Feeling Small

Mental illness is tricky, sneaky, conniving, and all around insolent.

you were having a great day? not anymore.

you were having a bad day? why not make it worse.

you just wanted to do homework? let’s think about every failure you’ve ever had, and the times when you asked questions and were laughed at for the curiosity you have been given.

you just wanted to go to bed in peace and forget the anxiety from the day? how about you cry into your pillow, then wake up every hour to the same dread-filled stomach, the same racing heart, the same nauseousness, and the same hopelessness you fell asleep with sixty minutes ago.

Anxiety is a crippling fear of fear. It originates in nothing and it invades everything. It puts a hurdle in the way of every step I try to take.

Eventually I stop trying to walk.

Depression set in, so now I see nothing but fruitless attempts to move forward against anxiety. I stopped walking in the world and started staring at it, but now even that is too much.

Mornings: awful.

Afternoons: survivable.

Evenings: doable.

Nights: seemingly impossible.

Why does this happen? When did my mind turn against itself?

I fill my brain with ways to help myself, memorizing breathing techniques for the panic attacks, encouraging quotes to think of, and verses to pull myself through the hardest parts. Some days I do better, some days I stand and walk and forget that I am afraid.The problem is the moment that the fear hits again, I’m at its mercy.

The only reason I keep fighting is because I have survived it this long. Except, I’ve only survived this long because a small voice in the chaos of fear and helplessness whispers:

you know how great I Am.

I am the I AM.

Look at what I have done, do you doubt that I can be your strength through this fear? through this pain? through this rage? through this anger? through this darkness?

I am greater than anything that exists below. I have suffered. I have seen everything good I made polluted and destroyed. I have been betrayed by the creation that I love. I am the light that is life to that which is dead.

So I praise him. I begin to feel small, but not because the depression grows larger around me. Not because the anxiety roars. No, I feel small because I caught a glimpse of just how great the Maker of the cosmos is, how powerful he is, how majestic he is, and that despite his greatness he still holds me.

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