While sitting here, I was poking through an old folder and found a paper with the following written on it:
What do you see?It was written some time in college--most likely my freshman or sophomore year. I don't remember when, or the circumstances surrounding it. I don't remember if I was thinking of a particular person, or just people in general. It is, however, typical of the things I scribbled at the time. Rereading it now, several years later, I am struck by the desperation in the words. I read it as if it was written by a stranger. I felt no connection with the words.
Confidence. Arrogance. Diligence.
That is what all see.
They see the mask.
What is under?
They don't know there is an under.
They don't know there is a mask.
They don't take time to care.
They don't care.
Do you?
Will you be the one?
Will you be the one to care?
Will you be the one to care enough to find the mask?
Will you be the one to ask me to remove it?
Will you be the one I trust?
What will you see?
Hurt. Pain. Loneliness. Longing.
But that was me.
Nearly a year ago, I shared the story of the lowest point in my life. With the sharing of that story, it was as if a burden I didn't know I was carrying was lifted. (If you haven't read it, you can here.) I believe that, in sharing that story, I finally allowed myself to completely heal. Today, I rarely think of that time. But sometimes, there is a trigger that brings everything flooding back.
In thinking about those moments when I was trapped within my own imagination in order to distance from the world, I am overcome with relief and gratefulness. But for God's mercy, I would still be in that web. I escaped, because one person took the time to care. It was a long process, but here I am today.
Take the time to care. If you see someone hurting, say something. Even if you don't know what to say, you can still say, "I'm here." This past summer, several people that I knew and worked with at the time told me that they could sense something "off" about me, yet never took the time to pursue it. After hearing my story, they all wished they had taken the time. If they had, I might have been saved some painful years.
No, I don't blame them. Everything happens for a reason. Perhaps by going through what I did I will be able to reach out to someone else. Maybe that has already happened. We never know how far-reaching the ripples of our actions are. If nothing else, it changed me from a platonic Christian to close-up realization of God's love and mercy.
And that is enough.
