About twenty minutes ago, I was a complete emotional wreck.  Picture a girl, just out of the shower, wrapped tightly in a fluffy, hooded white robe from Bath & Body Works, debating whether or not to channel out the chaos through blogging or computer journaling. 

She gets distracted by the realization that her iPod needs recharging.  Alas, she must lumber for another two feet to pick up the white cable sprawled out by the wall.  She picks up the cable, and then sits back down.  She hugs her knees and just suddenly begins to sob.  Me.

After about ten minutes or so of that, I remembered the one thing that I had promised myself I would do: pray.  I prayed this morning to try to begin the day peacefully.  And no, it didn’t work.  I hadn’t prayed seriously in about six years.  I’d lost the emotional connection with God, such that even if I tried to pray, I wouldn’t be able to feel anything anymore.

Twenty minutes ago, something about that changed.  I began modestly, eyes shut, trying to breathe more slowly.  I stopped sobbing.  I reorganized my thoughts, spilling them out to Him in desultory intervals, like a stream-of-consciousness journal in my head.  I clasped my hands together tightly, clamoring in the darkness for that invisible thread that connected me to Him.  I kept talking and talking and talking… until suddenly, I didn’t feel so alone.

I talked.  And talked and talked.  And talked some more, and apologized for my neglect.  And wondered how and why He would love and care for a helpless, pathetic, emotionally screwed up girl like me.  And answered that question myself.

Even when I felt abandoned and worthless, I had an omnipotent support.  Twenty minutes ago, I remembered that I have never been unloved by everyone, contrary to what my teenage mind tells me.  I have lost hope and confidence in myself, but God has given me resilience and—possibly—strength. 

I want to find my inner peace again.