Thank you for the personal responses to my blogs. I understand that especially the latest posts were eliciting pieces. My phone buzzed all day and I’ve had some special conversations about it with a few of you in real life. However, I would like to ask any personal friends to place their questions or comments in the comment section of each blog. Continue reading “Request for My Readers”
On Tuesday, 4 December, some weird thing happened to me, which I tried to write down in my notebook:
“One moment you’re at uni catching up with a friend, the next you’re in some spiritual state including warfare, trauma, promises, and love. This was the first time I was on [my friend]’s level—God’s level. I felt my own spirit inside of me; sparked my joy and marked by grief. When I tried describing what I felt in laymen’s terms, [my friend] started laughing & told me how accurate it was. I also shared with him that I was afraid to allow my spirit full control, because my mind wouldn’t be able to keep up. Living through spirit, connected to the Holy Spirit, is pure, joyful, and humble, but it means being vulnerable. My spirit would respond to other spirits & accordingly be hurt by all the brokenness. It hurts so much… But at the same time it’s totally worth it being so close to God. When I noticed that my spirit was tied(?) to the same physical organ as trauma, our conversation went that direction. I told [my friend] about the psoas muscle & its (scientifically proven) function to regulate trauma and bring healing (through little vibrations) just as crying does. But mostly our convo was me asking questions and him patiently & kindly answering them to the best of his knowledge—and even more through spirit.
I don’t know how to describe this (since it IS WEIRD AF) but our spirits somehow connected. I could FEEL his as well and was sure he felt mine. It made that half of our convo was without words, which makes it so hard to describe our talk. We spoke through spirit as well. (HOW CRAZY IS THAT?!) (Okay well, it’s actually “normal christianity” but still—WHAT?!)
I remembered a few traumatic moments of my life in which I was thrown in physical pain, or to be more specific, in which that one organ took all the hits. Because of that, I realised these key moments must have pierced straight through my spirit. I knew the realisation was true, because my spirit told me. (Yeah, I know, it sounds insane. YOU NEED TO EXPERIENCE IT TO UNDERSTAND.) Spirit responds to truth that most technically can be described as some special kind of vibrations in the living turmoil. YES, I FELT SOMETHING ~LIVING~ INSIDE OF ME! I HAVE MY OWN SPIRIT, BROUGHT TO LIFE BY CHRIST, AND IT CAN COMMUNICATE WITH GOD’S SPIRIT! ❤
Anyway, let’s skip to the part I wanted to write about. When my spirit told me the truth about the link with trauma and how my spirit got “injured” by it, the trauma itself got exposed as well aka I relived it. Of course I started crying, weeping over the harm it had brought to my spirit, but [my friend]’s spirit felt my hurt as well. He cried with me. (Mind that we were still in the middle of [building] with students all around us.) Realising a person other than me could feel exactly what I felt was beyond intimate—for the first time ever I felt understood by someone who wasn’t God; known by another being to an extent unimaginable. When I hid my pain and made sure my body didn’t shock, [my friend] shook at EXACTLY the moments my emotional pain became worse. Every memory of mine I could see on his face. When I had a new memory it flashed on him, even though my body or face didn’t show. (Body was under control, my face turned away & completely shielded by my hands.) And then the weird(er) thing: my psoas muscle was softly vibrating EVEN THOUGH I never learned how to activate it. [Person] could only teach me how to recognise the muscle & how to train it, but I never made it through. And now, without training or stimulation, it was doing exactly what it should do in cases of traumatic healing.
All didn’t end there, but this was most important for me to write down. I think I just “levelled up” and saw a dimension, or field, that I didn’t know yet. Feels like a new start, but I’m still (a little) afraid. And challenged. And warned. And intrigued. And ready? No idea.”
The next day, I was still processing what had happened. The first person to share my experience with was with my vodka bestie from uni. She had been a casual friend from my course, with whom I bonded over our love for shots during going out, but she was also one of those girls that I would be very good friends with if we actually spent time together. It was by accident that our contact flared up and suddenly we were sharing Summer experiences over tea on her couch. It was the first time outside of a club setting drinking something non-alcoholic and also the first time I heard about her spiritual experiences. Kinda casual she added, ‘Dude, I’m Christian now.’ I was surprised by her words and at first thought it was meant as a joke. Was my months-long prayer—of finding a fellow Christian among my uni friends—actually answered, just like that? Turned out it was, and there I found out that my fellow vodka-Française (I’m not French though) had also become my little sister in Christ. Ever since that moment, our casual friendship grew into one of the closest friendships I have and I can’t stop thanking God for her. While I was cutting her hair (recent hobby) that noon, she read about it in my journal . I was struggling to find words anyway to rightfully describe what happened, plus I quickly found out that cutting hair and talking wasn’t a combination for me.
Afterwards, we went to dinner at my student association (I really wanted her to experience fellowship with other Christians) and met with a couple of my friends, amongst whom the prophet guy. (I’m sorry, he should really get another nickname…) That night, it was not just dinner, but also Sinterklaas, our Dutch celebration each year on December 5th. It’s the national tradition with St. Nicholas and Black Pete, viewed as either plain racism or “Dutch innocence”. The festival typically gets celebrated with marzipan, chocolate letters, and pepernoten (=small gingerbread pieces), as distributed by the Black Petes. Our student association celebrated it a bit differently… with four opposite sites shooting pepernoten as missiles attacking other students. It was chaos and our very own White Petes (because boo racism) unsuccesfully tried to calm down the battle.
I can’t say I didn’t enjoy it, but I was happy when I could flee the battle field and have a moment to myself at the bathroom. I sat down to the wall and tried to ‘connect again’ with my spirit. At first, I wasn’t sure how to (just pray?), but then I remembered that spirit responds to truth. I tried thinking something simple like ‘God loves me’ and immediately I felt the soft and familiar sensation in my belly. Since apparently that worked, I simply repeated it. The more I repeated it, the stronger it became, until I felt pure joy springing out from my very essence. Then I started crying, because I was hurt… I asked myself (and God) why, because I didn’t understand why I’d be sad, though it was the same sadness I seemed to 24/7 experience in the background when sensing in spirit. It was the kind of hurt that occurs when missing somebody and grieving over something. The more I tried to connect with that feeling, the more specific it became. Then I realised I was grieving over being separated from God. My own spirit was longing for His, and the one word that came up was homesickness. I was homesick for a place I’ve never been to. (That’s funny because I’ve never liked the idea of heaven or anything like it. Another blog post!) At the same time, I felt deeply comforted by God’s Spirit, so the sadness was comfortable in a way. I went to stand again and kept lovingly confronting my spirit with God’s love for me, feeling euphoric in that little bathroom. Then all of a sudden, an anger came over me, completely out of the blue. I saw my own eyes in the bathroom mirror filled with it. It confused me so much that I tried to ‘snap out of it’, which only partly worked. I still sensed spirits around me. Perplexed I returned to my friends and the pepernoten ravage.
Walking back, I bumped into the prophet, who asked me if I was okay. I assured him with a smile I was, but only because I was not comfortable sharing with all the other associates present. Later, my vodka bestie told me that the look on my face spoke volumes. Our friends were gathering to leave church and continue the evening in our local pub, but I didn’t feel like joining. My three closest friends, amongst whom the Francaise and the prophet, and I were left in the front of the church, during which I quickly updated the prophet about my bathroom moment. While sharing, I felt that turmoil in my spirit again, stronger this time because of that guy. (I’ve learnt that it is a hundred times stronger when he is around, since he seems to “carry around a source”.) I noticed how, during my story, he also stepped into ‘spirit mode’, letting his one hand flow freely and sensing from within. We said farewell to my other two friends and were left alone at the entrance.
‘It helps if you tell me what happened,’ he told me softly while navigating in spirit. ‘Then I could give you a response.’
I described the sudden anger and at the same time, it was back. We kept talking about it and it started raging inside of me, growing in different parts of my body. Just like yesterday, his body and spirit were just as affected as mine.
The next things I’m unable to elaborately explain. Let’s say we stood there for more than two hours straight, praying in spirit, while I was shivering in my way too thin stockings and on heels.
Standing uncomfortably and a bit unstable, I found healing in my spirit for things long ago. My friend went full into spirit, taking authority and speaking of Christ. It was then that I realised that the “living turmoil” basically was a fire, since the words I used to describe the different sensations were all related to it (e.g. raging, burning, sparking, kindling, etc.) I felt stupid by finding out a day later after my first conscious encounter, because I could have known based on the book of Acts about the Holy Spirit. The clock struck eleven, telling me we had been standing there for half an hour, then it struck twelve, amazing me that we had spent another hour like that.
I couldn’t speak in tongues yet, but my friend could. Sometimes he had a translation too and he paired these with the visions he had. Through him, God spoke to me about my past and explained what He was restoring inside of me. (My friend himself didn’t know these things about me, nor how his words or visions would make sense, but to me, it did.) We cried, laughed, and I discovered I had a lot of fear inside of me directed towards God. Throughout the years of hurt in which I did believe in God, I had accumulated a lot of trust issues towards Him. Thinking that His ways included deliberately hurting me or excluding me. (Another blog post.)
I feel stupid for writing all of this down and understand none of it makes sense, but I’ll try anyway and will elaborate on the smaller pieces in later blogs. For now I probably should just generally set out what happened.
Afterwards, we got involved in something else. In trust, I followed my friend and listened to what he told me to do. I could feel that things in our atmosphere happened, but I simply didn’t know what. My best summary would be: ‘Things happened around us, my friend instructed me to go stand with my feet positioned in a particular stance, things increased, he prayed, and after a while things changed.’ In that summary, ‘things’ would be spiritual entities. It was fascinating and scary at the same time. I couldn’t speak. My mouth would go open and then shut down again before my lips could form the words of my mind. When we finally could have a conversation again, my friend laughingly told me I had been standing on energy lines. (Yes, another blog post…) We had broken them and taken back a beacon at that location, which totally made sense with what I had experienced in my spirit.
(Never mind all that, I hope to explain it better in a more coherent way and hopefully with some more evidence-based explanations.)
Completely frozen, we both returned to our own houses. In thought, I turned the keys and opened my door like always, but the second I stepped inside, an ice-cold fear came over me. I felt hunted and rushed to prepare for bed. It was a horrifying experience; although I knew Christ was stronger than any darkness, whatever entity was present didn’t leave… Around me, I started seeing figures and faces that weren’t there. My mind was playing tricks on me and I was startled as it didn’t work convincing myself I had authority over whatever anyway. As a coward, I crawled under my blankets, texting my friend: ‘I just got home :)’
Then I added, ‘I feel scared tho, but don’t know why’.
He comforted me, but I asked to call. Since he was still up, making himself some hot chocolate, it didn’t matter that we called at 2am. The moment I mentioned the fear, it got even stronger. Before I knew it, I was crying on the phone. Fondly, he soothed me by pointing me to Jesus, praying with me and again speaking in tongues. The fear did not leave altogether, but the fearful atmosphere became less dense and my spirit loosened up. He offered to speak to me on the phone until I fell asleep, but stupid me declined, thanked him and wished him goodnight. Seconds later I regretted it, because it would have been very, very nice. With a bit of darkness still sensable, I decided to ignore it and try to sleep under three safe layers of blankets. (I’m surprised I didn’t suffocate myself, haha.)
Next day, all of that felt like a bad dream and I netflixed my feelings away. It was like nothing ever happened, until I again took a moment ‘to connect’ and everything was reality again. I cried and cried in spirit, but it was nice. I chose to skip college and just focus on being. There was too much to process and I tried getting used to the spiritual reality that had merged with my normal reality. Both were reality, both were happening at the same time, and both were strangely in complete harmony.
Skipping college was a mistake, because the professors that week had announced that everybody had to be present for the (most boring and useless) presentations made by students. Some assignment had to be shown in class and my lecturers demanded solidarity from their students and forced them to show up. If not, consequences were a grade reduction.
I didn’t know all that—the presentations were exactly why I thought skipping would be no issue at all. My course has an 80% mandatory attendance and I still had my 20% to use, so I was shocked when my German uni friend told me about the special presentation rule. My mind rushed to find a plausible excuse, but my conscious intervened with my intention to lie my way out of it.
Eventually I decided to stick to the truth (or to be academically correct: to stick to my truth) and flush my academic career down the toilet altogether. ‘Yeah sorry, I was tired after breaking energy lines and now my mind feels like it had three heavy EMDR sessions in one day. Could’t make it. Oh also, I thought it was irrelevant to show up anyway.’
Of course I did choose a different wording for my education coordinator, but strangely enough I was granted exemption from the rule after saying I got into something spiritually. My coordinator reassured me everything was okay and even asked me to elaborate on everything. Although I knew it scored extremely high on the level of absurdity, I told her in detail about the last 48 hours. Apparently, she could relate and wished me good luck on everything, concluding that I could always knock on her door to talk about it more. A bit flabbergasted I left her office and was thankful to get out of the issue so easily. The rest of the day I tried studying but was too distracted by the awareness of the spiritual realm.
With enthusiasm, I told my German uni friend about it a few days later. Part of me knew it must sound crazy to her, another part couldn’t contain herself and just had to share.
‘It feels like being crippled all my life without noticing and then suddenly finding out I have legs,’ I said with sparkles in my eyes. ‘Like, apparently I can walk, but also run, and also hopscotch, and jump, and- Well, you get the idea! And now I’m looking in awe at feet, staring at my toes, and wondering about my knees. This is all so new yet it seemed to have always been there.’
‘Well, all I can say is, go explore it,’ she encouraged me. Even though we didn’t share Christianity as a background, she did have an interest in practices like Yoga and therefore also would support any spiritual development in general.
Enthusiasm is a key word here. I started falling asleep with the language of tongues as background music, because it seemed to instantly solve my insomnia and soothe me time after time into a deep sleep. Starting and ending the day in spirit felt natural, meaningful, and exciting, and in the meantime I soaked up all the information I could get my hands on, though it wasn’t much at all.
For the first time in my life, I learned how to speak in tongues and how to use it as a powerful tool in spiritual warfare, sometimes with and sometimes without hand gestures. With my friend’s (the prophet) advice on my mind, ‘If you don’t know what you’re doing, you’re doing well’, I basically tried stuff out. (Little disclaimer: All of this was in accordance with the Bible.) I also started practicing sensing other spirits the way my friend could with me. If I focused first on my own spirit, making sure I was connected, I could direct this focus to the person I was with or thinking about and feel his or her inner world. This has given me several peculiar and beautiful conversations with family and friends. But at the same time, I noticed all the ‘black holes’ in my knowledge and was painfully aware of all the things I did not know or wasn’t able to explain. There were (and are) spiritual things I could feel but not understand or put into words; sensations or pieces of knowledge without any logical connection to the mind.
When I visited a Church in Groningen, it was like breathing fresh air when I noticed that the atmosphere was filled with the Holy Spirit and that the whole team was actively creating such an environment. Little (“ordinary”) miracles happened and I happily chipped into the spiritual source already there, almost feeling bad for spiritual “leeching”. It was amazing to be a Christian and I loved living in a new dimension.
However, something else was going on. For every new discovery, ten new issues or questions came, and I started getting insecure about this ‘world out there’ that only got bigger and bigger. It confused me and I was baffled about what else I could possibly encounter. Stories weren’t just stories anymore, angels and demons became relevant actors in my daily life, the Bible was more of a weapon than literature. Places became marked territoria, people became both tools and targets, and gut feeling became legit.
My friend, “the prophet”, was almost always unavailable. Both with our exams coming up, we didn’t have a lot of time to socialise. This continued for a week or so, until I discovered one evening that I was actually super angry with him: How dared he take my hand to lead me into this new world and then let go of it and leaving me blind in the dark? When we talked about it, I admitted to him how disabled I felt in my spirit and how I would love a mentor of any kind. He apologised to me for the fact that there was no pastoral team that could back me up and that he remembered how scary it was in his beginning too. I reassured him there was no need to apologise; he was not responsible for my life and owed himself care too. His personal strength and weakness is putting the needs of others before his own to the point where it drains all his energy. I knew he was learning to put his own basic needs first in order to stay strong, so I even supported him not responding to me. It was okay.
Back home, I concluded it was not okay. I had been in some spirit session of my own, but this time the crying didn’t stop. It was also no nice kind of crying or relief, it was desperate fearful crying, and the scary part was, it was not my own. Something was pushing me and although I felt spirits, I didn’t feel the Holy Spirit, so I didn’t feel safe at all. For myself I wrote, “I feel like I have to do something, but at the same time there’s nothing. I feel like a blind person stuck in a room and bouncing to walls and still I can’t stop walking.” For hours and hours (from the afternoon till the late evening), I had been crying my heart out, making weird movements that my friend also did in ‘spirit modus’. I felt all kinds of things, most of them electric and negative, and it physically hurt me. My spirit was not softly burning in me, but toxicly raging through me, wave after wave.
‘I can’t be possesed,’ I thought. ‘Christians who have accepted Jesus have the Holy Spirit and can’t be possessed.’
But I also remembered the weird things happening to my younger sister, who had even had more disturbing spiritual experiences (another post…), so darkness could still be influencing. I would describe the feeling as “being taken over”, but my body was still mine, it was just…broken. Or something. I didn’t know and I was scared. It seemed to not matter how much I prayed, it continued.
Whatever it was, I started to occasionally choke on it and it made me think of panic attacks but this time it would be some spiritual version. The poison kept manifesting itself in the same parts of my body, forcing me to move and express myself in unhealthy looking ways. Could I be hosting some dark power?
At night, I literally googled ‘How to undo spiritual awakening’ and got disappointed with little results. My findings were all about Kundalini gone wrong. I couldn’t help but was irritated by it, thinking, ‘Of course Kundalini goes wrong, that’s dark as f*ck. But how can the Holy Spirit go wrong? Why am I not finding similar stories of other Christians?’
It just seemed to get worse (the movements) if I allowed it, but it fought me (by burning) when I wouldn’t. I also cried because of how my body was hurting and I couldn’t stand the pain. My friend did not even respond to my (by then very desperate) messages and I felt so, so alone. “There is something with me, breathing my air, and I feel like I’m sharing my lungs with something. What darkness is mushrooming in my chest?”
Another internet header read, ‘How To Tune Into The Spiritual World’.
NO I WANNA TUNE OUT.
I was freaking out by that time.
With everything going on, it was easy to believe I was an energy. (Yep, indeed sounds more like Buddhism than Christianity.) Stories from one of my foster brothers, who left Christianity because of the spiritual world, came back to me. Earnestly, he had once confided in me that he been involved in some practices that caused him to now always stay away from spirituality altogether. Today, he tries to live his life pretending none of it exists and years ago, he advised me to do the same. Back then I was still in my dark phase, so I kicked on his experiences and was not intimidated by it, only intrigued. Because of remembering his stories, I actually knew two people involved this severly with spiritual powers; my friend AND my foster brother. Anxiously I searched for his phone number, in spite of the fact that it was 1am, only to find out I had lost it.
My freaking out had reached a new level.
I was angry too, because I thought to be finally done with trauma influencing my life. (Couldn’t wait to write a post about EMDR and trauma therapy.) Now, everything returned, in a deeper way and this time without me controlling anything anymore.
Finally my friend responded. I dialled his number and we spoke on the phone. The conversation made me realise he couldn’t help me. Chances were he didn’t know what to do himself. But I also felt furious with him; as if everything was his fault and he left me with the damage for me to deal with it myself. As he wished me the best, I grew cold inside. It was a conscious choice, while I was aware it wasn’t the Christian option, but it seemed my only one. The moment I distanced myself from him, I got some sense of control back.
‘Talk to you later,’ I cut him short. ‘Goodnight.’
Then I hung up. (I felt like Elsa from the Disney film ‘Frozen’ while I realised my choice scored high on drama, but ‘drama’ wasn’t really a category anymore in the whole thing going on.) The loathing I felt for the guy was strong, but I kept telling myself that this was the way it was now, and I should deal with it.
Fine, then I deal with it, I thought.
In the meantime, worship music kept playing in the background. Not because I wanted to praise God or liked the cheerful note of the happy-clappy Christians, but it was a business-like decision. As long as it played, the power inside of me brew inside its borders. Furthermore, I decided to not give an f* about what happened, because those emotions possibly enlarged whatever thing happening in my spirit.
I was done. Done with the guy and done with his “help”, done with not feeling in control, done with the Church and their stupid ignorance on the topic, done with spirituality. Kinda done with God too. What a way to treat your subordinate/daughter/I didn’t know anymore. Done.
(I started writing this blog post actually.)
This one question hunted me: Was it the spiritual world as I knew it from the Bible or was it indeed something else, with Christians dividing these apparently present powers in ‘good’ and ‘evil’? Were they wrong in their interpretations of this world? I kept believing in a faith that I suddenly doubted, but only because no better alternative was present. That moment, my belief was more of a wishful thinking than a certainty, because the only certainty I felt was the spiritual world that raged.
Many thoughts came and went, but one stayed, which I wrote down in this post’s draft: “Whatever it is, it tears me apart.”
That would have been my punch line, but somewhere in the writing process, I remembered a prophecy I had received in November when I visited the Church with the Francaise. Long story short: When she told me about her highly-spiritual Church, I got suspicious and wanted to check it out myself. Kinda was interested, kinda wanted to make sure it was no scam, or even worse, a cult. After a strange but not biblically incorrect service, I received a prophecy myself. Back then I interpreted it differently, but now, it seemed that exactly what had been spoken, was happening to me at the moment.
No punchline but a cliffhanger: more about it in part 3. Sorry to leave you hanging, but the story is too big… While I’m way too behind with keeping up with the present—I guess another part 3, 4 and 5 by now will folow—recent developments have led me to believe the contents of this prophecy without the cynism of back then. More soon!
‘So what’s it like to still be a believer anno 2018?’
Kinda the same as last year—almost.
Whereas 2018 has been quite the interesting year for me, in which I dealt with anorexia and a life of childhood trauma, it was nothing compared to December, the month that really concluded this year with fireworks. Continue reading “Dating, Spirits, and Dangerous Decisions ~ Believer Anno 2018 (#3)”
One day at work (in a lunchroom), my atheist co-worker was talking about faith while some of us were in the kitchen too. He looked at me amused after he learned that I was a Christian and teasingly asked me a question, ‘So what’s it like to still be a believer anno 2018?’
‘Kinda the same as last year,’ I grinned and walked by with a tray full of coffees to serve.
Talking faith with non-Christians is one thing, but talking faith with atheists is another issue altogether. For some reason, I almost always end up defending why I am not a poor fool who got bamboozled into medieval thinking; I either got lured away by the romance of mythical stories or maybe I got indoctrinated by very evil or very stupid people—or perhaps I was just plain stupid myself. In any case, I am aware of how my views and beliefs wouldn’t make the slightest sense to an atheist. They look at me with pity (‘Poor child, completely brainwashed’) or with empathy (Good for her. Still completely brainwashed but at least she’s happy with it’).
My co-worker and I never got back to it, but the question lingered in my mind. It was actually a good question: What is it like to be a believer in 2018?
Last February (2018), my friend had taken me to a Reyer concert in Veenendaal. The concert was during the middle of the recovery track I was promised in December and while I already experienced the first fruits of it. That night, enjoying my friend and the atmosphere, high on the music and fascinated by God’s love for me, I felt indestructable. Indestructable because there was Someone out there who cared for me, even the world would fall to pieces—even after I had fallen to pieces. It made me feel as carefree as one could be and I remembered how someone had once described me as ‘one of those happy-go-lucky people’. At the time, I didn’t feel like living up to the word at all but still it made me happy, because I loved its meaning: “Blithely unconcerned; carefree; high on life.” When I thought of how the term would be true for me, it instantly mades me realize how little I truly have to worry about in life. Basically only my bills, but I wouldn’t hate the alternative of being a travelling hippie either. When I realise how true it actually is, all I feel is pure joy.
I’d love to share what I’ve been going through that made me feel so blithely unconcerned when thinking about life with all her struggles. It’s hard to share the whole story by these means, though I could summarise it with stating that my life has not been guided by just some luck. I’d rather call myself happy-go-blessed ♡
Dear followers (and lost internet hoppers, please stay),
As has been noticed, I haven’t written anything in a while. The number of questions I got because of that was overwhelming, thank you all! When I’m typing out my thoughts, it often feels like talking in a vacuum, but you have proved the opposite and that’s amazing.
I’m still as enthusiastic about this blog as when I first started. …and I started because I wanted to share a story, which I still haven’t finished telling yet. (My bad, sorry.) The reasons for why I’m currently blogging less have everthing to do with my current schedule. I finally finished EMDR (trauma therapy) a while ago and have started a relapse prevention program for eating disorders at the clinic. The extra time this has given me, I filled up with extra activities. I’m fully enjoying life now and also writing at different media, but despite that, or no, because of that, I’m determined to keep blogging about mental health (with special regards to depression, anorexia, and trauma) and about dealing with it. What I have now, and what I’m almost unaware of because it feels so natural, I wanna share with people who are still struggling. I’ll get back to blogging more when my calender allows for it and I’m most definitely not dropping it.
For readers familiar with my blog already; I’m a Christian student in the Netherlands. By times I refer to my student life, but more often I talk about Jesus. To me, He is the One who got me out of my situation in the first place, but my message is not to force Him onto other people. Instead, I would like to share what I have learned, regardless of how. In other words, I’m convinced that everybody who experience similar stuff can be helped regardless of their beliefs. It’s a about a general mindset and attitude, not per se a Christian one.
Because after all, my goal is to be as truthful as possible, even though that means, in my case, admitting to the fact that I suck as a Christian. Ask people close to me, they can tell you stories… Lucky me that there is such a thing as grace, haha.
To conclude all this, I’ve chosen for an intermezzo in writing to spend time on other things in my life, but I have not forgotten about my blog and readers. (And it’s sweet it’s the other way round as well!)
There are a few drafts waiting to be completed and I can’t wait to get them written, but for now I’m not able to write as much as I would want to. Thank you for supporting me nonetheless, which also counts for the random internet readers not personally forced to follow me, all two of you!
Stay tuned ♥
This blog is actually the footnote of my last blog post, but it got so extremely long that it gets it own page.
“*My very poetic way of dealing with panic attacks, depressions, and anxiety apparently was rather scary for someone without any means of interpretation. For people interested, there will be another post soon and the link will be provided for.” (24-09-18)
The rest of that footnote was deleted out of that post and copy-pasted in this one, so it is definitely a follow-up to that one, but not necessarily relevant. I advise you to skip reading this non-cheerful but dead honest and personal share from last year.
Note that this was before the huge change that happened in my life and thinking. These writings were for nobody to see; my secret carried in a notebook closed to everyone. Because of that, I think it’s prefect to show what depression is like. This was not just me writing words, this was me admitting what I thought of the world and of life. And I think that depression is one of the taboos that should be talked about. These pieces are from September 2017 until December the same year.
Last warning; I will try to sketch how this unhealthy mindset dragged me down, so perhaps not read it if you’re sensitive to styles of writing and do not want to get dragged down with it. Continue reading “Depression #1 ~ How Depression Took Over My Mind”