like those words will never get old. Audrey Assad and I have the same heart and feeling like someone gets me, even if I don't know them at all, is always encouraging.

I'm trying to learn to be ok with gray. gray is an achromatic or neutral color that can be correctly spelled with either an 'e' or an 'a' as its vowel. gray can be used to balance an all-black or all-white view. gray means there's not really an answer. unclear. uncertain. I've been known to be an extremist at times. life is either really good or really bad. I have a hard time only being ok. ok just doesn't seem like enough. gray means I haven't figured it out. I haven't evaluated enough. I love the color gray. I was an English major. gray is celebrated in literature and the evaluation and critique of it. Math is black and white, there's only one answer. English is gray, the right answer is what you make it. So overall, I love gray but when it comes to my own life and my evaluation of it, gray is hard to swallow.

Loneliness. what a bizarre concept. How can one be lonely when surrounded by people? Somehow, it happens. it happens a lot. I've struggled with this before, in fact I think I've spent most of my life afraid to really trust people enough to make them safe enough to even remotely touch my loneliness. At this point in my life, there are a few but having diabetes has tied a knot in my safety net. how can anyone really understand what this is like? having struggled for years with disordered eating, I feel like food has always consumed my life. Food is simultaneously my best friend and my worst enemy. and now I'm expected to pay close enough attention to what I eat that I can calculate exactly how much insulin my body needs to appropriately use the number of carbs that I give it. I've always payed close attention to what I put in my mouth and there's always been a monologue of shame and guilt associated with every calorie. it seems my bingeing and my diabetes can't coexist without killing me. I know what you're thinking. "Well, you can't not have diabetes, you're stuck with it. so, guess you'll have to stop bingeing." and my answer to that is, "If I could do that, don't you think I would've done it a long time ago?"

I randomly picked up this book that I borrowed from a friend called "Breaking Free from Emotional Eating." My first thoughts were, "GREAT! another book that will tell me all the same things about eating and food that every other book has echoed throughout the years. Ideas, concepts, plans, suggestions, and strategies that echo relentlessly in my head, in the end only adding link by link to the chains of guilt and shame that have had me bound for longer than I care to admit. Nonetheless, I decided to 'skim' it. turns out, this woman knows me.

2.5 years of therapy has taught me that I don't take care of myself well. the minute I stop intentionally choosing and scheduling things that take care of me, those things quickly lose their place of priority. quickly and quietly. until one day, I wake up and realize that I've done nothing to care for myself in weeks and I'm empty and exhausted and discouraged. on that day, if I look at the last few days, sometimes weeks, I usually see at least one binge a day, sometimes more. "Binges are purposeful acts, not demented feelings..a binge can be an urgent attempt to care for yourself when you feel uncared for. Binges speak the voice of survival. They are signals that something is terribly wrong, that you are not giving yourself what you need--either physically (with food) or emotionally (with intimacy, work, relationships). They are your last stand against deprivation" (p. 68). Anne always says "just remember that it's not about the food." that's so true, the eating is a symptom, a sign-post, a red flag or check engine light that tells me something is disoriented or awry in my heart. the problem comes when I don't stop for long enough to realize what the binge is pointing to. I'm afraid to stop. I have a deep seated longing, almost compulsion, to DO something. "We can excuse ourselves for doing nothing when we eat because eating is doing something. Eating is a socially acceptable way of taking time for ourselves, All else is defined as indulgence. or selfish or unnecessary waste of time" (p. 68) Ah, the chronic problem of humanity's need to do instead of just be. I constantly find myself running in step with the Galatians, whom Paul refers to as "foolish" simply because they've begun working, trying to earn their standing before the Lord and perfect themselves. It's as if they've suddenly convinced themselves that what only God can perfect by His Spirit, they can perfect by their own flesh...nope, it's just never gonna be enough. Of course I believe that, right? I know I could never be perfect, yet there are hundreds of ways every single day that I reject grace and sometimes subtly, sometimes not-so-subtly, attempt to prove my worth and earn my own righteousness. For me, the arena is often the space between my hand and my mouth.

For years, I saw my mom try diet after diet after diet yet caught her crying at the kitchen table in the middle of the night. I saw the guilt and shame on her face after she ate something she "wasn't supposed to." I ate because everyone in my family ate. Overeating was celebrated. I was just eating like a Yarbrough. In order to feel like I belonged, I had to overeat, indulge, eat myself into oblivion and physical pain. I could never even begin to count the conversations revolving around "rolling ourselves out of a restaurant" because we had eaten so much that we couldn't bear the thought of moving. I heard the message, spoken and unspoken, that I should watch what I ate. After all, obesity runs in our family. yet I learned quickly that feeling "full" could numb some of the pain, some of the disconnected loneliness I felt, some of my desire to feel like I belonged. It numbed me, made it bearable to keep my eyes open long enough to make it through the day. It wasn't ok to be sad when I was sad so I just ate when I was sad. It wasn't enough to just celebrate when we were happy, we had to eat when we were happy. Nothing was done without food or at least the nearness of it. Quite often, we still discuss the plans for our next meal while we're eating. I was never taught to just enjoy food. The "enjoyment" was followed with shame, which automatically negated the enjoyment. "How could you let yourself eat that much? You said you were only going to eat half. You said you weren't getting dessert but then you ate enough of everyone else's to far surpass the impact that your own dessert would've had. You said you'd order a salad. You can't even have enough discipline to do what you decide to do! and it's only been 10 minutes since you decided it. Seriously, again? You are such a failure. You can't do anything right. You might as well just stop trying because you're never going to be able to do it. You're never going to say no enough times to make it count. One day you're going to screw up so badly that no one will ever love you again. No one wants to be around the fat girl. No one thinks fat is beautiful. No one wants to deal with your issues. You'll always be alone. You'll always be left to fend for yourself, to wrestle these demons again and again until one day they suffocate you. You'll always be alone and scared." It's unreal how a few bites of food becomes a deep, deep worth issue. Somewhere along the way, how "well" I eat became a significant measure of my worth. "If they really knew how and what I ate, they'd be disgusted, they wouldn't love me.." that's a problem.

So often, I rely on something other than the gift of God's grace in my Savior to monitor my "goodness" and "badness." I'm good when I exercise, bad when I don't. Good when I eat carrots, bad when I eat cookies. and so on and so forth. This structure of evaluation is so natural that it's hard for me to even notice it, much less to put it into words or stop it before it starts.

For so long, I've held my life together with the structure of a diet or an exercise plan. I complain about having to record carbs and blood sugars, and insulin but somewhere deep down, I like the boundaries it creates. I'm so afraid of letting go of those things. But there's this verse that talks about how Jesus was before all things and in Him ALL things hold together. and there's this other verse that talks about how if God gave us His own Son, how could he not graciously give us all things. Would he deny me the safety, security, and structure of Jesus holding my life together, too? How prideful for me to think that I could even begin to hold this all together with my own expectations or plans. He delights to hold my life together. He loves me and he loves my life and my rebellious heart. He pursues me even when all I want to pursue is the latest diet or the ever elusive calorie-free comfort food. He says that His eye is on the sparrow, all the sparrows, and if his eye is on all the sparrows then how could I forget that He sees me? He is near to the broken-hearted, he provides security in a way that nothing in this world could ever do, He sees me when I can't even see myself, He can see the face that I don't want anyone else to ever see, He knows my deepest desires and my deepest fears...and He promises never to leave, to always be near, to walk alongside me and go before me in the fight, to shepherd me in a way that makes me lie down and trust Him instead of scrambling around trying to prove myself. Oh how I long for these truths to take root in my heart. to take root and grow, such that my life and the way that I eat and the choices that I make reflect the reality of His relentless love.

it just doesn't make any sense!

My favorite 8-year-old friend said it best when in the midst of an emotional breakdown, he screamed "it just doesn't make any sense!" Of course, he was referring to the fact that doing his homework kept him from playing with his friends but in his little world, that is as big of a struggle as counting carbs and calories and saying no to my favorite foods is for me. and trust me, it's a struggle that causes much weeping and gnashing of teeth. It's hard to let myself struggle. Even harder than it is to let the kids express their emotion, which if you have any interaction with kids at all, you know is quite difficult. Last night, Jordan needed exactly what I need right now. He was exhausted beyond the point of reason and everything I said, no matter how I said it was met with tears and flailing body parts. He was overwhelmed by his own emotion. I told him what Anne tells me: that intensity of emotion cannot last forever, it will end because your body can't sustain it. He needed to be hugged and told he's loved and reminded that God is bigger than his feelings. He needed to feel safe. He needed to be reminded that even though he doesn't feel or believe that he's loved and precious at that moment, it's still true. and then he needed a piece of cake. :) Ok, the parallel breaks down at some point but in reality, his little heart is wrestling with all of the same things that my 26 year-old heart is battling. Does God really know what He's doing? If Jesus is enough, why are things so hard? Couldn't God have chosen a vehicle other than suffering to refine and sanctify us? Why is it so hard to believe truth in the midst of overwhelming, intense emotion?

I'm learning so much right now and in some ways, I hate to admit it because life is hard. but if I'm honest with myself, I have to admit that suffering pushes me into a place of desperation and dependence on a God who promises never to leave or forsake me. 3 year-old Camille and I had a sweet little conversation last night before bed as she was in tears, having trouble sleeping, scared of the dark. I was singing "Jesus Christ, shine into our night, drive our dark away, until your glory fills our eyes. Jesus Christ, shine into our night, bind us to your cross, where we find life" and she asked "Why does Jesus Cries?" :) I explained that "Christ" means Messiah, Savior, it means that Jesus saves us. to which she responded, "when it's a emergency, he saves us when we're scared?" Yep, he does. and He's always with us when we're afraid, when we're sad, when we're happy, when nothing makes sense. He's always with us and we can always cry out to Him. Camille and I cried out to Jesus together last night. "Jesus, help me"

I started back Taekwondo. So far, a great decision. I love it. What could be better stress relief than getting to hit things hard while shouting? and the exercise is awesome. 45 minutes of sweating that goes by fast because it's fun :) yes, please. There are big, strong men in my class who consider it a challenge to fight a black belt so I get to hit hard without being afraid of hurting them. love it! The nutritionist told me yesterday that I need to exercise for an hour a day. Yikes, that's definitely gonna be a lifestyle adjustment!

The whole "adjustment" thing seems to be a trend. Is there always something to adjust to? maybe there is. maybe it's God's way of forcing us to lean into Him because there is no shadow of turning with him, he doesn't change, his compassions never fail, as He has been, He will forever be. forever is a long time. and he's the only thing that never changes and never fails. he's always faithful even when it doesn't make any sense to our finite minds and hearts. He knows. He is El Roi, the God who sees. I want to say, like Hagar did in the wilderness: “You are the God who sees me, ” for she said, “I have now seen the One who sees me.” Genesis 16:13 

Diabetes wasn't really what I had planned. Not that it's ever what anyone has planned. It's a hard disease. It's a planner's disease and I am not a planner. I'm a fly-by-the-seat-of-my-pants, why-do-now-what-you-can-do-later kind of girl. Not anymore. I can't afford to not be prepared anymore.

I feel like I'm drowning...in information, sadness, anger, uncertainty, fear, my own expectations of myself, doubt, stress...but in the midst of it all I'm learning about peace. God is teaching me to wait, to trust him when he says he sees me and knows what I need..

my world is carb counting and insulin and needles and doctors and dietitians and little booklets with numbers and pharmacies and structure and control..

I can't work because I can't see. my vision is blurry because for months, my body was trying to compensate for sugars over 500 by sucking fluid from all of my tissues, including my eyes, which changed the shape of my lenses. So now, we wait until my eyes decide they want to return to normal. I think it's God's grace in some ways because I'm not sure I'd be able to figure all of this out and stay sane and alive while working full time. If I'm honest, I'm scared to go back to work. I'm scared for my mom to leave because she's helping me so much. I'm scared to see how diabetes affects my normal life. I don't trust myself to do this well. What if I mess up? This isn't a game, this could be life or death. I had to teach my roommate to give me a shot yesterday just in case my sugar goes low and I pass out. She didn't sign up for that. And she's leaving for a week soon so I have to find someone to live with because it's not safe for me to be by myself yet. So much to think about..my life is not my own..

I want so badly to honor God in all of this. I want to rest knowing that he is working everything together for my good and his glory. I want to grieve well with him not by running from him. I want to stay my mind on him because in him alone is perfect peace. I want to be a part of pushing back the fall, of seeing redemption happen in real life, of restoration and the bringing of peace.

Diabetes is part of my story whether I like it or not and it's not something that will ever be over. I'm wrestling and processing and grieving and breathing deeply...pressing into the Lord, soaking in his truth..it's all I can do to stay afloat..

There's this song that I love by All Sons and Daughters and one of the lines says "tomorrow's freedom is today's surrender"..surrender has always been hard for me...I like to hold onto things and people and moments and memories and I like to squeeze them tight..letting go is not my strength..so, if you're praying, pray that God would teach me to let go, to surrender to him because he loves me..