Boxed Out and Bottled In

Packing is less than fun. I wish that they sold automatic packing devices. Something that would go through my home and box up everything and put nice little labels on. I realize we could hire movers for that, but... some strange human digging through MY stuff? Nuh-uh. NO way NO HOW. Right now I'm staring at my office, which has become a pile of boxes and a generalized heap. I'm boxed out for now, so I thought I'd do my "therapy" for the day and write.

The writing helps. Some people tell me I write well, that the communication is well articulated and personable. Whether that's true or not, it's not the reason I write. I write to share me. And in sharing, there's healing. And there's hope - hope that maybe, as people see me triumphing because of what God has done, they'll see hope for themselves.

The thrust of today's post, though, is bottling things in. I do it. I know I do. I know I shouldn't. And yet... I rarely let all those stupid emotions out. It's not so much out of shame or embarassment, and it's not really out of self-sacrificing for the good of those around me. It's a habit, of sorts. More than that, it's engrained in who I am. I don't know how to NOT be like this. I was learning, way back when before my Gramma was killed. But it was so new and foreign that as soon as the storm rose up in front of me, I reverted. I've spent the last 30 months or so more in survival mode than in "thrival" mode. I'm surviving, for sure. I didn't think I would. Didn't know HOW I would. Didn't know if I even wanted to try. But I am.

My dreams of late have been revealing the extent of my bottling up, though. Last night's dream was unique. I dreamt that I was one of an entire room full of hostages. I dreamt that the hostage taker took a "liking" to me. And while it was unpleasant, I dreamt that I had the compassion to see this man for what he really was - hurting, lost, alone. And out of that compassion, I shared my story with him. My secret story - the details of an early childhood that only one other person on this planet has ever known completely about. I pray that that person has forgotten those days - there is no use in remembering. Only pain. In this dream, sharing that touched the hostage taker. He ended up letting everyone go. We were talking about praying when my alarm went off, so I'm not sure what my brain would have had him to do.

It's interesting... always, at every turn in my life, there has been someone. Someone who loved me. Someone who saw me as special. Someone who was removed from my situation and chose to become part of it. And in this present situation, there's nobody like that. God's given me the strength and provision to be okay without that somebody, but it's certainly uncharted territory for me.

Back to bottling things in. Bottled in emotions come out whether we want them to or not. If we resist, it starts as little things - back aches, headaches, stomach aches. If we keep it up, we withdraw further. We get angry, sad, hurt. We feel alone. Keep it up even still, and we turn to things that are hurtful and addictive. That's the danger. And when we're "down" the devil lunges. He's not powerful, really, but he has words. And he uses them as weapons against us. He whispers ideas into our heads that we'd never invent on our own. He brings back the same illogical thoughts until they seem to make sense.

If we let it out, we can stop these last things from happening. It's the only way I know of.

I'm beginning to not make sense - this time for physical reasons. I haven't eaten yet. And I'm hungry. And my suguar is low. Which makes it hard to concentrate. Plus, my arm is fascinating to me right now. Have I mentioned yet that it's purple? Yep. Purple. And a bit cold. But actually less painful than it was yesterday. As I said, bottled in emptions have a way of coming out somehow...