Today at church...

My bishop asked to talk with me. He wanted to check up--make sure I was okay. I asked him to release me from my current calling. With Darrin gone so much, Mom's weekday evening calling is more than our family can handle. More than that--it's more than I can handle. There's just too much going on inside me right now, too much that I don't understand.

My therapy homework this month is simple: Remind myself when it feels otherwise, that I am still moving forward, making progress. And I can remind myself with ease--but believing it is another thing altogether.

I talked with my bishop for about 20 minutes. I've never told him exactly what has happened to me in my past. I've alluded to it, skirted the issue, nice-ified it. I'm too tired to do that anymore, and I'm getting used to the deer-in-the-headlights look. It still makes me feel like a freak, but I understand they're just reacting to the shock--and recognizing that someone you know has been raped is shocking. 

I confessed that I'm so tired I don't know what to do anymore. But I also admitted I'd probably keep trying things till I find what works. That makes me feel even more frustrated and exhausted. 

Ambrosia mentioned I looked tired yesterday morning. I realized when she said it the the weeks of emotional fatigue are starting to tell on me. But I don't know how to rest. I'm a morning person. I'm excited to get up, to see the sun, to start my day. Except...not anymore. I wake up and hope I figure something out. I watch the sun rise, and I run...and I come home and feel tired.

My bishop thanked me for not giving up. I don't know what that means, nor do I understand why he thanks me. I don't bother him very often. This is the first time I've talked with him in more than a year. He insisted I should be grateful for the things I've learned as I've struggled through all this. I said I wasn't. 

A member of our Stake Presidency was in our ward. He wanted to talk to me, too. He asked some pointed questions--I gave straight answers--another church-leader-deer-in-the-headlights. He wondered if I'd be willing to talk to the bishops at a training meeting, to help them understand how they can best serve members of their wards who are survivors of rape and sexual abuse. I said maybe. He suggested that I should be willing to help others in my situation. I said I wasn't .

I tried to tell him how much those who have experiences such as mine, don't really need someone with whom they can compare stories. We need whole people, who haven't been abused as we have, to accept us , to talk with us, to take the things that scare us and make them less frightening. We need people who can accept that there might be times when we act in unusual ways because our reality has nuances other people cannot understand. We need people who will stand by us when we are too afraid to be touched, and who will hold us when we desperately need to know we're human.

But...

It's not easy to find people like that. It has nothing to do with willingness or caring. It has to do with time and proximity. Chances are good that what we need will never happen. So we will find ways to cope. Some will turn to healthy ways, some will not. Some will follow in the footsteps of Virginia Woolf--filling their pockets with metaphorical stones and walking into a river, never to return.

I've never told anyone this prior to today. When I stood at the top of a sheer cliff and thought about dying, I didn't believe in God. I didn't care about him. If he was real, he watched as my body was violated. He left me alone to clean up and to shake in horror and despair wrapped in a towel on the bathroom floor. He never helped me. But as I stood at the top of the cliff, looking down, I felt him. That presence I hated with every part of me. And I knew he loved me--I knew he cared about what had happened to me. I knew it hurt him, somehow. And I also knew, if I chose to jump, it would have been okay. He understood how much I was hurting. He understood I felt I had no one. He understood that living was hurting more than I could cope with. I know what the leaders of the church have said about suicide. I know it is considered a selfish act. I also believe with all my heart, that had I chosen to end my life that day, I would not have been condemned for making that choice. Others may disagree with me. That is their prerogative. I am basing my belief on the things I felt that day. And somehow, even though I was very angry with him still, knowing God loved me enough to say it was okay to die, gave me the courage to continue to live. 

So I did. 

I think it was the right choice. My life has been blessed daily. But there are times, like now, when I'm so tired. And I don't know what to do with this life I chose to keep living.