the sounds of high school

I am weeding out my iPod because it is almost full (it's one of the old 8GB Nanos that I've had for years!) and there are so many songs that I skip over without actually listening to because I can't stand them anymore. Some of the music hasn't been listened to in four years, but every once in a while I come across a song that I still like that takes me back to a specific time in my life.

Right now I'm listening to "Broken" by Seether featuring Amy Lee which was one of my favorite songs back in the day. I was in the depths of depression and self-injury when I first heard this song and it managed to bring some hope into my life. I remember a friend making me listen to it and, after that first hearing, I listened to it repeatedly for weeks. For some reason the words reminded me that I wasn't alone in my pain, even though the song does not speak of God. When I listened to this song, I realized that it was okay to be broken and that I was not a freak for feeling as I did for so long. I felt as though life would never get better, even though I hoped every day that something would change to make me feel accepted, loved, and precious.

So what did change?

Honestly, I don't know how I escaped self-injury and recovered from depression. It seems terribly cliche and "Sunday-schoolish" to say simply that it was God, but that is the only answer that resonates inside me. All I really know was that I was told one day that I had to tell my parents about my self-injury or I couldn't return to camp, which was devastating and motivating because camp was the only place where I felt accepted. So I told my parents and, to date, that is the most difficult and terrifying thing that I have ever done. But after that day, July 30, 2006, I stopped hurting myself because I became accountable to the people who brought me into the world.

The day after I told them, my pastor's wife asked me to think about my identity and what, or who, exactly defines it. I remember searching for fulfillment among the boys in my high school (much to my chagrin, now that I reflect upon those years...) and among my peers but always feeling empty, which drove me further into depression and self-hatred. But on July 31, 2006 at approximately 10:38 a.m. (I used to record the time of my journal entries and what music I was listening to while writing), I wrote the following words:

Who am I, as a daughter of Christ? My head understands that I am a precious jewel in Christ's hand, but my heart doesn't seem to catch on. I'm loveable, treasured, and cherished by God. I hurt Him when I mess up but He's always willing to welcome me back into His arms. I am striving for perfection, knowing that I won't attain it in this life, but trying to achieve it anyways. With Christ, I acknowledge my mistakes, repent, and move on. I am searching for what He wants; for where I am to go in this life. I am wanting to run with God but not knowing how. I want to take myself off the throne of my life but don't know how. This is who I am.

The past eight months of my life have been the most difficult yet and I was tempted to contemplate suicide and self-injury more often than I would like to admit. I was more depressed than I was while in high school, yet I would not trade those months of pain for anything. Through the past eight months, God has shown Himself to be so incredibly faithful as He refines me, changing my heart to reflect His desires for my life. There were days this summer when I would be mowing my aunt's lawn and I would literally scream at God because my heart hurt so much that I could barely think or breathe. But, through the days and weeks of screaming and wrestling with all the thoughts that constantly bombarded me, God kept whispering, "Trust me. Trust me. Trust me." Oftentimes, I would cry so hard that I would retch but Jesus always reminded me of His presence and that He was before His Father's throne, presenting my heart and desires to God for me because I couldn't form coherent prayers by myself.

Now, as I sit here in the room at my parents' house that has been mine since I was five, I feel light. This room has always been my safe haven where I could break down without having anyone watch and judge me for being so broken. I find myself thinking about 2010 and everything that happened, and I realize that I have never laughed more than I did in 2010, nor have I felt more sure of where God wants me to go with my life. I had more prayers answered in 2010 than ever before and maybe that comes from the fact that I prayed more in 2010 than ever before. I struggle daily with pursuing Christ to the utmost, but when I look back at my sixteen-year-old self's journals, I realize that I have come so far in the past four years that I am almost unrecognizable. And I am okay with that.

Happy New Year.

Elisa.