mania

I'm manic right now. People have this concept of what being manic would look like: being crazy, spending too much money, having uncontrollable energy, blah blah blah. That's not how it looks for a lot of people...especially for a lot of women.

What being manic looks like for me is being inspired, motivated, having great ideas, believing you can accomplish anything, being driven, not being able to sleep because you're mind is racing with thoughts and ideas. I'm sure it's different for every person...but for me, I just turn into the type A, overachiever who wants to accomplish great things.

I used to think that that person-the accomplisher of great things- was who I really am. But apparently it's not.

I was thinking today about all of the seasons that I had ideas that were grandiose and life changing. Thinking about the times that, as a high schooler, I pitched these ideas to people, confident they would support me. (Who wouldn't support ideas as great as mine?) And now I look back and feel embarrassed...you know that sick in the pit of your stomach embarrassment that comes when you tried really hard at something, worked with everything in you to accomplish something, and then find out it was all just a practical joke? That's how I feel. Extremely embarrassed and disillusioned.

I don't really know who I am anymore. Depressed me doesn't feel like "me"...it definitely isn't who I want "future me" to be. "I can do everything watch me accomplish things most adults can't even accomplish" me was who I thought I was. Now I'm seeing that she isn't me either.

There's a part of me that is extremely terrified that once the medication evens me out, I'm going to be boring and unmotivated and never accomplish anything worth talking about.

There's also a part of me that is terrified/confident that I will never stop having cycles of suicidal depression.

And then there's a part of me that wishes I could just be manic me all the time. Think of how clean my house would be, how amazing my lesson plans, how many books I could write, how much piano I could play. If only.

I was thinking the other day about a season in my life, probably when I was about 17 years old, that I read the story of Joni Earekson Tada. She is the woman who was paralyzed in high school and has been in a wheel chair all of her adult life. When I read this book, I remember specifically praying, giving God permission to do whatever he needed to do so I would walk faithfully with him, so that he would be everything to me. I even told Him he could let me get paralyzed if that's what it would take for me to be close to him and used for his kingdom.

I was also thinking about my mom, and how when her cancer got really bad, she lost the use of her left arm and hand. She had been a near-concert pianist. The most heartwrenching memory I have of her is a time when I walked into the living room where she was trying to play piano. She had finally lost all use of her fingers, and she couldn't play piano anymore. She sat on the bench and wept. It was the worst experience of my life. Way worse than seeing her die. Way worse than seeing her dignity stripped from her. Piano was her life, the way she praised God, the way she connected with people (she was a piano teacher for many years), the passion that had defined her for her entire life. And she lost it. It was stripped from her, leaving her with a crippled hand and a chronic disease.

I was trying to think what this must have been like for her, trying to imagine her confronting God, and realizing that the Lord is always using these experiences for our good. I wonder if perhaps my mom, after having been stripped of this major "definer" in her life, found more of her identity in Jesus, and in being chosen, saved and redeemed by Him.

And then I thought of myself, and how I don't know who I am anymore. And through many tears and frustrating thoughts of "what-ifs", I found my heart wanting to not be defined by my illness, but rather to be defined and identified as a daughter of God, chosen and beloved, the Bride of Jesus, sealed as a part of His family.

I realize with feelings of agony that life on earth is just really really hard. I don't even know how to think about the future without fearing what may come...but I suppose I am also learning that the traces of beauty and redemption that God leaves along the path of suffering are indeed worth it. Oh, that I might know abundant life in christ, even in the midst of sorrow and suffering. That I might be found fully identified by Christ, no longer a slave to sin and the consequences of sin, but made alive by the resurrection of Jesus. He is making all things new. Oh, please, let that include me as well.