Preface: I originally wrote this Signature Piece back in 1995 when I applied to an overseas missions agency and was rejected. Nothing in my nice little new believer life seemed to be going right. Among other things my housing situation fell apart; my dog died; my car went into a coma; and God seemed to be jerking me around. I was confused, deeply depressed, and my thoughts wouldn’t stop racing. I just wanted everything to stop. I wrote this piece in the middle of that mindstorm. I called it, “Stop the Train! I Want to Get Off!”

 

 

Post #7: The Adventures of Bipolar Girl- Part 2
Date: February 16, 2004

 

Stop the Train! I Want to Get Off!

Even the best of adventures or searches for treasures have hair raising episodes where you really gotta’ wonder why you ever signed up for the job in the first place. Take the movie “Star Wars” for example. Luke thought it was totally cool to be an elite warrior. Everybody knows that the guy in the uniform always gets the girl. He wanted adventure and justice and all that jazz, but he ends up learning about “The Force” from some little bald dude in a swamp. To make matters even worse, he ends up fighting his own father, who, just happens to be the most evil guy in the galaxy. Add this to the fact that he not only doesn’t get the girl, but she ends up being his sister… and you’ve got the makings of a really bad hair day. I’m sure Luke wondered why he’d even gotten out of bed in the beginning of the movie. Stop the train! I want to get off!

Walking with Jesus is sometimes like that– at least it is in the first few years. For myself, I can only speak of the first year and a half, because that’s how long my adventure with Jesus has been going on. Sometimes, nothing works out the way I want it to — my plans fall through; I get bogged down in worry; my temptations get the best of me and I feel… “less than.”

I somehow thought that all adventures were jammed packed with exciting stuff to write home about– with never a hair out of place; proper lighting and stage make up; and a stunt double to do all the really hard stuff. As I began my adventure with Jesus, I realized that “exciting” is an attitude. When things are going my way, my attitude is great: What an adventure! Shiver me timbers and all that jazz! So what if I have to tote that bale and life that barge. I was working for The Kingdom and all was right with my world. Those were the “good hair days.” I felt like a “true” Christian.

I don’t know when I had my first “bad hair day,” and I’m sure I haven’t seen my last… but it probably went something like this:

Hey! Who put that trial there?! What do you mean the check bounced??! I just sinned– What kind of Christian am I??!! Oh no, the Bible says I’m to love my neighbor. I don’t even like the guy! His pit bull ate my poodle! How will I ever master this Christian walk stuff??? God?? Please help me!!!!

 

Or maybe your bad hair day went something like this:

 

Don’t worry??? How can I NOT worry??? There’s so much to worry about. I don’t want to go to work– is it a sin if I call in sick? God please help me!! Boy, I’m so depressed and lonely. Why is this happening to me?? No, Officer, I DON’T know how fast I was going. Jeez, I let you down Lord, those Jehovah Witnesses came to my door and I didn’t have a “ready defense.” The Church Lady would have known what to say. I’m failing at this Christian walk stuff. God?? Where are you??

 

Then of course, there’s “Old Faithful:”
Ow! My stomach hurts and the doctor doesn’t know what’s wrong. God?! Are you listening?? How come I feel so spiritual on Sunday, but turn into a sinning slug by Tuesday night? I just don’t have time for devotional today, maybe I need more faith. My dog got sick. I guess God is punishing me for something. God? I’m sorry. Please make it stop! The medication cost how much???!! Doctor, you can’t be serious… I’ve never been sick a day in my life… a lump? Are you sure?? Why me God? Why me?!!

Then there are those days you just can’t bear to face:

 

Your mother’s sick… she’s not expected to recover. God!!! I don’t even know if she’s saved. Lord, please, just one more chance to talk to her… to witness… Lord, you let her die. Why Lord? Why? Stop the train! I can’t take much more. I want to get off….

 

Some days can seem really black and lonely… if you let them. You’ve taken all you can take and you’re weary. You wanna’ quit. The game is not going your way. You’re not even sure what game you’re playing. Sometimes, I feel like I’m playing a cross between “Risk,” “Chutes and Ladders,” and “Life.” Other times, it feels like a cross between “Jeopardy” and “Trivial Pursuits” with a little bit of “Let’s Make a Deal” tossed in the middle. The music’s playing; the question’s been asked; I make the wrong choice… and instead of a trip for two to Acapulco, I get the menopausal donkey with a skin condition!  STOP the TRAIN! I WANT to GET OFF!!!

The only comfort is in knowing that I’m not the only one who has ever felt this way. No, my feelings are common to man. I’m sure of it. But that doesn’t make them any less scary, it just makes them a little more bearable. Sometimes, I just want to stop. That’s when I have to ask, “Stop, what?” Right after that is when I know the comfort of not being the only one. Somewhere… out there… somebody else wants to stop too. That’s when I start to think about attitudes.

That’s where the attitude can make or break you. Jesus doesn’t promise to wrap you up in cotton to insulate you from the world and its troubles. He promises to be there with you through the trials. He promises you that there will be trials, but that He has overcome them. He promises that your boat will make it to the other side. Even when he doesn’t seem to be with you, or aware of your struggles, he is. He’s right there where he’s always been.

In the end, “The Force” was with Luke and good triumphed over evil. But when you get right down to it… THAT WAS A MOVIE! It had all the right lighting and stage make-up… and stunt doubles to do the really hard stuff. There are no risks in Hollywood adventures. That’s where the train stops. That’s when you realize that the train never even existed. It’s a stage prop that is probably rusting on a back lot of MGM Studios even as I write.

The Christian walk? Now that’s the real adventure. It’s jammed packed with risks. Take that fisherman for Bethsaida for example. He really knew how to walk on the wild side — or the wet side, depending on who’s telling the story. One day, he and some of his buddies go out in a boat. Nothing special about that — they were just going to the other side. They’d probably done it a hundred times. The only thing that separated this particular trip from all the others… was a miracle. Peter and his buddies saw Jesus walking on water! Now this isn’t impossible if your name just happens to be GOD, but it scared the disciples silly. Yet, Peter, adventurer that he was, asked the Lord to call him out onto the water.

Jesus said, “Come,” and Peter did. A regular old Joe did what is impossible for regular old Joe’s– Peter walked on water. As long as he kept his eyes on Jesus his path was true and sure. Major adventure, huh? Could his thoughts have been something like this:

 

So John, who did you say was the disciple that Jesus loved best? Look Ma, no boat! This is so cool. The Lord must really love me to let me walk on water… WALK ON WATER!???

And Peter began to sink. He needed a major attitude adjustment. It came in the twinkling of an eye: “Lord, save me.” Peter remembered that the Lord saves. He put his eyes back on Jesus, and the Lord, who had never really left him, heard his cry and answered him. Peter learned a valuable lesson about choice that night. He could choose to trust or he could choose to worry.

I’ve found that I am a lot like Peter. I make the same kinds of mistakes and get caught up in the same kinds of worry. I take my eyes off Jesus and I begin to sink. Anyone who has ever started to sink can verify that it is a totally uncool experience. For all our sakes, I wish that I had a simple answer as to how to avoid the waves. Unfortunately, I don’t. As a matter of fact, I’m being knocked by some waves right now… and even though I know that Jesus is with me and will come and save me, I’m focusing on the waves.
But you know what? No matter how hairy these trials get, I will persevere, because when you get right down to it, where else would I go? Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life. Once, he asked his disciples if they were going to turn away from him, and Peter asked, “To whom would we go?” He got that attitude adjustment he so badly needed. Jesus is the only way to go.

 

Sure, some days of my Christian walk are better than others. I’m human. I make mistakes. I fall into sin. I worry. The only reason Jesus told us not to worry is because he knows we worry about everything given the opportunity. Y’ever wonder why Jesus never gave a sermon about “Why You Shouldn’t Eat Dirt” or “Why You Shouldn’t Stick Your Tongue on a Pipe in the Middle of the Winter?” Because most people only need to do those things once before they get the point. Worry is different.

I worry. A LOT. Most people do. Then once I get good and worried, I get worried about the fact that I’m worried, and get sick with the worrying! Jesus didn’t tell us not to worry to stress us out. I think that by telling us not to worry, he was acknowledging that he knows we worry and that worry is bad for us. If we turn to him, we don’t have to worry. No, my walk with Jesus hasn’t been trouble free. It hasn’t even been worry free. Sometimes, it’s not even fun. But it’s real.

The lighting is not always right… the costumes are sometimes lacking, and some days, all the stage make-up in the world isn’t going to make a dent in how I look or feel. And there in never a stunt double around when I really need one. Sure, “The Force” was with Luke and the battle was won, but when the smoke cleared and the light sabers were put away… they started to roll the credits as the ushers directed people towards the exits! Star Wars was fun! It was a great adventure! It had everything… but it wasn’t real.

Maybe, I’m not explaining myself very well. Maybe… there’s no way to explain it. Maybe… you just have to live it. My life is far from perfect, and if you’re honest, yours isn’t either. Sometimes, things start happening in my life and it seems like I have absolutely no control. I panic and I scream, “Stop the train! I want to get off!” But when you get right down to it… where would I go? Jesus is the Way, the Truth, and the Life… without him I might as well go sit on a back lot at MGM Studios and dream of adventures that aren’t real.

I could go on… but I won’t. You either understand what I mean or you haven’t got a clue. You’re either on God’s train or you’re not. If you’re on it… take courage: you are not alone. If you’ve gotten off the train, that’s ok too. It’s allowed. As soon as you are ready to get back on, just say the word. Jesus will slow it down for you to get back on board. If you’re not on the train or you’re stuck on a Hollywood prop… it’s never too late to yell, “Stop the train! I want to get on!”

Your adventure with Jesus will have many risks and hair raising episodes where you’ll wonder why you ever signed up for the job in the first place. It won’t always have the perfect lighting. Your make-up will often smear and run… and things won’t always go your way… but you’ll find that being with Jesus is real… and being real speaks for itself.

 

 

I find it interesting that I have a hard time coming here to write anything these days. I think I’ve said it before, but back in my beginning days as a blogger I posted if I sneezed funny. Pretty much everything that happened to me in a four year period got documented in my blog: the good, the bad, the ugly… right along with when I was grumpy, sleepy, and dopey. Everything. I was always trying to find the spiritual parallels and object lessons. I think that stemmed from the teacher part of me as much as it stemmed from the mental part of me. The teacher part wanted to learn so that I could pass on the lessons to others. The mental part of me just wanted to figure out how to make my world stop spinning.

Of late I have been surrounded by too many dragons to count. I haven’t wanted to blog about them. I’ve just wanted them to go away. More and more I just want to be normal like everybody else. That suicidal episode that I just climbed out of? It was like a bottomless pit and I just kept falling. Or it was like being trapped with a stalker… only thing is, the stalker is in your mind and you can’t get away. Falling or running. It makes no difference. It all makes for a lot of imbalance.

Sunday when I go to church I’m going to look around. I mean really look around. Generally, I’m so into my own head that I don’t stop long enough to look at people I know let alone the ones I don’t know. For obvious reasons I pull it together when I go to church. Otherwise, I wouldn’t go. I might lose it once I get there when a song during the worship portion strikes a chord or something the pastor says pushes a button… but in general, I don’t go to church looking like I’m going to fall apart. And I’m figuring that most people don’t. I think it’s human nature to hide behind a mask when things aren’t going well. When people ask, “How are you doing?” Most of us, no matter how much we might be struggling emotionally or mentally, tend to respond, “Oh, I’m ok.”

How many people are not ok? How many people have I passed by because I’m so content to just see the mask? In the past few weeks I have let a few people see beyond the mask and they didn’t run. They reached out to help me even though their own lives are less than perfect and they’ve got problems of their own. At a time when I feel completely incapable of taking care of my own problems, it seems a bit pretentious to think that I might help somebody else. But I need to at least look tomorrow. The dragons that were coming after me only took off because other people cared enough to see them. Maybe just by caring enough to look and see, I might help somebody else deal with their dragons and in helping somebody else, I might be able to deal with my own.

A non-Christian friend read the “Dragon” excerpt from Chapter 3 months ago. She’s a very talented artist so when she read it she had very vivid pictures in her mind about the story and asked me if she could illustrate the story for me. Besides being honored beyond all belief, I wondered how my very Christian story would play out in her mind and then be translated into her art. She asked if she could use my likeness. I said yes even though I had my reservations. Poor self-image has always been an issue for me. I grew up being told I was fat and ugly. Even now there are very few photos of me because I still see myself as fat and really ugly. Oh, I’ll show off the few good pictures of me, but I’d rather be taking the picture than be in them.

I was amazed at the picture she created. I thought it looked nothing like me… which was a good thing, but then she said that she’d used a picture of me for my facial structure and coloring. At first, I couldn’t figure out what picture that was since I hadn’t given her one because somehow, she saw a me that I’m incapable of seeing. When I saw her illustration, I felt like she saw the me that God sees…. surrounded by dragons but totally at peace, sword in hand, prepared. Then I realized what picture of me she’d used as the model… me before my bipolar was full blown. Me when I thought that the world was mine, and all I had to do was live in it. She took a picture of me from a time in my life when I wasn’t afraid and used it to make a picture of what I could be like if I held on to my sword (the word of God) and trusted Jesus to deal with the dragons that surround me. I’ve been blessed enough to see that me in my friend’s art. Now, I want to be blessed enough to actually be that me. It is time to fight off some more dragons. It’s time I found out who God says that I am.

Then

Now

I haven’t wanted to blog here since my last post. This open transparency stuff leaves a lot to be desired when people who read this actually know who I am in real life. When I was just Bipolar Girl back in the early days of my blogging career, I poured out everything in my blog. As soon as I woke up I poured out the thoughts that were in my mind. Most people wake up with a full bladder. Me? I got the double whammy: a full bladder and an overflowing mind. Since nobody knew who I was, I could say pretty much what I wanted without worrying what people would think of me. It’s hard to project an image that I’ve got my act together when people read that I’m having suicidal thoughts and then see me in church on Sunday. What do you say to that?

So for a few days atleast, I pulled inward. I do that bubble thing that Bipolar Girl is known for. I didn’t want to tell anybody anything. After spending my entire adult life on the suicide rollercoaster, even I get tired of hearing it. The only thing this time is the more I isolated myself from other people, the stronger the thoughts of suicide got. It’s like they seemed to be the most rational thing in the world. The natural conclusion to my life’s struggle.

The way I see it now… I was in the middle of a circle of dragons getting my spiritual butt kicked. The more I focused on what was wrong with my life the bigger the dragons got. To deal with some of them I got in the habit of sleeping with this small red bible that I have. I’ve had it since high school, before I’d even accepted Jesus. The beat up little bible is dog eared and marked up now that I’ve been walking with Jesus for some time, but as far as being a weapon, it didn’t serve me well this go around. Or maybe I should say that I didn’t serve it well. The Bible calls the word of God a sword. Able to kick some serious spiritual butt when handled correctly. Handled incorrectly, you could do a lot of damage to yourself or somebody else.

Me? I like movies with swords. Or even if I don’t like the actual movie itself, I love the sword fighting. One common notion in all of the sword fighting movies that I’ve ever watched over the course of my entire lifetime, is that in order for the hero to defeat evil with his sword… he has to know how to use it. He has to train with it.

So what do I do? I sleep with my bible. Ok. It sounded like a good idea at the time and it did prove affective in confronting some drags, but when the stress go really high, I put my little red bible on the nightstand and told God I was tired of fighting a losing battle. In the movies. all good soldiers would sleep with their swords or light sabers or whatever sword like weapon they had so that they could slice and dice the enemy trying to sneak up on them. So my idea wasn’t so far fetched afterall. But what good is a weapon that you don’t know how to use?

So much of what is going on with me is spiritual. Having Bipolar Disorder doesn’t help matters… but I doubt with every fiber in my being that this current trial or any of the trials leading up to this situation I find myself in has anything to do with my bipolar. When I take a step back and look at the entire journey thus far, I see God’s hand leading me to such a time as this. And I can either have faith and walk through it, or I can punk out. Suicide is punking out. I can say this because I struggle with suicidal tendencies. I REALLY would discourage anybody reading this to take that approach with somebody who is struggling. You just might find yourself mentioned in a suicide not and not in a good way.

Mainstream secular therapy cannot help me at this point. Don’t get me wrong. I am not dismissing the benefits of modern psychology. For the better part of a decade I had fair to really good therapists who helped me deal with my illness when the church was still in total ignorance to the needs of the mentally ill believer. But keeping my mental health in the hands of people who deny the spiritual connection to mental health at best and who deny my God outright at worst… is not something I intend to do. Besides, image me going to a doctor last week saying that Jesus told me to quit my job and that Satan and a bunch of dragons have been terrorizing me. I’ve heard that the psych ward here is very comfortable… but I don’t want to experience it first hand.

Why is it that mentally stable Christians can talk freely about spiritual warfare, Satan attacking our minds, and God speaking to them and nobody questions it but if Bipolar Girl says stuff like that people ask if I’ve taken my meds? I only doubt the path I’m on when other believers start doubting that Bipolar Girl could actually be hearing from God. I also get a bit iffy when I think about how insane I’d sound if I did try to explain it to a secular therapist. So with all these fears of judgment swarming around me the circle of dragons just got bigger. I thought being  jobless was at the center of it but the dawning awarness has been that it isn’t a lack of a job that has me so strung out although that’s not helping. It’s lack of an identity. Not knowing who I am in Christ or why he made me or how he could use me given all my many failures… that’s at the root of my problems. Having a job won’t change the fact that I see myself as broken and useless. Only God can change that and only if I actually open my bible and see what he has to say about me. I may not know who I am but he sure does.

While I was in the middle of the fray getting trashed by dragons some other Christians came to my defense and spoke truth to me in ways that I could hear it; ways that wouldn’t cause more damage. I’m happy to say that the suicidal thoughts receded back into whatever cave they slithered out of… but I do not delude myself into thinking that they won’t come back. I need to know what God has to say about who I am and I need to seek out that truth in his work. It’s not just enough to read it either. I have to believe it even though I might feel differently. Since God can’t lie… my feelings and my past experiences and the harsh judgments of others must be the lies. I can’t just hold on to my sword and think I’ve accomplished something. If I want to be able to strike down those suicidal thoughts the next time they begin to circle me… I need to know how to use my sword.

Surely, this must be what Alice felt like as she fell head over heels down the rabbit hole. I’m sure it seemed like a grand adventure when she first decided to follow the White Rabbit. She had no idea what she’d gotten herself into, and the funny thing about rabbit holes and following Jesus, is that once you go down that path, turning back is not that easy.

For the past week or so I’ve been struggling with a depression that is darker than normal. It’s been brewing, just under the surface for a while now. The events of last Thursday was just the fuse to set off the bomb. I guess the explosion is what pushed me down the rabbit hole and I haven’t quite stopped falling.

In my manuscript for chapter three I talk about some of the dragons that have followed me for years. Fear is probably the biggest ones… but there are others: Resentment, Bitterness, Self-Pity…Loneliness. And something I’ve called “the Dread Dragon Bipolar.” I credit my bipolar disorder for leading me to Jesus. There’s a verse in the Bible somewhere that says, “Before I was afflicted I went astray.” That’d pretty much sum me up. Atheist that I was, I refused to believe in a god that would allow evil in the world. I refused to believe until I met him. But even after meeting Jesus, I continued to struggle with the concept of a God who would allow evil into the world; a God who would allow evil into my world. The fact that my depression didn’t go away when I became a believer still chaps me. I don’t want to be Bipolar Girl. Having my mind be my greatest enemy confounds me.

On my good days, I feel normal… or as normal as the next person. The past few days the dragon I hate to deal with slithered down the rabbit hole after me. I’ve been having suicidal thoughts again. Prompted by Fear the thoughts have taken hold and nothing has made sense. Trying to explain where I’m at has been an exercise in futility. I don’t even understand this; so how can I expect anybody else to? Where is God in all of this? I can still see him… but I wonder when will he step in an make it all go away? How can I ever hope to help other people if I refuse to be still to see the Lord help me? How can I love him as deeply as I do and yet doubt him the way that I do?

And that array of thoughts is laced with fear. The fear has been so thick it’s choking me. When I focus on the outside circumstances instead of look at Jesus, the fear becomes this tsunami wave that threatens to wipe out all I hold dear. And yet this thin vein of hope beats. It’s not like I want to die. I don’t. I just want the fear and the anxiety and the worry and all the other dragons who invade my mind to stop terrorizing me. I don’t have answers tonight, but I do have blessings. Folks from my church are responding to my need. They might not be dialed in on how to help me, but they are stepping outside of themselves to reach out to me. After such a long season of begging for help and having those cries ignored, this is a balm.

And I need that. Tomorrow I have a sub job. No structure and no directions. Bipolar Girl needs LOTS of structure and directions otherwise Fear settles in for a long stay. I am exhausted from the past few days and it will take all my mental reserves to pull in together to go to work tomorrow. My parting thought: I wonder if, knowing what she ended up knowing, would Alice have followed the rabbit down the hole or would she have stayed where she was? Me? I have to say that even though my reality sucks royally right now, I would still gladly follow Jesus. My hope is not dead no matter how many suicidal episodes I have.

This morning my world seemed to be spinning out of control.

I woke up crying. Conducting my daily job search, figuring out how to pay bills, and letting Fear and Worry chase me around in circles was probably not the best way to start my day, but it did force me to consider something I haven’t wanted to consider. My housemate, who is in a wheelchair, suggested months ago that I apply for disability. My immediate response was, “NO!” I might have a mental illness… but I have a hard time slapping on the “disabled label.”

Disabilities that you can see… like my housemate’s wheelchair or somebody who talks to spots on the wall… or somebody who is blind in one eye, THAT’S disabled. People who cannot work because of their disability are the ones who need to apply for disability. I have worked like a horse ever since they put me on medication back in ‘98. Before that, I couldn’t hold down a job. I’ll even admit that my undiagnosed mental illness played a major part in why I left the mission field, but to say that I’m so disabled that I can’t work now is embarrassing. When she suggested it,  I was thinking that hell would have to freeze over before I’d apply for disability.

Evidently, the temperature in hell dropped a few degrees this morning.

I guess it’s when I feel trapped, like I’m backed in a corner with no way out that my mood starts to drop to that dark place I hate going. Yesterday when I was at the beach an eel came out from under the rock I was sitting on and scared the everlasting gobstopper out of me. Fear is a powerful motivator. This morning, my suicidal thoughts swam through my mind like that eel swam past my feet. It was fleeting, momentary. I was able to resist the thought. But given enough pressure those thoughts take hold like that eel would have taken hold had he caught my toe that I’d evidently been dangling in front of him like a tasty snack.

Suicidal thoughts are not new to me. I’ve had more suicidal episodes since high school than I can count. I haven’t actually attempted to take my life since college, but I have these periods where for weeks and months all I think about is my death and how to kill myself. I don’t want to die. I just want the madness in my head to stop. And this morning was no different. Only thing is, it doesn’t help that my life actually seems so out of control. Who am I kidding? My life is out of control. If I weren’t a Christian I do not doubt that I would have given in to the suicidal thoughts years ago but as a Christian, I have someone to hope in even when I don’t understand what he’s doing.

When the thoughts started this morning that’s when I knew that I had to shelve my pride and apply for disability online. When my account hits $O balance, I’m going to go mental. I don’t see how I can avoid it. A wise man sees danger and takes refuge. Whether I want to admit it or not, I’m not incredibly stable right now. Trying to find work while mental is hard. I went to the local community college to inquire about going back to school and I had a full on meltdown in the counselor’s office. I was so embarrassed. It’s taking more energy than I currently have to look functional when it counts and employers tend to frown on employees who can’t work without crying.

I’m 40 years old and the only thing I’m trained to do and qualified to do drives me crazy. Literally. I cannot be an elementary school teacher anymore. It’s too stressful. I’m trying to transition into teaching older people but I don’t have the credentials. The job that I thought would be ideal only wanted to hire me on an on-call basis. Not having a full time job leaves me with way too much time on my hands to sink into depression. Staying in my room trying to find an agent for my book isn’t healthy either. All that isolation insures that I don’t see the big picture. Sure, I can see why God has me where he has me… but I don’t like it. I haven’t reached that level of faith where I can rejoice in all of this. I’m still at the thumb sucking, foot stomping phase. I want an attitude adjustment.

Now this is where I’d say in the book that it “came in the twinkling of an eye…” but in this instance it didn’t.

I started filling out that application online and only made it to page two before I was bawling my eyes out and falling fast down the spiral staircase of depression. I couldn’t stop crying. My housemate came home and rather that stay in my room suffering alone, I went to her. If I’ve learned nothing in this adventure, it’s that isolation will be the death of me. If I’m going to take off the mask this far and write a book and keep another blog, I need to be willing to reach out to people in the real world too. We talked and she said that I didn’t have to pay rent until I got a job. As embarrassing as that it, I’m not too proud to accept her help. She also helped me see that I’m not a lesser human because I have a disability. She asked how she could pray and I told her to pray against the fear and that I would just trust God and be still. I was asking her to pray about my attitude.

Back in September God provided abundantly for me to go the Hawaii Writers Conference. He put me up in a ritzy hotel and met my every need. He even walked me through some major fears and I had the best time at that conference. Ever since then I’ve been whining, telling God that I’d gladly trade in that experience at the conference for a job now. Ingrate. Why not just thank him and believe that he can still provide for me? Lately, I’ve been feeling  like I was going to crack and this morning showed that the crack was imminent… and God knew. He arranged for me to dog sit for the next ten days. Right now, I’m sitting at my laptop listening to crickets. There are no other sounds and there are no other lights except the ones in this house. The dogs have been slobbering me with unconditional love since I got here and I’ve had a nice dinner. Earlier I sang praise songs to God and I prayed. I’ve started reading this really awesome book that I know God led me to at the library. This morning my world seemed out of control, but the Creator of my world brought order to it tonight.

This house sitting gig isn’t permanent. It’s an interlude and I’m going to be grateful for it. It doesn’t change my situation. I still don’t have a job. I still have to complete the disability application. Just because I have bipolar disorder doesn’t mean I have to have a perpetually bad attitude, though. I have to remember and believe that my God saves. I’m not going to worry about tomorrow; I’m going to enjoy the rest of tonight. The stillness is a balm to my beleaguered soul. The disability application can wait until tomorrow.

In that excerpt I made Fear a dragon that never ceased to stalk me and even as I closed out that piece, I knew it would be a long while before I would ever break free of my fears which are as legendary as they are ridiculous. Most of the time I can laugh at my fears after the fact, but when my fears are upon me it’s all I can do to breathe. Heights, water, drowning, ladders, insects of all kinds, strangers, the dark… I think that I’m the only 40 year old woman who uses a night light. I’ve always believed that as long as I could laugh, as long as I could find the humor in a situation, then I was going to be ok. Humor has been how I coped with my fears.

My second biggest fear is that I’d end up one of those crazy mentally ill homeless people on the street. It used to haunt me when I lived in SF and you had to pass homeless people every other block. Today that fear has me backed into a corner and I’m not laughing. Everything just seems so big and I seem so pathetically small. I know I should be standing firm in Jesus… and I do have my moments. Last night I just sat at our dinning room table and sang songs to God. Not the whiny, “Jesus, what have you done for me lately?” songs. Or the “Jesus, what can I get from you now?” songs. The ones I sang were the ones where I just thanked him for who he is… and as I sang I just felt better.

Being unemployed on Maui is at the root of my second biggest fear. After my last experience with that back in ‘93 I swore that I’d never do that again. I thought my plan to move back would be fool proof. NOTHING could go wrong. I had a seven year plan. Jesus, unfortunately, had other plans and everything began to fall apart almost as soon as I got back to Maui. Every fear button I had got pushed and was continually pushed for three years. I walked around afraid every day all day with very little respite. I thought I was going to go crazy. That’s probably just an overstated cliche when most people say it… but when the mentally ill woman says it, you really should take her seriously. The only thing is very few people actually took me seriously. The people I went to for help didn’t help me. To be fair, I should say that they couldn’t help me. They didn’t understand my need. Which is why I think it’s so important for the church and for Christians to find out all they can about mental illness, because most people with a mental illness look normal… like me… but we’re different. And so much harm can be done by the well meaning, but truly ignorant people.

Yesterday was the 300th day of the year. I’ve been unemployed since May. My bank balance finally dipped below the the $900 mark. I was ok with it yesterday. I thought that I’d go all Bipolar Girl and wallow around in depression. Instead, I’m working hard to research agents to approach with my manuscript. I had a part time gig as a substitute instructor last week. I’ve been job hunting.

Today it just all seemed too much. Agents who only want you if you’re already published or if you’ve got a huge platform. Jobs that only want you if you’ve already got experience. Bills that have to get paid not matter how much money I have left. I don’t say this so that people will pity me. Personally, I think Jesus is behind all of this. I asked him to break me of my fears and I’ve long since learned that he’s not going to whip out a magic wand and work some kind of mojo. My book is about giving comfort to neurotic people, but how can I share if I’ve never received it? I want to go further than what’s in my book… because when I finished the book I made it pretty clear that the adventure was far from over.

My life hurts right now, but it’s going to pass. The pain… not my life. For the next few days I’m going to be dog sitting. I’ll have a place to myself where I can just think and pray. I want to compare this current fear to an experience that I had at the tide pools today. I was sitting on a rock minding my own business… when an EEL swam past my feet. Of course, I jumped backwards faster than you can blink, breaking every record in history for backwards rock jumping. Then, as if I needed a second viewing just the make sure I was right to be afraid, it swam out again and I saw the entire length of it and its gaping mouth complete with viciously sharp teeth! One moment of fear… and then it was gone.

I do not know how this portion of the adventure is going to turn out. It’s not like people advertise for mentally ill people with no job skills… but I have to believe that Jesus has led me this way for a reason. A dear friend prayed and fasted about all my fears. I sent her a long list and I can honestly say that I am not afraid of certain things anymore. If the prayers of one person can do so much, what about the prayers of many? This is a scary time in my life where nothing seems certain and I have absolutely no control of the outcomes. If you’re reading this, please pray against my fears. I want this dragon Fear…to turn out to be an eel.

Preface:

Initially this Signature Piece was a letter I’d written back in 1994 to a beautiful, young German man who broke my heart. Now that would’ve been sad under any other circumstances… but it was one of the things that led me to look up and seek God. I’m not sure why I chose to write it as a fairy tale, but in the middle of an adventure with treasures and maps it just seemed right.

Post #73: The Adventures of Bipolar Girl – Part 7
Date: March15, 2004 3:15pm

Dear Jonathan,

By the time you get this letter, thousands of miles will separate us and we will both be but memories for each other.  I want to tell you a story to add to your own storehouse of memories:

Once upon a time (it seems that all the better tales start out this way) in a kingdom far, far away (and it’s always in that “far away” kingdom, never the one in your own backyard) lived a beautiful princes (and OF COURSE she was a princess). The really good stuff only ever seems to happen to the princess with the best hair, clothes, and body to die for. She had long black cornrows and merry brown eyes– this particular princess was Black you see (a literary first, I know, but who’s telling this story anyway??!)

Our princess grew up in a palace filled with woes that, over the years, grew into dragons. The dragons followed her around for years without really doing much (except for the occasional S’more or two). They were in Dragon School you see and hadn’t yet learned how to turn up the heat. As the Princess grew up into a young lady the growing dragons began to cramp her style. They were getting bigger and stronger and made messes all over the palace… and OH! How she hated cleaning up their messes… and FEEDING ‘em! Dragons eat lots! Truck loads! She was spending more and more of her time feeding dragons and counting them! **Note: It’s a little known scientific fact that dragons multiply faster than rabbits.

The downside of this whole dragon fiasco was that the other people in the Royal Family were too busy fighting their own dragons to even see hers… so she tried, as best she could, to fight her pets or, at the very least, control them. Everything was okay until the Queen Mother’s dragons began to breathe fire at all the other dragons in the Kingdom. It caused an awful heat rash and all the lesser dragons were unable to fight back. It eventually turned into a seniority thing, so as low princess on the totem pole, our intrepid heroine packed her baggage, I mean, dragons, and fled to a place where she thought that she would be safe.

It was a great Ivory Tower in the Northern Kingdom; a place of much learning and knowledge unlike her homeland in every way. Some people called it a “University” and it was the very best one in the land. At last, she was safe. Or at least she was until she realized that the dragon on the left, behind the gray one was getting really big…. and the little pink one that had actually become her favorite was mutating into a really ugly creature.

It was probably something in the air… or maybe the water… (She’d been warned not to drink the water in foreign kingdoms). So there she sat, watching her dragons grow. Their teeth got bigger; their wings developed; their talons grew long and menacing. She could no longer keep her dragons under the bed or even in the closet. The Health Department no longer believed that they were dogs and “Seriously frowned on keeping dragons in a residential area,” to quote the citation that they’d posted on her door.

She had to do something…but what?? Then our Princess came up with a marvelous idea! If she couldn’t fight her own personal dragons, she’d get somebody else to do it. But who??? A plumber? A doctor? A monster truck driver???! (That whole “butcher, baker, candlestick maker” schpeel never even crossed her mind because our princess was a very progressive royal).

Eventually, she decided that none of her original types would do. She needed someone (how do you say???… Bigger? …Better? …Brighter?) in a higher income bracket??? Closer to the top of the food chain??? What she needed was a bonafide, card-carrying Prince. So she looked high and low (sometimes really low) for a Prince. It was like an open cattle call for all sorts of Prince Imitators. At her most desperate, she placed the following personal ad:

Educated BP (Black Princess) tired of kissing frogs in search of a Prince seeks White Knight for dragon fighting….

She ended it on what she thought was very clever note: Frogs Need Not Apply.

When each prospective Prince went out to fight her dragons he came back in defeat. His armor a bit tarnished… or the tip of his lance was broken… or the plume in his helmet was wilted and molting. If you’ve ever seen wilted plumage you know that it’s a very uncool thing. It’s got a revolting wet dog smell that just hangs around in the air for days. With each defeat, the Princess cried great big tears because she felt as if her heart was breaking.

The dragons that’d followed her around for years were unfamiliar now. They scared her and she couldn’t hide from them no matter how far she ran. They just kept chasing her, waiting for her to get tired of running so that they could devour her. The more she thought about it, the more she believed that they must’ve taken one of those ACME Correspondence courses when she wasn’t looking, because they’d obviously graduated from Dragon School. They could breathe real fire now, and not just enough to melt a few marshmallows– we’re talkin’ full-blown flame throwers here!

Frantically, our Princess tried one Prince after another. Surely someone could kill her dragons for her. Surely someone could set her free. She began to scrape the bottom of the Prince Barrel so to speak and found some “Princes” who had no real desire to help her. She even met one or two who actually sprouted horns and turned into a dragon right before her very eyes. So she packed up and left, again. This time she managed to bump off a dragon or two with the help of her Kingdom Advisor (they called it a “shrink” back in her home kingdom). She even had a few Royal Supporters who helped her cause, but she still had a herd of dragons on her tail when she left the Northern Kingdom.

She fled to an Enchanted Mountain in a Kingdom by the Sea. At last, her dragons were silent. She could finally put her feet up and let her hair down. She lived in peace on her mountain until she realized that she was all alone. Sure, she’d managed to hide from her dragons, but they’d never truly disappeared. The high altitude on her mountain only made it harder for them to breathe deeply enough to kindle up a really good flame.

She came down from her mountain because she hated the isolation. Besides, she felt stronger, more capable, and only a tiny bit afraid of her dragons. She didn’t want to be alone, but neither did she want to seek out anymore false knights to fight for her. She moved to a Kingdom near the Sun and was surrounded by new and exciting subjects. She liked this place until her dragons began to pop up. To her dismay, some of her subjects actually jumped on the backs of her dragons and began to hunt her down. Well, she wasn’t going to take that lying down! At first, she ran. She went to a Powerful New Age Enchantress who helped her fight off her dragons until there was only one left.

But what a menacing monster he was. His name was Fear and he was one of the OD (Original Dragons) from her homeland, grown up big and strong. She almost gave up in despair until a shining White Knight appeared on the horizon. She told him her tale of woe and begged him to champion her. He was perfect!

He flashed his pearly whites (all Princes have those – yellow teeth are just so un-princely) then rode off to fight her dragon. Under the Knight’s gentle touch the Princess bloomed. She even laughed and smiled as old dragons popped up again. As a matter of fact, she punched out many a dragon tooth…knowing that dragons that have to gum you… can’t kill you.

Then one day her Prince decided that he needed a major vacation because being her Knight was becoming a full time job. To top it all off, the Princess had put him on a huge horse and loaded him down with a full suit of armor, a helmet, and all that other knight stuff… and to be honest? The horse hair bothered his allergies and the armor was giving him a really bad rash. In short, he wanted to resign as Chief Dragon Slayer. In the face of such honesty, our Princess actually took this rather well.

NOT! She totally freaked out.

She felt alone and betrayed. Fear had been waiting for just such an opportunity. He’d rounded up some of his dragon buddies and they surrounded her on all sides. Our Princess feared that she would have to pack up and leave yet another place that she had come to love.

She’d even gotten tempted by an Evil Wizard who offered to solve all of her problems in exchange for her immortal soul. All she had to do was sign on the dotted line… in blood, of course. Now, after all that she had been through, our Princess was no dummy. She told that Evil Wizard to go and scratch himself and she ran full throttle to The Most Powerful One, the Ancient of Days, the ruler of the land who had all the answers.

She told Him the whole story and asked Him to help her. He promised to give her His love and His help. He said she could draw on His strength whenever she was afraid, and He promised that He’d never leave her like some flesh and blood knight. She would be His and she’d never be alone.

Of course, our Princess thought this was all totally cool. She began to call on Him to fight her Dragons and with each of His victories her faith in Him grew. She began to see Truth and understand Justice and all that good stuff. The dragons began to die from lack of food and attention and her life was finally at peace. She was so happy.

Then, one day, the White Knight (who’d been watching the battles from the sidelines) decided to return to his homeland. They got together and ate Chinese food under the stars. Our Princess was tempted to try to cling to the good times that they had shared in the past, but she knew that she had to live in the Truth of Now.

The Prince and the Princess held each other and she cried because she would miss her sweet Knight even if he wasn’t wearing his armor or riding his horse (She’d never really liked that horse anyway). They shared one last kiss right before he walked away into the dark night. She noticed that he “walked away” and didn’t ride. All the good guys in the movies always ride off into the sunset… but our bold Princess would prefer life to the movies any day. Her Knight had ridden into her life and filled it with joy for a season… but he walked away like the wonderful man that he had always been. She could accept that now that she realized that no earthly prince or shining knight could ever fill her as completely and as perfectly as The Most Powerful One could.

The Princess wrote to the Prince for a while until, like all good memories, he got tucked away in the folds of her brain to be taken out and shared with grandchildren and managing editors. She went on to live to a very old age, and of course, that was “happily ever after.”

THE END

So, Dear Jonathan, I hope you like my story.
Love,
The Princess

PS. Thanks for trying to fight my dragons.

**January 28, 1994
Maui, Hawai’i

So far this blog looks nothing like what I’d planned.

A “professional” blog where I promoted my book…? I was forgetting that while I’ve written this book and need to promote, I’m still me. I didn’t stop being Bipolar Girl when I started looking for an agent. I didn’t realize when I began to examine the STUFF in my life that so much more of it would come erupting up to the surface. Expanding on what I didn’t say in the book has been a good thing.

In the past few weeks I’ve thought thoughts I didn’t think I was capable of thinking in terms of forgiveness and letting go… of stuff. Have you noticed that sometimes I will capitalize “stuff” and other times I don’t? It’s my conscious way of showing just how much impact or effect that the stuff du jour is actually having on my life. When it’s all big and capitalized it’s because that’s the way it seems to me: larger than life and bigger than I can handle. That’s when I’m looking at the shadow, rather than at the Son. When it’s lower case or minus any bolding, it’s because I’ve somehow managed to put my focus back on Jesus and everthing is in better perspective. I am looking at the Son and the shadows are behind me.

I haven’t known how to wrap up my commentary about the stuff in my life. Telling the blogosphere that I struggle with a mental illness, a sexual addiction, and broken family relationships is a bit like taking your clothes off in a crowded room. What’s there to say after that? As I’ve struggled to figure out what to say next, a big old truck load of STUFF seemed to drop out of the sky on me and I struggled not to draw inwards. And while things seemed to have settled down, I’m still dealing with so much unknown. I’m also trying to lay to rest old wounds and I don’t know how. Telling me to “forgive” without telling me how has always seemed counter productive. The only outcome of that has been guilt (because I’m still wounded), anger (because I feel like I’m failing at forgiving), and frustration (because nobody seems to care that I’m struggling) when I failed to manufacture the prerequisite warm fuzzy feelings.

God has been givining me some vivid object lessons on this, but the words to explain it clearly just aren’t coming. I used to call this “Crockpot Thinking” back in my old blog. Some thoughts needed to simmer in the mental crockpot before they were ready to be consumed by others. These are such thoughts. I want to be able to say that I no longer wear the Victim Label and how I’ve got this amazing trust in God now. Only thing is, I’d be lying on both counts.

The adhesive on that Victim Label is harder to peel off than I thought. I’m still trying to deal with a big hurt that totally obscured my view of the Son for four years and is impeding my ability to be still and trust in him now. My goal of posting three times a week hasn’t panned out because I’m trying to hard to deal with the stuff. I’ve wanted to get my act together before I said anything here.  When will I learn that Jesus doesn’t insist that I get my act together first? My act is not together and I’m not sure when it will be. I need to take a break from expanding on X. It is time to move one even though I still have a lot of questions and a lot of issues. The next Chapter in the book is called “Dragons” and is one of my favorites in the whole book. I’ll probably start posting it in segments tomorrow. Then again, with the way this blog is evolving I won’t know until I post it. Thanks for bearing with me… remember, there are no linear adventures.

What if I’d walked into the garage, stumbled on my stepfather’s porn… and just walked away?

What if, when my mom gave me that stack of romance novels, I told her, “No, thank you. I’m really into this Nancy Drew Mystery.”

There’s no what if to cover my thoughts and history with my brother, so I won’t even attempt to go there… but what if I’d made different choices with the other two events that changed my life? It stands to follow that my life would have been different. And the assumption is that the change would have been for the better. The thing about “what if” is that it’s really nice to imagine… until you get to the part where you remember that it’s not real. It never happened. Things are as they were and you are as you are. I didn’t do those things and there’s no changing my past. My present and my future, however, are up for grabs.

My pastor’s wife just called me. One of these days I’m going to have to ask her if I can  mention her by name in my blog because she was instrumental in helping me break free of my addiction to porn. She doesn’t think, but I do. I have never really trusted anybody with my secrets, but for some reason, God impressed it upon me that I could trust her. Maybe it’s because she’s non-judgmental that way.

There was some class that they were offering at the church. I felt like God wanted me to take it, but I didn’t want to and I was very belligerent about it. It was called “Transformations” and I’d had so much false hope of transformation held out to me over the years by other well meaning Christians that I felt like I wanted to puke. Everybody else would go through the same process according to the book study or the video series and come out all squeaky clean on the other side and then there’d be me. As dysfunctional at the end of the class as when I’d started, with a few more wounds and bruises to show for it. I was having nothing of this course… until I talked to my pastor’s wife.

I think one reason I have struggled so long with my sexual and porn addiction is that I was never honest about it. I’d only share as much as I felt people were capable of handling, which wasn’t much. In my book,  I do not go into details about what I’ve done or with whom I’ve done it because I really don’t think that serves any purpose. I mention the porn; I mention the masturbation. I mention my dysfunctional past in college  but there are some things that I’m never going to mention in print. There’s no point. It wouldn’t help anybody and might hurt the very people I’m trying to reach out to.  But I was able to tell all that stuff to my pastor’s wife. I didn’t start out meaning to tell her any of it. I found myself sitting across from her on the couch in her husband’s office tearfully spilling my innards all over the place and she never blinked. I thought she’d slap a scarlet letter on my chest and rebuke me. Ok, I didn’t seriously think that. I don’t know what I expected, but I didn’t expect the complete acceptance that I saw in her eyes.

Events in my life had conspired to cause me to hit rock bottom really hard at top speed. When I sat with her on that couch I was as broken as I’d ever been. I don’t mention that in chapter two of the book, so I won’t mention it now. I give some details about what made me hit bottom, but the particulars of my situation aren’t the point. Hitting bottom is where people change directions and everybody’s story is different. When I hit bottom it wasn’t with a thud. I shattered all over the place in a million pieces. I’d moved back to Maui hoping to have a new start. I’d be an unknown here and I could leave Bipolar Girl back in CA. Evidently, God had other plans and he put them in motion by not giving me something I wanted very badly. I responded by telling God what he could do with himself and I proceeded to throw myself head first into my porn addiction. Every spare moment that I was home I was surfing the net looking at images or reading hardcore porn.

I would like to point out now that anybody who tells you that they can view porn and feel nothing lies. Spend enough time in the mud pit and you get it between your toes and into all those other hard to reach places. You also act out while you’re viewing it. “Acting out” is addict-speak for masturbation or some other sort of sexual act. If that old wives’ tale were true about masturbation causing you become cross eyed, my eyes should be permanently crossed with visual ticks and twitches I was acting out so much. The breaking point was during the Spring Break when I never left my room. I was so mad at God. If he wasn’t going to fix me or change me… then why should I care? I spent the entire break surfing porn and acting out until I had to return to my nice little Christian school job. I felt like such  a hypocrite. I needed to do something extreme. I needed to seek help.

A friend of mine used to be a stripper. She’s a believer now and was actively engaged in trying to get women out of the sex-trade industry. She mentioned a website to me: XXXchurch. Sounds kinda questionable, but it’s a site that helps Christian break free of the porn and the porn industry. It was started by two pastors I think. That site was a bit too edgy for my taste but it led me to this program called X3 accountability software. When you sign up for the software it sends a message to a third person letting them know if you’ve visited any inappropriate websites. It doesn’t block them. It just rats you out. I didn’t just want to block porn. I want it out of my life for good. Who did I pick as my accountability person? My pastor’s wife.

My understanding of porn addicts is that we act in secret and in shame. Being discovered by the people who love us is like a death. Any addiction seems to thrive best in secrecy. Bringing it out into the light is the first step towards confronting it. Asking my pastor’s wife to hold me accountable was when my addiction to porn ended. Her opinion actually mattered to me. She encouraged me. She prayed for me. And just the idea of her getting a report on me made me scrupulously careful about my online habits. She got a report on me once and asked me about it. If I wasn’t black I would have blushed red. My embarrassment factor went off the charts… and it wasn’t even a porn site. It was my blog! That X3 is hyper vigilant. The fact that she was taking the report seriously enough to check up on me made me determined to do something I’d never been able to do: quit.

It was also through that X3 website that I found another website for Christians who struggle with porn. I am never going to mention the name of that site because I want to respect the privacy of the people I’ve met there. I also feel like I have to have some place that is private, safe, and mine. I have disclosed so of my most shameful secrets there and nobody has judged me. I have found a community of believers who are normal people just like me… but who struggle with sexual addiction or with porn just like me. When people think “sex addict” they picture a creepy old guy in a trench coat outside of an elementary school… or a sexual predator out on parole. Sure, those stereotypes might fit some sex addicts… but I’m a former Christian school teacher. I’ve met grandmothers, computer techs, pastors, businessmen, housewives… and other normal people just like you, who have sexual addictions or addictions to pornography. The stories are as varied as the people who tell them. Nobody asked to get addicted to porn and they all want to stop. The friendships I’ve formed there and the safe environment has helped me break free of the porn. I couldn’t have done it alone in the isolation of my room. I needed to step out of my cone of silence and let people know what I was going through and let them come in far enough to help me.

People prayed for me; listened to me; encouraged me; and supported me. Nobody judged me. I’d been blogging about my issues in my original blog and that was helpful to me. But it was also anonymous. You can say what you want in a blog where nobody knows who you are. I still carried around a big boulder of shame. Coming to my church on Maui and being able to tell my pastor’s wife… being willing to let people help me… getting  the accountability software… and finding that addicts support site? Were all part of the bigger picture of helping me break free of the porn and the romance novels. I had stopped doing a lot of the overtly sexual behavior when I became a Christian. The only thing I still struggle with now is masturbation. And what an embarrassingly awkward topic that is. Non-believers see it a healthy part of human development so my secular therapist was no help with this and the church is divided on the topic. As private as I am… I don’t want to talk about this with anybody… and this is NOT the book I would have chosen to write. But this is my story and  there is a need for it. I wish I’d had my book to read years ago. Might have made a difference. Might have helped me change my life to know that I wasn’t alone in my struggles.

Falling in to porn is easy. You don’t have to have Bipolar Disorder. You don’t have to come from a dysfunctional family. And being a Christian doesn’t mean it can’t happen to you or somebody you love. Climbing out of the hole that porn creates in your life is hard. That article I just read that brought this stuff up again… is by a Christian group but it takes a scientific approach to porn addiction. It looks at the brain chemistry involved. I was surprised to learn that there are four neurochemicals that are released in your brain when you view porn… or when you read romance novels. One of those chemicals is serotonin, which just happens to be the chemical that doctors believe that people with Bipolar don’t make enough of to regulate their moods properly.

I’m 8 years old. I stumble on porn. I read it and it releases serotonin in my brain. I’m 11 years old. My mom gives me a bunch of books. I read them and that causes more serotonin to be released into my brain. I showed signs of depression as a child. I can’t say that I saw signs of the mania until college, but I showed clear signs of depression in my life as a child. The porn and the romance novels released a neurochemical in me that my brain needed. The implications are blowing my mind. I began self-medicating to score a “drug” I needed to help with my depression and didn’t even know it.  The romance novels were ridiculously easy to come by and my addiction mushroomed out of control.

There’s a verse in the bible that comes to mind that says that God uses everything for the good of those who love him and are called according to his purposes. That doesn’t mean that everything is good… but that he uses it for the good. I still think it was wrong that my stepfather kept porn where I could get to it or that my mom gave me romance novels to read… but their bad choices served a purpose by creating a neurochemical that I needed. It is only after reading that article that I can even attempt this line of reasoning. Something I’ve always seen as bad was actually used for my good. Only thing is, too much of a bad thing is a bad thing. Porn stole years of my life and cost me money, self-esteem, and relationships that I can’t ever get back. For years I thought I couldn’t change, but I’ve got three years porn free that tell me differently.

This article is going to change the way I view my mother’s actions and her words. Whatever her motive, God used it for good. I’m going to close with the link to that article. Home Life Magazine Candeo Article

It is changing my thoughts and I believe it’s going to change my life. Will it be the next leg up that I need in my bid to break free of my addiction? I don’t know, but it’s helped to lighten the load of stuff that I’ve been carrying for all these years.