Tuesday, I go into the prayer room and am quiet before God. ‘Let God look at you’, was what a former minister suggested. It’s all I can think to do these days. I don’t know what to pray for; I don’t know what God wants for me anymore.
I cry. I cry because everything is such a mess, and I can’t see it getting better. Because I don’t want to go on anymore. The mess is all too deep-set. I cry because no matter how I try, I cannot pull myself together. I sit at my desk for hours at a time and no work emerges; I sit at home, alone, and do nothing.
I am told I am very poorly, and then, ‘in crisis’, by the psychiatrist today. But it’s not like other kinds of poorly. You just wait for scalded hands to heal, and they do. With the mind, waiting is harder. If I am very ill now, then I have been ill to some extent for a very long time. And it feels like I should be pulling myself together, because I am the master of my own mind. In Psychology, we teach that this mastery could be an illusion. But it’s hard to shake off. Hard to believe that I am ill at all.
Before God, I hold to what I’ve been told: I am unwell. I am calm then, more accepting of myself. Then God says ‘I will hold you’. I can sense that. And I breathe peace. God can make me well.