Soap for Jesus

When I rededicated my life to the Lord in my late teens, I began what seemed to be a lesson a year. First it was love - God began to teach me how to love with His love, to see with His eyes, as I prayed for it. The next year was faith, and the following faith and trust. It wasn't like I picked these to work on - love was what brought me back to Him - a breakthrough from my friend Taylor W. - and faith and trust have always been struggles, partly because I like to understand things, and partly because I've never learnt to trust deeply, easily. Faith, as you know if you live by it, is a walk in trust. The two, though different, are deeply and intimately connected. To walk by faith is to walk in trust, and to trust fully means utter and complete faith. One of the joys of following Jesus has been to see His love through different aspects of my life - as I like to say, "God's love is of the same beauty and diversity as a many faceted diamond." First, I learned His...

I was thinking about some of the people I've bumped into over the years who struggle with depression, anxiety and/or suicidal tendencies. As I've been going through the counselling process with C., I've also come to realise that while it might trigger the "growing up" bit I missed, and is definitely help me link things together and providing coping techniques to override my body's now-natural patterns of worry, freak out, withdraw, not deal with issues, invert anger and stress until overload, it probably never will cure my depression spells completely. My man tries to reduce all stress levels for me wherever he can and says he thinks it can be healed, but I don't know. Whether it is a "mental illness", (which, while I am coming to accept the term, is one I dislike due to its connotations of limited capability and inferiority) or whether it's some switch tripped by the years on the rough path, as I subconsciously recognise the symptoms o...

"Schoolbag in hand, she leaves home in the early morning Waving goodbye with an absent-minded smile I watch her go with a surge of that well-known sadness And I have to sit down for a while The feeling that I'm losing her forever And without really entering her world I'm glad whenever I can share her laughter That funny little girl Slipping through my fingers all the time I try to capture every minute The feeling in it Slipping through my fingers all the time Do I really see what's in her mind Each time I think I'm close to knowing She keeps on growing Slipping through my fingers all the time Sleep in our eyes, her and me at the breakfast table Barely awake, I let precious time go by Then when she's gone, there's that odd melancholy feeling And a sense of guilt I can't deny What happened to the wonderful adventures The places I had planned for us to go (Slipping through my fingers all the time) Well, some of that we did but ...

"Why do you do this for me?" "What?" Well...why do you walk me 30 minutes to the train station every night, pay for my ticket and your return ticket, take me home on the train, walk me to my door, then leave, go back to the station and travel right back where you came from, then to take your own bus home and making your journey home over 3 hours longer? Why do you look into my eyes and tell me that you know I'm not perfect, but I'm perfect for you? Why, when I apologised for my clingy t-shirt, did you say it was okay, but please don't wear it outside because other guys would stare and you'd feel like you had to hug me and keep me safe? Why did you promise marriage before sex? Why do you spend the time you desperately need to make this university proposal succeed for your future career, studying with me when it's a lot crowded and noisier? Why do you kiss me and never make a move to touch me inappropriately? Why do you always put m...

Here, enjoy a scribbling I did to enter a competition at my bestie's Pet Day last year. I'd forgotten I'd written this. I have ridden on a train before. The noise alone brings back scary memories for me. My last owner used to take me to work with him sometimes, and he wasn't...wasn't very nice to me. So to be sitting inside one, with the people and the noise and all the usually calm trees and buildings blurring...it was too much. I sat there panting, shaking, so hot and dizzy. I seriously thought I might die. My mistress tried to talk to me me. She told me that she loved me, that I was special and her good boy. She called me all her special names and pulled me onto her lap, tucking my head against her shoulder, trying to absorb my terror. I wriggled free, bouncing onto the next seat and attempting to climb over the edge of it. She tugged me back by my lead until I was on the chair again, at which I gave up and curled into a ball, still shaking. Don'...

Note: Trigger warning: If you're in a bad place, don't read this. If you think you can handle it...try. It may encourage you. I hope. :P Depression-exhaustion. It's one of the things I loathe most about a bout of suicidal depression. (If you need a definition of that, feel free to message me: fromselfharmtovictory@gmail.com) First there's a tiny grey cloud, a mood change...flashbacks...sometimes panic attacks...random crying spells...intense sadness over the lost things/people... Those can be triggered by, or exacerbated, by arguments, events (i.e., a person who dislikes/caused a lot of trouble for me married recently, and it triggered this bout because he was brought back into my life, albeit unintentionally, by mutual friends; aggravated by an argument this past weekend). Then it literally feels like my mind is being torn in two. There's the one part which seems to be out of control, and the other which is logical and takes the rationale. It knows I'...

Walking hurriedly along the street in the cool evening air, I glanced sideways at my reflection in the glass window, noting again my arms with dissatisfaction. I barely had time to think, rushing madly as I was to get the 8:39 train in time, trying to take in and appreciate the surroundings around me (anti-depression technique), but my shoulders sagged a little, thinking of my dissatisfaction with the way I looked, trying to concentrate on it being more important the way I am inside and yes, I DO like my style. Including the trainers. It's independent looking, like I don't care what people think - and I don't, to some degree. But there are certain things about my body that I don't like. Since being rejected, that insecurity has gained a lot of ground, even though I try to ignore it. Rushing along Broad Street, I neared three guys in suits sauntering along. Looking ahead, I went to go past them when one, on a phone, waved at me, in front of my face. I smiled at him as...