When I go back to the confession this Saturday, I know what I am going to confess. Maybe I can do my rehearsal here.
The other day when I had the hardest day at work since I started my new job, I ran to the bathroom not being able to suppress my tears any longer. I locked myself in the bathroom and washed my face with cold water. My flooding tears were still recognizable even after wetting my face. My eyes were bloodshot red, and my face was distorted in pain. And I said these words in between sobs. “Tell me you know what you are doing, God. You must tell me you know what you are doing!” Blasphemy against God. So you see, I must go to the confession and ask for forgiveness.
I have no place of my own. I am staying with my sister. I am a great helper and she tells me that she would be so depressed if she didn’t have me with her now, but honestly, we both know that I need her more than she needs me.
I have no money. I work 20 hours a week at my part-time job and I barely make through the week in one piece. The other day, I had to ask my manager if I can cut down my hours from 23 to 20hr/wk. I know it’s only a difference of one extra hour a day, but for me, it makes a world of difference.
My books failed. I wrote 3 books and they all failed to find a publisher. I tell myself that those Korean publishers don’t understand my work, but I know more than anyone in the world, that those three books were products of my hypomanic/depressive stages. The only thing I did really well in those works of mine, is that I succeeded in depicting the incoherent, hallucinating, and dramatic mind of hypomanic stages and the down-spiral descend of depressive episode. I wrote out my laborious hiking through the ups and downs of bipolar mountains. And trust me, that was far from my original intension. I wanted to talk about life being lived to the fullest, in complete love for the divine. I wanted to talk about what it means to be fully human. But what I actually talked about was… what it means to be fully bipolar.
But soon, those books I wrote during those times would prove to be helpful. They would be my companions, my guiding lights to get me through my future depressive/manic stages that came afterwards. I remember telling mom one morning after greatly being helped by my own book-titled Highly Sad, Sadly High-. “Mom, I guess I wrote these books to help me through my future episodes.” Then mom told me, I guess they served their purpose then. They more than served their purpose. I think that’s why I am not so lagged behind by the failure of all my books. If they were published, I would be looking for ways to disappear from the face of the earth by now.
I think that was a grace of God that my books weren’t published. I think God knew what He was doing. He proved himself right so many times. So how come I am still doubting his ability to pull my situation through? I know He will bring me home. I know that in my head, but my heart still doubts.
To finish today’s blog on a good note… I know this. I know that my mind is stronger than my heart. And it’s the first time that this phenomenon occurred. Yes, God knows what He’s doing for sure. But I need to go to confession nonetheless.