March 17, 2016

As a rule, it is very hard to genuinely hurt me.

I'm like the Buster Keaton of heartache - miraculously, it never seems to touch me, even when it and I are on a head-on railroad collision course. When something hurtful happens, I can almost always explain it away, rationalize it, laughingly admit that what the other person said was probably true, or at the very least, not care enough to let it get under my skin.

So when it does hit me - when I do care - when Buster does get flattened by the train, as I definitely did yesterday - I'm not always sure how to handle it.

I don't want to get angry about it - getting angry feels so selfish and faithless. After all, anything they said or did, I always deserve much, much worse; and besides, in this case at least, this is my friend. I don't want to be angry at my friend even if they did hurt me, and especially because they didn't mean to hurt me, and because every stinging word they said was absolutely true and deserved. "Faithful are the wounds of a friend". No room for anger there.

Internalizing it is my preferred coping method, but it quickly becomes very unhealthy - like me stewing miserably in the bathtub last night after it happened, trying to figure out how little I could eat every day without fainting in class and giving away the fact that I was trying to starve myself to death. Or wandering around in the rising storm this afternoon and plotting ways to mess up my life so I could fade away into the meaningless nonexistence for which I am surely destined. Or hiding as far away from my friends and family as I could tonight, and morosely sticking my head in trees to take pictures of buds and blossoms.

Not healthy, not helpful, not Christlike.

Having been introduced this week to the wondrous fireball that is Francis Chan, I was slightly cushioned from this dramatic crash, since I was just completing two days of being excitedly motivated to get up and start pursuing Christ again. Because of this, there has been a stillness underneath my dull headaches and tempestuous waves of self-hatred. I know even this is under His control. He didn't design a plan to hurt me, but He knew it would happen, and He included it in the "all" part of "all things work together for good to those who love God" verse. His heart has been hurting along with mine, He has caught all of my bitter tears, and He still promises that He will greet me tomorrow morning with a day bursting with brand-new mercies and beautiful grace, just for me.

How to deal with this, in terms of everyday dealing? I don't know. Keep making plans to destroy myself and my life, but let my apathy keep me from carrying them out, and wait until they pass. Keep going to work, and coming home and watching movies, and studying to be an awesome student even though I do not feel like it right now.

And keep sticking my head in trees.

(It really does produce lovely photos.)