As an introverted former substance-abuser and spirit-crushing perfectionist, doing life alone for 3.5 months is not an ideal situation. I had a plan when I came to New York - be better in every possible way: work out and get strong, eat well and get healthy, spend time with God every day and share the gospel, read all the books on screenwriting, make huge strides on my screenplay, get A's on every assignment, impress my bosses with my hard work and creativity. Be ye therefore perfect. With a list of requirements like this, maybe I shouldn't be surprised when I feel like a failure, but I still won't let go of the list. I beat my body into submission. Paul said that, right? So I can do it too. Except that I can't. But I know I'm capable of it, so the fact that I'm not meeting my requirements hangs a 50lb weight around my neck and tells me to fly.
I turn on worship music, take a shower and cry and make myself finish my shower. I look at myself. "god you're ugly." I throw on some powder and look a little better. Then I sit on the bed and lay my head down. Lots and lots of tears. I contemplate calling my mom or sister, but I don't want to. I text Nigel and ask him to pray for me, I tell him what I feel.
"I'm not a ..." tears. A few more verses of a song.
"I'm not a failure." tears and tears.
"I'm not a failure."
It lifts a little. I lay down and let the music sing to me and close my eyes. I feel Nigel's prayers. I feel the peace of God come over me and inside me. The evil goes away. I know I'll be okay today.
No comments:
Post a Comment