Mismatched Socks and Chipped Nail Polish

The bravest thing any human could ever do is be real and show them the side of them that isn’t wholesome and functional. And everyone nowadays wants to read or hear about overcoming barriers and what it’s like to get over the hurt. Everyone is so intrigued by the girl who got over the guy or how after months and months of effort and hard work, they finally received what they were hoping for. But nobody wants to read or hear about the ache and the sorrow and the emptiness. Nobody wants to be real and consume the heartache we really go through. We don’t want to admit that we have demons inside of our minds or tsunamis in our stomachs because let’s face it, that’s just not pretty. It’s not front page material.

We’re all looking for that happy ending; for the sentence we’ve been dragging out for so long to be followed by an exclamation point. We’re looking for the feeling of hope inside of us that ignites a spark and keeps us going. This is why we read things that give us this feeling.

But, I want to sit here and be honest. I want to be raw and cold and vulnerable. I want to be blunt and straightforward and tell you about my question marks instead of my exclamation points. I want to tell you about my chaos and darkness.

I want you to know, if you’ve got messy hands and a torn up heart, you are not the only one.

It’s easier for me to move my hands across the keyboard and let all my feelings go. It’s easier for me to pick up a pen and let the ink flow along with my thoughts. But sitting in front of you and telling you how I feel? Terrifying. So for now, I am going to hide behind my words. I am going to let whoever reading this know parts of me that most people would prefer not to share.

I want you to know about the waves of sadness that consume me and the little monsters that interrogate me when I’m all alone.

So this is the ugly parts of me that don’t even make the cut to be put in the magazine – the thoughts that drive me into gloom. I feel like I have this booming voice that could move mountains but nobody hears me. And I have this civil war going on inside of me but nobody sees it so nobody would ever know about it unless I told them. I feel like there’s a dangling string in front of me that takes the name of Hope and every time I go to reach for it, it gets snatched away from me. Or it lets me hold on to it for a little while and then, oops, it’s gone. Like some kind of childish game that antagonizes me.

I feel like a lost and found box – bear with me, I’m still trying to figure this one out as well. It feels like I was misplaced but then someone picked me up and placed me in this little square and now i’m sitting here waiting when I’m going to find myself again – wondering when my soul is going to come back to me.

And if we’re being painfully honest here, the future is not certain – this I know, but the thought of it all is a horror story in itself. Responsibility and adulthood and college and loans and picking what I want to do for the rest of my life at the age of eighteen and making payments and finding someone who will actually want to be with me forever and – I know, I know, I bet I gave you a headache just by reading that sentence. But trust me, every teenager or young adult thinks the same thing.

Truthfully, I am starting to think that God is trying to tell me something. That in the core of all this distress and isolation, in the midst of all my construction and war zone, if I slow down and listen closely, I can hear His whisper. I am still trying to finish the fight in my battle so I can hear Him. I am still trying to find the calm in my storm and hold on tight to it.

I’m this great big mess – with mismatched socks, strands of hair flying everywhere, and tired eyes. Chipped nails and all. I don’t have it all together and I’m not going to pretend I do. I never will. God created me this exact way – to feel every emotion so deeply, to be a walking poem, to have a question mark at the end of it all, and to be this sliding glass door of a person. And I will never not be thankful for it.

Know that whatever way you may be feeling, whatever season you may be in right now, you are not alone. This battle is not yours alone to fight.

And as for me, I don’t know where I’m going but I’m on my way.

2 thoughts on “Mismatched Socks and Chipped Nail Polish

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