Day 12 – Fluoxetine and Wellbutrin.

Monday (9/9) was fine. I kept busy preparing for the next intern meeting, preparing for Nomads, preparing for Renewal, and then going to Nomads.

I squeezed two naps in – a little over an hour total. I watched some TV, blogged, and did all the usual necessary functions of life – aka, feed the cats as they whine and whine and whine. I did my exercise (walk and read) – which is good, b/c it gets me outside for 45 mins. Medications all taken on time and as usual – no noticeable side effects.

Youth Group was enjoyable, as usual. We are over halfway through The Lost Princess and our discussion thereon.

Pastor Bob sent me another card. This one contained a print out of a post from Ann VosKamp’s blog “A Holy Experience.” The post was entitled, “Letters to the Wounded (#2).”

It was a beautiful and healing piece of writing. For most of it I just appreciated its beauty but I started to weep towards the end,

We need you -- It is the scarred ones who make the Body of Christ sensitive.
It is the wounded ones who make us heal and the hurting ones who make us honest
and it is the broken ones who put us back together again and it is the scarred 
ones who make the Body of Christ sensitive.

Reading it again as I post this, I begin to tear up again. It had been a long while since I’d cried. When things first happened I cried a lot…but as the days turned into weeks and the weeks into months my tears dried up and ran away.

Even at that time I didn’t know where the tears came from. They would come at the strangest times. Suddenly I would be hit by a wave and I’d cry…and then it would stop as suddenly as it had begun, and I would move on…then it would hit me again.

I think I’ve become much more aware of what I am feeling over the years – something which I used to suppress out of necessity…but when the tears don’t come, I don’t know why – and when they do, I don’t know why. What VosKamp wrote is beautiful, but no more beautiful than so many other things I’ve read – yet they haven’t caused me to cry?

In any case, I’ll take them where and when they come since they don’t listen to me.

It is weird crying…and I know I’m being disjointed here, but that is okay…b/c while I am in pain – I also feel joy – joy at the ability to cry.

To mourn with dry eyes is painful. The pain is all stuck up inside and it won’t come out. To cry, to moan, to fall to one’s knees – it provides a release. The internal, invisible pain becomes visible – and for some reason I feel a sense of relief when the pain becomes visible – not to others…I don’t usually cry in front of others…but visible to me.

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