Sometimes Bekah has a thought explosion. This is the result of one of them

Sometimes I wish I had a better way of expressing myself. So often my vocabulary falls short of the vivacity of my thoughts and feelings. I’ve tried to paint it or draw it and I’ve failed miserably. Most of the time, a culmination of all of the senses are needed to conjure up the substance of my thoughts. The hard part, probably, is that most of the time I don’t understand myself.

Time. Time freaks me out. I never have enough time to invest myself as fully as I wish I could in certain friendships, projects, pursuits of knowledge, etc. Yet, when I have time I have no idea what to do with it. Time is such a cruel devise.

Foolish Ramble.

It's over. You

fooled

me into thinking this was something real, instead of a silly game. Well, you're the winner wearing your medal made up of distance, independence, excuses, and easy-way-outs. You stand tall because you have your pride clutched in your fist and perhaps you think that I am

foolish

for being vulnerable. I let myself hurt, rejoice, and be touched, maybe too often and too deeply. But at least I feel. So now, who is the one that is

fooling

around? You or me? Because you work so hard to make it look like you are having fun, but I know you better than that. You may see me as weak, painted in pastel colors and whispering soft sweet songs, but know this: I am nobody's

fool.

I just still believe in good things. I believe in kept promises and Truth and the type of Love that lays aside one's own life for another. For this, I think I am stronger, not weaker.

This isn't a literary masterpiece, it's just what I'm thinking about today.

Today I finished my mental health clinical and I was a little bit sadder about it then I expected to be. Yesterday, Connor told me it would be okay for me to cry if I needed to, and I shook it off like it ain’t no thang. No. Not like that. Because I never say things like that. Point being, today I realized how much I needed Connor’s words because working with the mentally ill this last semester is one of my favorite things that I have ever done. My heart is broken for the mentally ill. It breaks because the stigma surrounding “mental illness” and the way people have treated fellow human beings like animals just because they were labeled “crazy” in the past. I can’t imagine how terrifying and vulnerable it is to not be able to trust what is going on in your own head. Yet, if I’ve learned anything this semester it’s that those that have mental illness don’t have a voice for themselves; I’m learning more and more that being a nurse is being the voice for those that can’t speak for themselves. This is why I am so passionate about mental illness, about speaking out against abortion, and about bringing healthcare to women in Afghanistan who have been deprived of decent care for years.

We live in a world full of hurt, brokenness, and lies and I kind of wonder how we don’t all suffer from mental health problems. Hopefully, this is one tiny way that I can bring the Kingdom full of hope and restoration and good things.

“Listen.

Can you hear it?

Does it speak?

Will I feel it?

Will it hurt?

Am I near it?

...

I don’t know.”