Worlds Apart

I have been in a place lately. A dark one. A place that’s cold like a cave, echoing my fears back to me, occasionally lashing out in anger at our healthcare system, at myself for being angry at a healthcare system given how lucky I am to be double-insured, back into the depths of the cave where I’m sitting on cold, wet stones, rocking back and forth wondering how much more strain my heart can take, this third time through hyperthyroidism, plus having endured too long of a time of anorexia. It’s never really anger, anyway. There’s always something underneath it, for all of us.

At times I feel manic. I am literally so excited. Quivering from head to toe, chemicals shooting through me like magic lightning, strung tightly, like usual, but it feels so positive. But beneath this, I’m still cowering in the cave, because I know that this, too, is part of my thyroid speeding, speeding, speeding everything up.

At time I feel like I will literally break. Thoughts swimming, heart racing, worry transcending its normal rhythms and boundaries of my generalized anxiety so that it diagnostically presents as obsessive. And it is. Because that inner girl is rocking back and forth in her cave of fear, a familiar diagnosis with unfamiliar elements thrown into formula this time, making the end of the experiment unknowable.

My muscles will not relax. I don’t know how much of this is thyroid-related.

I can’t run right now. Too risky.

And this song, this song keeps coming back to me. Especially these lines: “Can I be the one to sacrifice? Or grip the spear and watch the blood and water flow?”


I’ve been close-reading this song, and I think I’ve landed on the meaning of these two lines. Or maybe it’s my projection from this place that I’m in. Because that girl in that cave doesn’t know how to accept His sacrifice, not now in this place, and often not in other areas requiring mercy and grace. But I have worked through that part of faith, still am, but I get that second part, too, because maybe if I will accept His sacrifice, at least let me pay penance in that way, by being that close, that guilty, and that able to see proof, too, because faith is hard.

And I pray this song whole-heartedly, I have throughout my life, at these times when so much is unknown. Because when I recognize that I’m retreating to that girl-in-hiding place, when it seems I’d want stability and security the most, I recognize that this is absolutely when I need to accept my world being dismantled. Because “what I need and what I believe are worlds apart.”

This morning, I pushed through fear and found the faith to beeline it to the after-service prayer corner. And I felt Him, through the hands and words of those praying with me. In the way the Spirit whispered hidden prayers of my heart into the mouths of my friends, fears I hadn’t mentioned or asked for, but part of what healing will mean for me. And while the endocrinology appointment still sits waiting so distantly in November for now, I’ve felt peace. I’ve felt the tightening in my chest and mind relax. And I’ve remembered the last two times my thyroid went into over-drive, the precursors to it, and I see connections that bring hope for healing and prevention and maybe not-so-drastic measures.

And I think what I need and what I believe are coming closer.

One thought on “Worlds Apart

  1. Da

    There is no greater fear for a parent than to contemplate the loss of their child. Especially where there is absolutely nothing I can do (physically) to help. So, yeah, you’re not alone in that cave – though I may sit outside your range of vision, I’m there. What I can do, I will. Pray for you, first and foremost. Be as available to you as I can be. Listen. Love. Accept. Anything else you ask of me. Because I am now, and ever will be, your Da.


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