I slip out of the bathroom, unnerved by the change in my eye color. Hues of blue, green, and grey, each with a different meaning. All week they have been shifting at astounding rates, which marks how my moods have risen and plummeted. Right now, they are a deep sea green, meaning angry, sad and tense. I don’t want to be here. Why would I want to be surrounded by these spiritual students with their praying and singing? Why are they even doing that? There is nothing wrong with being quiet.
Of course, I don’t say that because I seem to be the only person not jumping, screaming, crying, and punching the air. I am the odd one out here. I am the one who doesn’t understand what is happening. I am the one who sits in the back on the wooden gym bleachers, invisible, with a camera in my lap because Brianna, a youth leader, knows I won’t participate unless there is something beneficial to do. I am furious with Brianna for it. For convincing my parents to force me into this thing that church goers call Weeklong.
This gym-auditorium hybrid is packed with strangely enthusiastic Christians. None of the grey folding chairs are unclaimed despite how everyone was up in front of the stage, declaring the various dreams that God supposedly gave them. Whatever! Even in the dark, the pastor is illuminated by a spot light. I begin wondering if he enjoys the attention of brainwashed teens, until he hops off stage and encourages students to pray and declare bla bla bla for something about their divine dream. The sheer amount of noise blaring from the speakers makes me want to lie down to sooth my throbbing headache. What is the point of all this crap? Can I please just leave? Maybe they won’t notice me sneak out. Wait, I don’t have the cabin key! Perhaps I can go back and hide in the bathroom?
With that question I snap back in time, remembering the last time I purposely cut myself. A desperate longing fills my being, replaying the memory like a movie inside my head. Stumbling in the dark to the bathroom, I pinched my finger on the light switch and snatched my pink, scrapbooking scissors off the closet shelf. Crying, I dropped to the floor with my back against the frigid wall. I yanked off my sock and pressed the icy metal to the soft flesh of my ankle, jerking my hand back. As I remember this, I start to cry, disgusted by the image of blood seeping out between white folds of skin. Instead of allowing the images to continue, I stare at the tiny white lines on my arms: the healed product of self-destruction.
Glancing around to see if anyone noticed the tears, I realize that these people are happy in their sobbing. Why? What force of nature can allow people to have that much joy? Do they really know a God? It’s probably just a reaction to sappy lyrics. And yet, if it were the music, I’d be happy too.
Why can’t I feel that?
I let loose a torrent of guilt and hard questions. My lungs feel constricted and weak from bawling. Kristin appears, wrapping her arms around me. For once I allow myself to cry on someone’s shoulder. She begins rapidly explaining, “This is God. You’re not alone. You’ve never been alone. He wants you to come to Him and to not be afraid. All that pain you’ve been hiding away is yours to give Him. He doesn’t want you to carry it.” I nod, soaking her shirt with more tears.
I knew there was a God but I had hated him for not being there. Now, I know that I was the one pushing away, closing myself off not just to people but to a God who knows me inside and out. Compelled by that thought, I want to show that I’m tired of running away from Him. So, I shakily stand, stride humbly to the stage, and fall to my knees. For the first time ever in my short life, I pray not for someone else in dire need, but I pray for myself. “Through every tear and drop of blood that hit my bathroom floor, You have been right here waiting. I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry. Please don’t let me go, don’t let me walk away again.”
It has been a year and a month since that night. It has been two and a half years since the last time I cut. My eyes no longer become a deep-sea green because I am no longer drowning in a sea of self-hate and pity. God changed my life by simply showing me that there is more to life than pain and depression. The broken, lifeless girl I once was has now become something strong and beautiful. I know now that I am not alone.