This week has been miserable. And I’ve only really been making it worse by isolating and staying away from people. Then, of course, I freak out that everybody hates me because they don’t want to hang up with me when…uh, I’m the one who refuses to hang out? Or who is a total Debbie Downer while doing so? Get a grip, kid.
The flashbacks on Monday really, really shook me up. I honestly think that has played a big role in my mood this week. I’ve never had such intense, uncontrollable flashbacks before. Not even in the months after the rape. And while I did talk about it, I also found myself ruminating on the thoughts and the images and the fear I felt in those hours. This has made me a not-so-fun person to be around. A friend phrased it today as my being “melancholy” as of late. I think he was kind in that assessment and didn’t want to say, “You’ve been a fucking pain in the ass to be around the past week, please cheer up.” But I digress.
A friend of mine led a conference call tonight for Good Friday and we went through the stations of the cross. I didn’t know how much I needed it. I love old spiritual practices and the rhythm that liturgy provides to the year. It has been a long time since I have done the stations of the cross, and all those times, they were self-led. My friend read the stations to us and I just laid back and absorbed the reality of what this day commemorates. I contemplated Jesus on his walk to his death and how many times he stumbled, how he had to humble himself not only to death on a cross – but to accepting help with someone else. I was struck by the the level of human suffering he endured – by choice – and how the walk to the hill made him even more acutely aware of the human condition and human suffering.
He’s been through it. He’s been beaten down and stripped of his honor and dignity and died a shameful death. And he overcame it.
He went through it so that he could walk us through it, knowing exactly the depth of that suffering. He desires to be with us, to lead us, ultimately, to our own crosses – to kill self and take on the resurrection life that we celebrate on Easter.
