How long?

Have mercy on me, Lord, for I am faint;
    heal me, Lord, for my bones are in agony.
My soul is in deep anguish.
    How long, Lord, how long?

I’m struggling. I don’t think anything could ever keep me from trusting in God, but I’m struggling to pray properly, to read the Bible, to be a good sister in Christ, to do anything apart from saying, ‘Helphelphelphelphelp.’

I hate myself for it. I do not want to be this person any more. I hate myself for saying that, too, because I know how wrong it is to hate what God has made. I know it’s right to hate my sin, but not to hate His creation or His plan for me.

I’m working really hard on the mask I put on when I get up every day, working on keeping it fixed there and not letting it slip. But just wearing it is exhausting. I want to take it off. To say, ‘No, I’m not okay.’ I want to cry, to scream, to hide, to sleep, to not be alone, to be held, to be loved.

I’ve been doing lots of reading in the Psalms, and borrowing their words to form my prayers. Psalm 6 seems, at the moment, to give me the liturgy that I need, the words I can’t say. I am weak. My bones ache. My soul is in despair.

How long, Lord, until you come to take me home? To that place where there will be no more tears or heartache or suffering or pain?

It’s numb and painful all at once.

And yet every rational part of me says, ‘stupid, stupid, stupid.’ How dare I feel like this? Other people have real issues, real problems. Here’s me, with everything perfect in my life, and yet still a mess.

If only there were a button to push.