Church

I seriously didn’t want to wake up this morning. It probably didn’t help that it was one of those weeks at Sunday school where I didn’t have a role. When I had finally dragged myself out from under the covers, I still acted as though there was no particular rush and, upon eventually leaving the house, probably still looked half asleep.

I hid in the Sunday School room as the service started and waited for the children to arrive. Surprisingly, the session passed quite quickly.

We always sing in the middle of our session and currently our room overlooks the main church building. I know they can hear us and just see the adults dancing because the children are hidden by the wall. Dancing is not my forte and obviously I like to be unseen in church, so it surprised me that I was quite happy to dance away, knowing I could be seen by all. Who even am I?!

I stumped myself further by singing the tune of our song to one of the parents, when I wasn’t even really the one being asked about it. All reality returned when Margaret commented how tired I looked. Yes, that felt better, affirmation I am not okay. Even though I didn’t even feel tired anymore. I even did a load of cleaning when I got home.

I was so pleased to be able to just go to bed for the afternoon though. The luxury.

I was less pleased when it got to 5:30pm and I realised I really should wake up. I faffed and watched TV, spent quite a lot of time wanting to do stuff but not being bothered. I would have liked it if going back to sleep was an option but I knew it mustn’t be.

The self-hurting has taken a new turn. Other than my wrist that I actively want to cut, but fear the scars, I don’t actually want to hurt myself but I feel I must. I’m trapped, enslaved to it. Except I am actually freed by Christ. How does that look?