What we're meant to be

Another journal entry about my time in Russia, although I notice that this one is dated on the same day as the one labeled before it. I don't know if that is accurate or not. So I will put it on the 23rd. here is the unedited entry:  *** "I almost passed out. I'd never been so exhausted in my entire life. I committed to making portraits for all the kids, so I was not getting any sleep at night on top of long days of activity. Extreme stress and anxiety coupled with sleepless nights and overwhelming emotional struggles led to my almost collapsing from sheer exhaustion. The task I undertook - drawing all 14 portraits in 6 days that were already full, not to mention drawing them in colored pencil which I've never done before - was almost too much and impossible. Tanya said I should not have undertaken such an impossible task. I stressed some more. But after I nearly passed out, Tanya saw what was going on. She had me driven home to sleep and rest. That's when...

I flipped through my journal and saw what I wrote while I was in Russia. I forgot that this stuff happened . . . I forgot the emotions I felt . . . it felt strange to relive them and remember so much that happened. here is the original entry, with no edits:  *** "I woke up laughing. Joy. Purpose. Excitement for doing God's work. It didn't matter I still have bad jet lag and only slept 5 hours at the most last night. I was bursting. This time not with tears, but joy. Last night, I could no longer hold back all the negative emotions contained in my soul. All afternoon, I felt a loneliness, and a longing to connect. I wanted to discuss my thoughts and feelings with someone. But there was no one. I felt like an outcast. And alone, but not alone. Surrounded, suffocation. Insecurities about my image and body, my personality, surfaced and completely invaded my mind. Instead of there being a focus on God and the ministry I was supposed to be working for Him, my thoughts w...

I get off the phone and put my hand over my mouth and sob. I had barely made it to the end of the call before letting loose. Pretending to be fine. But I'm not fine. I stare at myself convulsing in the mirror, bloodshot eyes that spill out tears. "Look at you," I think. "So ugly and worthless." I had done it again. Eaten when I should not have.  Too much. I feel miserable. Just as miserable as I had before I binged. If anything, worse. Guilt and shame course through my body, and I feel it in waves like heat. I had felt so worthless and rejected and unloved before the phone call. But the phone call . . . it made me feel bewildered and tormented. Because now I am confused. Why were my friends caring about me? Is it fake? Is it real? It can't be real. My friends don't really care about me and what I'm doing. They don't care if I'm there or not. I add no significance to their lives or to anything. Sure, my two closest friends care. I can forc...