What it is like to leave the worldrace…
…prematurely.
I had sat down and wrote this blog… mum… maybe a year ago? I would sit down, type, hit the backspace button. Few days later, sit down, type, hit the backspace button. This cycle repeated itself for weeks… unknowing to me, weeks of self-torture and self-destruct, in frustration, deleted it and gave up on trying to share….
Why?
…well. Because I knew that I had a goal in mind: to finally communicate to others, my squadmates, my supporters, my coaches… what the doctors had finally named my “disease”. And, it seemed simple enough-just type out the diagnostics of what the doctors said.
But-the condition of my heart said and demanded otherwise. It was starved for attention and craved pity and empathy. And, I think my spirit knew the underlining reasoning behind it all… which is why the backspace button kept getting hit…{punched.}
I would write out this beautifully crafted stories of what was going on in my body-just so I could (unintentionally) rack up the pity points and soften the blow as to why I left the WR early. My flesh was desperate to recover from such a humiliating trama, like I was incapable of finishing something I started. I was constantly haunted by the “what ifs” and “should have been” and… “all that money raised-for nothing”….
All day, every day. I could not even actively follow my own team mates because I felt too ashamed and overwhelmed by the feeling that I should not even be here in the States… but instead, with them.. taking cold showers and skyping with family every once in a while.
I’ll tell you what the doctors found out about my physically… but, honestly, what does it even matter now?
What really made me sick, was this BITTERNESS eating me alive. I became a monster… literally. I was excruciatingly hateful to all my family and the select friends that I didn’t immediately push away. It was like, I just became this other person. I never once talked about the Worldrace once I was Stateside. I just could not bare it. To this day, my home church still not has heard one story of my journey through those 4 months overseas.
I could not share the joy and life of those 4 months because I was so devastated about the loss of the other 7.
For the first few weeks, I had the belief that my race was not over. It was just on hold until the doctors could rid my body of that sickness, hit me up with some meds and send me back on the first plane.
I did not want relationships.
I did not want to share… or communicate…or smile…or be an active member of society or family.
Why would I if I was about to jet out again in a few weeks?
Well, a few weeks came and went. Still no “answer” or “name” to my dysfunction. And before I knew it, my window of opportunity to live out of a backpack…
closed.
And, well, at that point… anyone that had been close to me… I pushed away-foolishly thinking I was “protecting” them. My fiancé, geeze. I still do not know how or why he chose to stay with me. I was evil. I was completely miserable that I, Amy Colley, who had planned and prepared for this trip for a full quarter of my life… was missing out on Africa…missing out on the WORLDRACE!!! …..I was pissed.
And anybody and everybody around me… I made sure they knew it.
There is no way that I would have ever saw this behavior for myself… I could not recognize the monster.
I did not even see the slip… the slip where I eventually quit following my teammates blogs… the slip where, I quit looking at their facebook pictures… the slip where I simply ceased to care.
(because of the truth and validity I did find in the Worldrace, and how God is working in my heart now-I humbly say that I know there is freedom in transparency and vulnerability….so…here it goes)
My relationship with Christ completely came to a halt. I no longer prayed. I quit reading my Bible. Screw even reading or posting blogs. I was definitely checked out. I was fighting against the current of being “comfortable” …. “stable” …. “clothes in a closet and not in a backpack” …. “safe”
Sounds foolish, right? It was and I didn’t even know how much of an immature, whining, selfish baby I was. I was trying to refuse God’s blessings (a clean, arm bed; purified water, all the time; hot showers; clean, sanitized foods.) and was jealous of sleeping on the ground with a punctured, quarter of an inch thick air mattress. God brought me here to gain health and life and I was pouting and choosing to sit in the pouring rain. The more that I self-destructed, the more I grew in hatred and bitterness.
And, quite literally- the anger that I had really did effect my physical health.
You have to choose and want to fight for healthiness…your attitude is just as potent as your medication… and, I had given up…quit…careless. In 5 months time, I had put on 82 pounds… not exactly healthy for mental stabilization and self esteem…
Church and Christian resources irritated me. I could not even worship in my own quite and safe place because I only felt the humility and shame. Family that genuinely tried to reach out to me only made me aware of my failures and this total F’ up I was.
I was the most angry… depressed…abandoned… hateful person I had ever been…
…and one day, I told my fiancé I was ready to quit.
…and by quit, I meant suicide.
but.
God came after me.
Even though (spiritually)… I had threw every ceramic teacup and dish at him in rage. And, I was a mess. Everything was a mess.
He knew that.
He also knew that I would throw the biggest B.Fit Tantrum if he pursued me in anyway other than what He did…
God did not come to me with this overwhelming “grace and forgiveness” line… because he knew that it would drive the labels of worthlessness deeper and deeper into my core of shame. He did not come to me with the “I told you so” part… because my insecurities would gobble that up. He did not come to me with accusations of being a completely immature believer. He did not come to me as the Creator of the Universe…knowing that it would only make me feel so small and disconnected. He did not even come to me as Savior and King…because He knew I would reject His gift.
When I tell you I lost it… I mean I completely LOST it.
I was not myself so I could not handle any sort of God that I had ever experienced.
I did not want God.
I wanted death.
I had given up on life…
So, God came to me…
and just sat there beside me.
I knew He was there… and I secretly waited for Him to say something…
But, He never did…never said a word.
He just came and sat down beside me… in all my mess and destruction.
And, we just sat. Not actively participating. Not doing anything.
Just sitting in a dark, isolated room.
…but… we were sitting… together.
Months had passed and there we were…just sitting silently…we had not moved from that spot…and every now and then, a tear would roll down my cheek.
7 months had passed of me being totally checked out…
until finally I looked over at Him one day…
and said, “Hi.”
