The other day I was sitting on the couch in my counselor’s office, articulating a deep depression that has engulfed me in recent weeks. The highest of the highs and the lowest of the lows, all in a day’s journey from the stage… to the basement.
It was revealed to me (through vulnerable conversation) that I have a propensity to feel isolated and alone, despite being surrounded by hundreds of friends. The truth is, I feel like a plastic impostor, allowing people to love a projected image of who they think I am. In reality, they don’t know me… I am enveloped by assumptions that I’ve allowed to exist. And at the end of the day, I hate the fictional character that others have created. I do not have it all together. I have serious doubts. I am under re-construction. I am less certain and have no control.
I am, however, hopeful.
I do get lost in the wonder of what if and maybe. I still find a refuge in the cross, and the embrace of the Abba Father, and He alone knows the depths of my brokenness. And He alone loves me anyway. He alone loves me anyway. He alone loves me anyway. He alone loves me anyway.