yesterday I wanted to be dead.

A lil preface:

As you may have noticed from the complete lack of activity, I have been on a rest period…Doctor’s orders, I suppose, and by “doctor” I mean da LORDDDD…and He got my therapist and psychiatrist on board too LOLOL.

The week after I blasted your news feed for email addresses (I REACHED MY GOAL & YOU ALL ROCKED MY SOCKS OFF BTW), I was left feeling exhausted. I cancelled meetings and let myself have a week of Sabbath. After that, I thought it was about time I got back to being productive, but He had other plans. Now life looks a lot different since that week in July. My (original)1-week rest period has lasted 4 months, and I don’t know if it will end any time soon. Sometimes I’m thankful, but most of the time I’m frustrated because along with this period of latency came a creative drought. I’m confused, but I know my God isn’t.

For the past month, I’ve been thinking and praying fervently about how much detail I should go into about this weird 4-month journey. According to social normalcy, I should not even be writing this, but according to the Lord, it is essential that I share about the darkest hours…that way when I share about how He SAVED ME FROM THE PIT, His victory is so much more gloriously miraculous.

08/14/17

Yesterday I wanted to be dead.

Today I had an enjoyable day.

A few days ago I was trying to hold back sobs (on family vacation, mind you) as sadness overwhelmed my heart and clouded my every thought.

(LOLOLOLOL… All together now: if you’re happy and you know it shake your meds!)

As you can tell, this post is a bit more serious than the last. I will try my best to keep things light, but most importantly, extremely real. So buckle up because this will be an emotional roller coaster that you can’t wait to get off, but you’ll feel kind of proud of yourself you endured it in the end…hopefully.

 11/08/17

The day after I wrote the entry above, despair like I had never experienced before took over my mind and physical body. I was exhausted entirely. Everything I had loved was unappealing. The thousands of gifts I had written about throughout 3 thankfulness journals were no longer reason enough to stay alive. I felt abandoned and completely broken…and these words don’t justly emphasize the depth of those feelings.

Suicide was disguised as the next rational step. Irreversible escape had never been so enticing. I know this is no coincidence because the moment you take a step in the right direction and follow God’s directions, the devil attacks you. Like a dear friend said, “The devil doesn’t waste his time…he went after your mind because he knew what a valuable and powerful creation that was.” ßreminder: I can’t take credit for my mind because the Lord created it and all creativity is God-given.

{I don’t wish to share about how I got to such a low point, but I will admit that I had been doing an impeccable job of distancing myself from friends and family, which is exactly what the devil wanted. The Lord gives us one another. Don’t ignore that gift.}

I had lunch plans that Tuesday morning, but I purposely didn’t set an alarm. I desperately wished for sleep the night before, my heart and mind racing one another… and I remember thinking, “I wouldn’t mind not waking up.”

Well you choose certain friends for a reason, and these crazy, determined, and incredible humans banged on the door and yelled my name until I woke up. As anyone in my life can testify (especially my professors), deep sleeping is one of my skillz… so is talking, but that morning I’m sure I didn’t mutter more than two words.

My poor friends scoured for a heartbeat, trying to make a person out of the floating blob I had become. My thoughts were racing so fast and treacherously deep yet it seemed I had no words to offer or façade to build—everything foggy, except the thought:

“Certainly a dive from the top of the external staircase of my apartment complex would bring escape…but that would have to wait until my friends couldn’t see me in their rearview mirror any more.”

{This has taken nearly 2 months to write because of the emotions stirred up & for fear that someone may believe my writings “glorify” suicide. The idiot from down below is trying to convince me that I’m speaking out solely for attention… that the turmoil of “yesterday” is now illegitimate because, at the moment, I don’t really mind being conscious. Just a reminder to you and to me, my writings are to glorify my God: the one who saved me from the pit, from death. I can’t keep quiet much longer.}

I shut the door on my loving friends, ran inside & out of my shoes, collapsed on the floor, and wept. Self-harm is no stranger to me. So as I dragged myself to the kitchen drawer to feel around for the sharpest knife, I wailed for the Lord to give me death, to escape my tormenting mind, to freaking feel something good again…to feel anything again.

A peculiar thing happened, which only spurred me on more bitterly in pursuit of eternal rest. I couldn’t draw any blood. Not a single drop, my friends. I pressed harder, confused, desperate to let the darkness of my heart seep out with the calming warmth of my own blood (holla at the peeps who get this! Everyone else, now you know why I landed myself in the Looney Bin). ßcomic relief for myself, sorry if it makes you uncomfy but you’re tough soooo, deal with it.

My prayers for death were heard but not answered as two of my most trusted people were available to grab hold of me and the little sense I had left. The Lord overwhelmed me with His love through them.

What I didn’t realize at the time was that I was caught in the midst of spiritual warfare. Even as I was on the phone with my aunt {who is one of the few people who can calm me down and validate my feelings} I was letting my exhausted mind blindly follow the enticing nature of the evil one.

I was about to start the climb to the top of the apartment building when I was stopped at my door by a faithful friend who currently lived out of town. We didn’t have plans to meet that day, but she had obediently followed the Lord’s guidance and ended up in Holland at my door. WAIT WUT?? yeah, dannnngg str8. My role model/one of my best friends LET THE LORD GUIDE HER TO MY DOOR AND SAVE MY LIFE.

I finished out my last week of summer with an expensive stay at a nice resort hotel I affectionately call Holland Hospital Psychiatric Unit. We had people checking up on us every 5 minutes and everything! So cool, amiright???

{pls feel free to ask me about my stay, 5 star review but I don’t wish to dwell on that}

So here I am, trying to navigate life again. Feeling broken, slow, exhausted, confused, purposeless, empty.

BUUUUT HE IS HEALING ME, AND I AM FIGHTING WITH EVERYTHING IN ME TO CHOOSE TO SURRENDER TO HIM EVERY DAY and rebuke the evil spirits that try to consume me in Jesus’ name.

My creative drought has been broken with the relief of new ideas raining down on me from above. I am hurting, but I am being healed, and I am hopeful.

As James 1:12 says, “Blessed is the man who perseveres under trial, because when he has stood the test, he will receive the CROWN OF LIFE that God has promised to those who love Him.”

Let Him develop that perseverance in you. I beg you to HOLD ON.

My vulnerability is for His glory and to hopefully emboldened those of you who are desperate to be seen, heard, felt, and saved.

MAKE YOURSELF KNOWN, DEAR FRIENDS. SHARE YOUR STRUGGLES. Use the last bit of energy you have left in your being to ASK FOR HELP. He gave us one another. DO NOT LET THE DEVIL BELIEVE HE HAS A CHANCE AT WINNING THE WAR THAT HAS ALREADY BEEN WON.

So yes, I still want to design clothing, but it might not be any time soon.

I want to create pieces that give you that extra bolt of energy, that mirror the unique creation you are.

That when everything else in life seems to get you down, this article of clothing excites you enough to get out of bed and into the LIFE THAT IS WORTH LIVING.

P.S. WOW I wish that I could put my gratitude into words for the people in my life... Parents who drive hours to see me after a bad day, pray over my room, and send me constant encouragements. Friends {near} who do my registration, wake me up with pancakes and my favorite song, crawl into bed with me on the worst days, and sit with me at 2 a.m. in the pouring rain with no expectations. Sisters and friends {far} who send me monstrous care packages and never leave me feeling forgotten despite their own issues. Aunts who call and visit and help me with academic accommodations. Professors who are nothing but patient. Strangers turned friends who have held me, empathized with me, and prayed fervently for my mind. The Lord who saved me and gives me breath and purpose.

I don't know what I'm doing, but I know what I'm doing is right

I don’t know what I’m doing, but I know what I’m doing is right

This has been my motto for the past several months, and although it rolls off the tongue swimmingly, life often leaves me feeling like I’m drowning in the unknown…but let’s back it up (wobble style) a few years…

My whole life I KNEW I was going to be a doctor, and all my friends assumed I would be too. When I was bored in class, I doodled the human heart with each artery and valve labeled perfectly and arrows indicating the direction of the blood flow… Yes, I have always been that cool.

…Then the Lord said LOLOL NAH. You’re gonna follow the dream that I planted in your mind years ago. Yeah, the one that you knew was attainable with my power, but you tried to ignore because you could only focus on the reasons why you were unqualified.

Then God sent me a link to the Shia Labeouf video, “JUST DO IT.”

So I switched my major!

…to psychology

because I was scared of the unknown, but mostly because

I was scared of what my extended family would think

if I had a major like fashion design.

WHEW. YAY. That was a close one, I thought, I almost had to follow my dreams. Then it was time for my next huurr appointment which was very strategic of da Lord because Tammy, my hair stylist, role model, and friend, is very wise.

I don’t remember exactly what she said, but it was something along the lines that the art of cosmetology is not the standard of a highly-celebrated career choice, but it’s what she loved and was gifted in, so it’s what she was supposed to do.

…and she does her job exceptionally well because she’s passionate and changes the lives of the people she serves.

(Quick intermission: The reader should note that during this period of life I was extremely depressed and could barely stand to look at myself in the mirror. Tammy’s work changed the way I speak to myself and helped me discover my individuality)

The truth that Tammy spoke so fervently to me was reverberating in my mind, soul, and lifestyle. I was letting myself explore the artistic world, but I was still too insecure to fully invest in the unknown. I kept trying to find loopholes in God’s system as to not let go of a future with a “solidified” and “respected” profession…

…Maybe fashion design could be on the side like Michael Scott and improv acting?

But let’s be real, I wish there were more Michael Scarn movies.

The summer before my sophomore year at Hope College consisted of a lot of healing rooted in my exploration of faith and creativity.

I learned gratitude.

I sought honesty in response to vulnerability.

I focused on details of an experience that ignited joy.

I accepted love and my self-hate began to disintegrate.

I started to believe that life was worth living.

The Lord revealed these truths to me as I

1.         discovered joy in the creating an outfit that transmitted expressions

2.         found confidence in my unique individuality that was transmitted into my personal style

All this growing simply from picking out an outfit each morning?? I guess the realm of “wearable art” known as the fashion world isn’t just a meaningless beauty pageant after all.

So I did what any sane person would do and had Tammy dye my hair teal! This was one of the best decisions of my life (although my grandma would NOT concur).

It was a symbol of my new habit. I was choosing to be kind to myself and to stop caring what h8rs thought no mo (A hater being anyone who lives to tear people down because they think criticizing others is synonymous with self-confidence).

You can’t have teal hair and not be a skosh daring, so I gave my future to the Lord. Every morning I would take a moment to breathe and open my palms up to heaven. It was a reminder of the burden I was releasing by giving every moment, thought, word, and expression of the unfolding day to Him.  

Doors opened and He introduced me to some INCREDIBLE and IRREPLACEABLE mentors.

I changed my major to fashion design with their support and wisdom, but that was just the beginning (cue “Start of Something New” from High School Musical).

My second semester of Sophomore year, I walked (crawled?) into my first art class since 7th grade. Everyone was setting up easels and drawing boards, sharpening their charcoal pencils with x-acto knives, and I was practicing my favorite breathing techniques, hoping the beads of sweat rolling down my face looked like melted snowflakes.

Call me Memaw and Papa Loughead because WOWWWW, I must’ve been craving KFC…my first few sketches looked like fried chicken. When I thought the situation couldn’t get any worse, our professor instructed us to turn our easels in and begin critiquing each other’s work.

I wanted to kneel at the feet of our model and say, “Thank you for being so vulnerable and confident with your body. Please know that you don’t look like this delicious piece of fried chicken I drew,” and then curl up on the cold floor and cry.

It was difficult to continue to show up. I felt like a naïve wannabee who assumed she was “artsy” simply because she had blue hair.

People could have been thinking these things or worse, but I’ll never know,

So I vowed to stop assuming.

I spent HOURS drawing and erasing and restarting.

I vowed to be confident in the few gifts I did have and

 be extremely vulnerable as to receive honest advice.

Critiques can’t be taken as a hit to your personal worth if you want your art to develop

…and especially if you want your heart to develop.

Things I know:

I’m not the best artist

I’m still healing

I DON’T KNOW WHAT I’M DOING

Things I also know:

I’m surrounded by knowledgeable and supportive people

I’m learning, growing, and showing up

I KNOW WHAT I’M DOING IS RIGHT…why?

Fashion Design will always be a reminder of how the Lord saved me from the dark days of depression and self-hate by bringing confidence and individuality through the choice of a fresh outfit/expression each morning.

It is my duty to share this story with the world and create clothing that ignites natural confidence.