Untitled Poem...

I have been climbing for miles, I am weary

I cannot tell the path anymore

I'm trying vainly to keep from drowning

On my own, I've lost sight of the shore

And my heart faints once more with terror

Faltering limbs refuse to go on

I am crushed, defeated, despairing

With nowhere to rest, I am lost

Yet from the heights of the mountains

From the mouth of the ocean storms

I hear a voice and it bids me

Remember the truth that I know

'For, my child, I still go before thee

And, my child, the lighthouse endures

And when your faith has utterly failed you

Tis I who will carry you home.'

Of Midnight Dialogues with God

'O Lord, I am so weary, what's to be done?' 

'Follow, my child, the path of My Son.' 

'But Lord, his footsteps are wracked with pain!'

'Indeed, so shall you glorify my name'

'The path is dim, I cannot see -'

'I am thy lamp, a light to thy feet'

'And what if I stumble, or fall in the way?'

'My mercies are new for thee, every day.'

'And should I encounter some awful foe? -'

'My hand shall never let you go.'

'But I am worn, I cannot continue.'

'Yet a crown awaits you if you do.'

'My feet are bleeding, broken, and sore.'

'I will carry you when you can walk no more.'

'But I don't want to carry on!'

'The choice is yours, my love, away to run.'

'I'm not running, Lord, I'm just tired.' 

'Then let me refresh and renew your mind'

'No, God, I give up. I'm done. I'm through.'

'Where would you be, child, if I gave up on you?'

'Dear Lord, I almost wish you had!'

'Your pain is speaking, now, not your head.' 

'You're right Lord, I'm sorry, I will go on - even if I must walk alone.'

'Yet you are not alone - no, never alone, for I will walk beside you.

And I will guide you home.' 

Friends?

And if you ever wonder why I say I should not have friends - this is why: 

Because I will destroy myself regularly yet I cannot bear to see you hurt.

I will shut you out - or attempt to - repeatedly until you grow sick of me and leave.

I will lie to you when you ask how I am, in order to protect you and keep you as far away as possible from this mess I have made of my life. 

I will get jealous easily of your other friends, even though I have no right to, because I am sure they are far more amazing than I could ever be and I know I cannot compete

I will expect you to believe every single truth I tell you about yourself, yet I will believe 

very little, if anything, of what you tell me about myself unless it's negative.

In that case I shall believe you without question.

I will break down at times, shut down, shut off, and either disappear, or refuse to be talked down. 

I will notice any and every change in the way you speak to me, no matter how small, and if you suddenly become distant with no explanation, I will not only wrack my brains for any

and everything I have done which may have offended you, 

but I will also then convince myself that you hate me and wish never to speak to me again

I will not trust you with me - i refuse to be broken again - nor will I ever truly 

believe that you care for me in spite of all my fault and flaws.

But most of all, if you are my friend, no matter how you treat me, no matter what you do,

I will still love you and that terrifies me, because 'to love is to destroy' 

and oh, how I want to keep you whole!

 - s.v.

An Open Letter on Anorexia

Yesterday you complained to me that you were fat.

'I wish I was anorexic' you laughed.

'I'd be skinny and everything would be so much easier.'

And my heart stopped in terror.

Trust me, darling, you do not know what you are talking about. 

Our foolish culture has led you to believe that anorexia is just a synonym:

a synonym for thin - or watching your weight - 

or maybe a fad diet. 

They're wrong. 

Anorexia is waking up in the middle of the night to a pained body 

revolting against its unnatural usage

and stomach clenched tighter than a fist

shriveled bones painfully creaking as you roll over 

and attempt in vain to fall back asleep. 

Anorexia is biting your tongue till you draw blood

to avoid giving in to those chocolate chip cookies fresh out of the oven, 

starving longing for one small slice of homemade pizza, 

turning away from even an apple 

all for the sake of the vicious voices in your head screaming 

'not enough'

It's never enough.

Anorexia is tears running down your cheeks

crying with the heart soul deep pain of listening to your best friends

imploring you to please just eat something 

and trying so damn hard to bring the fork to your mouth

yet your lips refuse to open, your brain refuses to swallow. 

Anorexia is dizzy and shivering and high on adrenaline

until it crashes and you're miserable and freezing fingers and forlorn 

and unable to stop your own rapid demise

Anorexia is dreading the invitation to a friends' house for the day

because, 'oh gosh they'll feed me' and how do I not eat without arousing suspicions

which I cannot conscientiously allay?

Anorexia is lying to your parents

lying to your therapist, lying to your doctor, your siblings, 

your friends, 

each and every time they ask if you're okay 

or 'have you been eating?'

Anorexia is weak, almost passing out

but laughing it all off as 'a touch of the sun'

or 'I just need to drink more water' -

 having your little brother run from you because your fingers 

and toes are ice.

Anorexia is no circulation, your very hands 

falling asleep under the slightest pressure, your hair thinning in great clumps,

your eyes hollow, and your skin darkening. 

Anorexia is a constantly parched throat

no matter how many bottles of water (0 calories) you gulp down

no matter how many sticks of gum you chew

in a faint effort to eradicate the faint yet persistently lingering

smell of death

Anorexia is watching in agony as your little sister 

spits your disease back in your face the moment you insist 

that she eat

After all, 'you don't eat, so why should I?'

and not knowing how to explain to a six year old 

that you are mind sick

not well

Anorexia is failing tests - 

failing grades - failing conversation because your starved brain

cannot formulate words into coherent sentances anymore.

It's a never ending, constant battle - a mind trap

where I'm damned if I eat, and dead if I don't. 

it's a head-war, only it's one I can never seem to win.

It's the mind's slow torture, 

it's the inability to see, when you look in the mirror, 

what everyone else sees: 

the truth

It is not beautifully tragic. 

It is not grand. 

It is not heroic. 

It is not strong. 

It is not disciplined. 

It is not self control, 

and it is most certainty not health. 

It is an awful sickness

an inescapable war

a feast for your demons

a living hell

and a slow painful death if you do not recover.

So please, baby, before you end up like me - 

brain starved and shivering and counting every calorie to death - 

literally - 

I beg of you, go.

Run. Bike. Swim. Hike. 

Lift weights. Drink Green Juice. 

Sing. Dance. Fight. Make Love. 

Walk. Skate. Ski. Kiss. 

Anything - anything - but listen to the voices. 

Now...while you still can. 

Before the madness consumes you.

Get out

You must get out.

Before it's too late. 

On God Giving You This Life Because You Were Strong Enough to Live It

I came across a quote today on Pinterest:

"God places the heaviest burden on those who can carry it's weight" - Reggie White

And, I used to believe that - I used to believe it was a mark of divine favor when I suffered, and a testament to God's faith in me that he allowed burdens, heavier than I felt I could bear, to fall on me.

But you know what?

I don't believe that anymore - in fact, I think it's absolutely false.

I think God deliberately gives us more than we can handle. He didn't "give you this life because you were strong enough to live it"

He gave you this life because you weren't.

If you or I were strong enough to live this life on our own, where would be the need for Him?

(*hint: there wouldn't)

The whole point of this life is that we aren't strong enough to live it. The whole point of burdens is that we aren't strong enough to carry them. The whole point of hardships is that we can't do it alone.

They're God's way of showing us that we need Him, that we can't carry, we can't do it in our own strength.

They're also God's way of drawing us to himself, because if I can carry the weight of my life by myself, I won't talk to God... I'll do it all on my own.

So no, I don't believe anymore that "God places the heaviest burden on those who can carry it's weight". I don't at all.

He places the heaviest burden on those who can't carry it's weight at all - those who will fumble and fail - because when they fall on their faces, they will cry out to Him.

After all, His strength is made perfect in weakness - not strength - and He has chosen the foolish things of this world to confound the wise.

His aim is to turn us into mighty ones, yes, but mighty in the sense that we can do nothing apart from him - mighty in the sense that we have no strength of our own, since our strength is feeble compared to His overwhelming might.

His plan is to bring us to the end of our own strength because then we have no other recourse but Him.

But no, He did not give you this life because you were strong enough to live it. He gave it to you because He knew you weren't but He is.

And through His might, His power, and His love, we are given the strength to carry on.

How Much Change Can A Year Produce?

This morning I was chatting with a friend who I haven't seen in over a year, but who I hope to see in under a month, and, well, I'm simultaneously super excited and really terrified because I've changed a lot over the past year in almost every way, and what if we meet and either he doesn't recognize me, or expects me to look like my profile picture?!

I'm not remotely that pretty in real life ;)

And I do realize that not everyone judges on appearance, most especially this particular friend, but my brain started spinning when he asked me how I had changed.

I don't know that I can list all the ways!

However, for the sake of an (at least partial) intellectual exercise and somewhat of a character sketch, I shall at least attempt to do his question justice here.

Since last April, which was when I first met the friend in question, so much has happened in my life... so very much.

I am no longer a naive, wide eyed innocent. I do not trust men, I do not trust women, I, as a rule, do not trust.

I never call guys my brother or best friend anymore, since I have seen that fall apart far too many times.

I gave my testimony thrice - twice in front of a hundred kids - and realized that what I've dealt with are not topics generally discussed by mainstream Christianity, yet they need to be talked about.

I drastically improved my makeup - new concealer, and started wearing lipstick.

I bleached my arms and face because I got sick of my super dark thick hair.

My friend put peekaboo highlights into my hair, so now I have bleached blond streaks under the top layer of hair.

Which, speaking of hair, I cut a good eight inches off of my hair a month ago in addition to cutting layers and quasi-bangs.

I bought colored contacts, and stopped wearing glasses except when unavoidable.

I've also largely dropped the girly girl act along with Fascinating Womanhood and The Fascinating Girl and all the other 'Godly Womanhood/Femininity' books I thought would help me get a Godly husband.

I've decided I do care whether or not I marry, because I'm not impervious to loneliness, and I adore children, but I tell people I am never getting married because expectation is the root of all heartache, and I am a hard person to love.

I cut for a year and a half.....and only recently stopped but the addiction still continues.

I've been diagnosed with Major Depressive Disorder and Mild Anxiety....both of which I've been on meds for.

I have cultivated an intense dislike for self righteous, judgmental Christians, not only because I believe them to be opposed to all Christ taught, but also because I have yet to see how sinners may be brought to Christ through shunning and hatred.

I spent a week in a psychiatric ward, and I've tasted, not only the horrors of such a place, but also the good things, yet I still know what it is like to wake up screaming in terror, begging to never be sent back.

I still struggle with anorexia, and I've entirely lost my careless relationship with food after not eating for weeks at a time.

I've discovered that I love metal, rock, and bands like Memphis May Fire, Black Veil Brides, Sleeping with Sirens, Fall Out Boy, Skillet, Red, Disciple, and others which my parents generally disapprove of because 'metal is of the devil', to which I say, 'maybe it is, but those songs saved my life'.

I've brushed up on my WWII history, and discovered that I really do enjoy reading war history, not just war fiction.

I've also read a good deal of theology, social commentary, and, as y'all know, I now have my own blog, which has been immensely useful in sorting out my thoughts.

I attempted suicide badly enough to end up in the ER, and I still have nightmares / flashbacks of that night.

A friend literally saved my life because he cared enough to get me help instead of keeping the fact that I was suicidal to himself.

I've learned how to feed, water, hay, wash, lead, and groom over fifteen horses by myself...and fill the feed buckets for the next feeding.

I've taken care of five children (ages 12 to 6 months) for seven weeks almost singlehandedly

I, at the insistence of my friends, started a YouTube channel and posted ...one...cover.

I graduated High School...finally..!!

I've talked friends through everything from miscarriages to self harm to suicide to demonic encounters, and been told there's something about me which just makes people trust me.

I've discovered that not all Christians are narrow minded and judgmental..and that sometimes the least biased ones come from places which seem like they should produce just that.

I've stopped swearing, even in my journals....which, in retrospect, I regret ever doing since it was mainly caused by my ex...and to look cool for him.

I've had my heart ripped out and trampled on the floor more times than I can count, and been utterly broken and destroyed more times than I can count in the past year alone.

I finally - finally - read hundreds of books that I should have read before, and, in consequence, now I really want a dog... or a horse.

I can't remember the last time I painted my nails.

I wrote close to 80 songs, none of which are really any good.. and I've written a whole lot of poetry as well.

I finally learned how to play my guitar, and I stopped taking piano lessons in favor of voice lessons.

I participated in my favorite musical of all time - namely, Les Mis - which was an absolute dream come true!

I've learned how to deal (in part) with boys who think they love me or think they have crushes on me.

Instead of getting hysterical when I'm stressed out, I'll shut down.

I've actually done serious research and determined my personal stance / worldview on ever so many topics, which I am sincerely glad about!

And I'm sure there are more.....I just can't think of them at this point ;) But, I guess, looking back, I've changed so much over the past year I don't even know if I'm really the same person.

I'd like to think I am, and in some ways I am, but in many others, I've learned and grown so much that I hardly am!

Now, if only I could figure out where I go from here..... ;)

<3 Tirzah

Perfection?

"I do not know where this obsession with perfection came from 

Or why it chose me

Perhaps it came from parental precepts - like- 'a moment on the lips forever on the hips'

Or grandparental guidance, after all, 'we die for fashion'.

Perhaps it sprang from the stagnant brains of teenage girls, who, unable to bear their own demise determined to destroy me along with them.

After all 'no boy would ever love a fatty' 

Does it really matter from whence it came, though?

All I know is I am powerless to stop it, nor do I care to try anymore.

If I cannot be the smart one, let me be skinny.

If I cannot be pretty, at least make me thin.

I've heard it said that perfection is infectious and it spreads like plague.

Will anyone love me if I turn myself into skin and bones

or will they run from the mess I have become?

I do not know, but for my sake, if no one else's, I must try. 

I will be the closest thing to perfection that anyone has ever seen.

I will be skinny. 

I will be beautiful.

I will be perfect."

-s.v. (via. musings-of-an-anorexic)

An Open Letter to Myself

Dearest.

Please listen to me, if only for the time it takes to read this. 

You need to listen to me.

Because I'm the small voice of reason in the tiniest corner of your brain reminding you that if you cut tonight you will regret it in the morning. 

I'm the love and voice of those who swear their faith in you even when you don't believe in yourself, who've made you promise that you won't kill yourself no matter how dark the darkness becomes.

I'm the singing voice of hope collected from the hundreds of thousands of overcomers screaming that better things are possible and tomorrow is a brighter day.

But most of all, I'm you. 

I'm the you that you wish you could be, the you that you want to be, and the you that you could be. I'm the recovered, better, happy, hopeful version of you, looking back across the chasm at you, stretching out both arms, begging you not to let go tonight.

And if you ever want to get to the other side, you need to listen to me, especially on nights like this. 

Do not believe them - do not let them win - those vicious words in your head which rip you apart like a rag doll, till nothing but tearing yourself further apart could ever stitch you back together again. 

Please do not listen. 

Turn up the music, sing until the tears stream down your cheeks, scream loud enough for God Himself to hear, sob blindly into your pillow until you are breathless and shaking, but whatever you do, don't let them bury their poison in your soul. 

You mustn't heed them. 

You know that they'll destroy you, and I know that you don't care if they do. 

But I care. 

If you do this, if you let them crumble you, if you let go right now, how will you ever reach me?

I know - believe me I know - how insurmountable the darkness which drowns you, whispering softly that 'to live is just to fall asleep, to die is to awake'. 

I know how it feels to ache for the crimson kiss of a razor, to bleed out all the emotions, and swathe your heart in comfortable numbness. 

I hear the shrieking harpies callously point out each and every existent and nonexistent flaw which graces your body. 

I, too, have woken at midnight, week after endless week, screaming, terrified of the visions in my sleep. 

And, 'maybe we're meant to lose the ones we love, but I'll fight for you till then'. 

Because 'this is not what it is, only baby scars. I need your love like a boy needs his mother's side'. 

'This love will set you free from thoughts of yesterday' and you must never ever forget that 'we are more than our bodies', and your beautiful body only contains not defines you.

I know it hurts - God, do I ever know- but, you've gotta promise me you'll 'fight for all you know when your back's against the wall - stand against the liars. Stronger than before, when your life becomes a war - set the world on fire'.

Because, 'fear won't steal what burns in you'. You must not let it. There is a flame alight in you of such  radiant brilliance, and you owe it, not only to yourself, but to all those who would be destroyed were you not to wake up tomorrow, to refuse to let it be extinguished. 

'Though gnashing teeth and grinning tongues conspire against the odds...they haven't seen the best of us yet'......They haven't seen the best of you yet. 

But I've seen it. I know it exists.

I know it's there, and I know it's that part you must arm with sword and shield against the monsters in your head. I swear there is a way to destroy what destroys you without destroying yourself, and even if they never completely leave, someday all that will remain are their bleached bones - the ghosts of former terrors. 

But you must allow the shadows to die. Do not give back life to what only kills you. Arm yourself with beauty, hope, love, laughter, faith, and light, and watch as the destroyers crawl groveling back into the misery from whence they came. 

'The future holds a brighter day for you', darling, and in truth, 'the best is yet to come'. 

'I need you to believe me - can you trust me? - that what you see is not what I see. The reflection in the mirror's telling lies.' and you cannot believe it. 

After all, in the end, you must decide.

You did not choose this darkness - I know that, and I also know that that's irrelevant. 

Because the choice is not whether or not you chose this darkness, or have control over it. We both know you don't. Darkness is its own element and goes where it will, wreaking its own havoc, with no regard for innocence, youth, beauty, love. 

The choice, then, beloved, is whether or not you will fight it. Whether you will hold up the white flag of surrender to your demons, or whether, although battered, scarred, and exhausted beyond human endurance, you will wearily reach yet again and hoist aloft your splintered broadsword to plunge once more into the fray.  

For my sake, for the future, and the day that will come when you look back on tonight and with tears in your eyes whisper thankfully "I made it", please try.

You must at least try.

If you don't try - if you give up tonight - you will never know the joy of true genuine laughter which is not a cover for sadness.

You will never experience the wonder of watching the one you love smile into your eyes as he whispers against your lips the opposite of everything that the voices tell you late at night. 

You will never embark on the journey of life with him, sworn irrevocable to love and cherish, honor and obey, beyond hope and beyond fear, out on the edge of the sea and deep in the heart of the city, until death do you part. 

You will never feel your heart expand with pure happiness as you realize that not everyone is repulsed by your scars, heartbreak, and pain, and that some people not only love you in spite of them, but love you with them, including them, and refuse to allow you to define your worth by them. 

You will never cradle in your arms the miniature child, half you, half the one you love, borne from your own body, and marvel at his sleeping perfection. 

You will never bandage his knees, dry his tears, teach him to read and to drive, laugh with him, hold him when he cries, and show him how to spread his wings someday. 

You will never proudly show photos of your beautiful grandchildren to all your friends in the winters of your old age, sipping tea by a roaring fire together. 

All that, and more, can and will be yours someday, if you will only look out beyond the haze of pain and misty shadows swathed in darkness, and listen closely. 

If you do, you will hear me calling to you across the chasm. However faint, and however feeble.

Tonight, tomorrow night, and every night afterwards, you will hear my voice. And the more you listen to me, rather than the demons, the stronger my voice and your sword arm will grow, and the weaker they will become

After all, what I call to you is nothing elaborate or complicated.

I merely implore you, with everything in me, to promise me that whatever happens, however dark the darkness grows, no matter how many times you fall while learning to fly, that you will never give in, never give up. 

You can't. 

You mustn't. 

You won't. 

Never ever ever give up. 

Never.