Disclaimer: I’m down right now.  We’ll see how this goes.

Ya’ll know this blog is therapy for me right?  I found out today that a lot of people I know read it.  Thank you for not charging me.  Although, “my household” (just me) technically falls below the poverty threshold so my therapist charges me on a sliding scale so it’s not too bad.  I haven’t actually been billed yet for my therapy.  Kind of nervous about that.  Deep breath, Anessa, God will provide.

I love my church.  I love the people at my church.  They are wonderful and loving and kind.  And I know that a couple days ago I said on here that it’s ok to talk to me.  Thank you to everyone today who talked to me.  I’m sorry I cried.  It turns out tears are more embarrassing than I thought they would be.  Thank you all for trying, it’s not your fault that I went down this morning and really didn’t want anyone to talk to me.  You didn’t know.  And you were all wonderful.  Thank you for your hugs and your prayers.

You didn’t know that this morning I woke up early, said “good morning God!  How are you?” like I always do and I prayed that He would fill my mind with His thoughts, my heart with His desires, and that my life is in His hands to do with as He will.  Then my mind went straight to Trent.  “You’re not supposed to do that, Anessa” I told myself sternly and tried to pray again.  “God, what would you like to talk about this morning?”  Zip.  Trent.  “Fine, Anessa, if you’re not even going to try to talk to God and focus on Him just go back to sleep.”  “I’m sorry God.  I’m trying really hard not to think about him all the time.  I know these type of thoughts are just hurtful and destructive to me and I need to stop.  I’ll talk to You later.”  And I went back to sleep, feeling like a failure.

Woke up late, was rushed to get ready.  I don’t like rushing.  I did remember to take all my pills, so that’s a good thing.  I wasn’t feeling too down when we got to church.  “Oh, you look so cute!  Give me a hug!”  she was so nice.  She gave me a hug.  We chatted about her job, my job, my job search.  All I could think was “you’re the wife of one of Trent’s best friends when he was here.  We went to your wedding last year.  Your wedding day was the day we first said ‘I love you’ to each other and had our first kiss on a street corner in Sioux Falls.”  Thank you so much for talking to me, really, it was nice.  Just hard.  But nice.

I go and sit by myself in the pew because none of my family are done talking yet.  I’m ok sitting by myself.  I scroll Facebook.  There was a wedding at our church yesterday, people have posted pictures of it.  The bride was lovely, and her dress was practically the identical twin of the one I made for myself.  She looked so happy and radiant.  And that’s when the tears started.  I notice another woman, one of my favorites who I know prayed for me for a long time when I was single, rejoiced with me when I had Trent, and is praying for me now, gesture in my direction as she talks with the lady sitting beside her.  I think they’re talking about me.  I know it’s nice things.  I know they’ll pray.

The sermon is about dangerous prayers.  The dangerous prayer we’re being challenged with today is “Search me.”

“Search me, oh God, and know my heart; test me and know my anxious thoughts.  See if there is any offensive way in me, in and lead me in the way everlasting.”  Psalm 139:23-24

I want God to search me and know me.  I want Him to reveal my fears so that I know where I need to trust Him more.  I want Him to uncover my sins and cleanse me of them.  I want Him to lead me where He wants me to go.  I really truly do.

Sunday school is great.  I love little kids.  They’re so honest and unpretentious.  They don’t know that I’m mentally ill.  They don’t care.  I can be free around them.  I can try not to think about working with kids at Trent’s church.  I can comfort them when they cry, cheer with them when they’re happy, give them high fives when they do something good, put my hands on their shoulders, look them in the eye, and tell them I know they can do better when they’re misbehaving.

Then there’s the gauntlet.  Getting from Sunday School to the car.  I almost make it.  Trent’s “Mama” – the woman who adopted him and his wife when they were here – catches me.  “Stop!  Don’t take another step!”  She gives me a hug, searches my face.  “How are you?  I want to get together with you sometime.  I talked to Trent, he called me.  When can we get together?”  I like her a lot.  She’s fun and I know that she won’t take no for an answer.  I try to find a time I think would work.  Will I feel up to it Wednesday?  Sunday?  I think she’d probably understand if I just cry in a puddle on the carpet in her living room where she threw Trent and I a party right after we officially started dating, but I’d rather not.  I want to talk with her, hear how Trent is doing.  I probably shouldn’t, but I still care.  We’re interrupted by another couple, “We’ve been praying for you every day!  Are you on medication?”  Thank you, yes, doesn’t feel like it’s working at all right now.  Then the tears are back.  I pass my best friend in the hallway, being pushed in a wheelchair by her daughter-in-law.  My best friend in church is 89, in hospice care for Parkinson’s.  I should talk to her, but I don’t want to distress her and I’m already crying.  I get down the hallway and find a dark empty classroom and a box of tissues with two tissues left in it.  They aren’t enough.

The lies start.  “And you wanted to be a pastor’s wife!  HA!  You can’t even talk to a few people here, where you know everyone!  You embarrass your family – just think of what an embarrassment you’d be to Trent.  He is thankful that he doesn’t have to deal with you on Sundays and try to minister to others too.  You’d be a drag on his ministry.  He’s much better off without you.  What are you doing thinking about him again, you know you’re not supposed to do that.  Stop it!  You’re a failure.  You’re pathetic.”

You know, when I started talking to Trent I wasn’t looking to him to be my boyfriend, fiance, or husband.  I didn’t expect any of that from him.  He was my friend and I wanted to talk with my friend.  I don’t need a lot of friends.  I’m good with one or two, and he was one of the few.  It was a shock when he asked me out.  It was a delightful and wonderful surprise to find that my good friend wanted to be more than just good friends, and I discovered that I was alright to be more than just good friends with him too.  I didn’t ask for this, but I also didn’t say no.  I just wanted to talk to my friend.  I still just want to talk to my friend.

Now I get to go take a piece of my birthday cake to my 96 year old grandma in the nursing home.  I haven’t been able to look her in the eye since he dumped me.  She was so excited and happy for me.  I think she loved Trent just as much as I did.  And I let her down.  She was so looking forward to coming to our wedding.  I failed her too.

A few things I’m thankful for: being this down sucks, but it’s been quite a while since I was this down (I wasn’t this down even on my birthday).  I’m getting better.  I’m going to keep getting better.  People care and they’re praying for me.  Thank you, thank you, thank you.  I’m so sorry I didn’t do better today.  Let’s try again next week, okay?  Please keep trying.  I’m going to keep trying too, I promise.  You all did great today.  You’re the best.  Thank you.

Posted by:anessamarie

One thought on “Going Down on Sunday

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