He knows I wouldn't wake the Sleep Zombie without good reason, so he manfully mumbles, "Mmmmmmhmmmmm," and makes a valiant attempt to open one eye.
The one eye drops closed. "You can talk," he slurs, "I'm not awake yet."
I forge ahead with my all-important question. "What's wrong with me?"
His faces relaxes. He gives a sleepy, unfiltered response. "It's time to change your meds. Zoloft isn't cutting it anymore." He rolls onto his side, faces away from me, snores. Done and dusted.
Oh. So that's... pretty straightforward. Not a cosmic flaw. Not a journey down The Wrong Path. Just a tweak here and there, and regardless, I'm accepted.
My face relaxes. I doze.
We both wake 45 minutes later when his phone chirps, "Gooooooood mooooooorning!!! Good morning! Good morning! Good, good, good, good morning, good morning, good morning!!!!"
He grabs his phone, stabs savagely at the screen. He rolls over, sees me, realizes he fell back to sleep, looks sheepish.
"It's okay," I reply to his unspoken apology, "You said the right thing."
"Yeah. There's nothing wrong with me. I'm accepted. Just need to tweak the meds a little."
"Right. You commit to stuff, and the closer you get to it, the less you want to do it, until you don't go. That's anxiety."
Too true. And it's been happening all year. I've backed out of everything. Accompanying at school, abdominal physical therapy, counseling, worship team, summer outreach, going to the gym, private yoga lessons, Bible study, small group, weekend getaways, summer camp, everything.
I. just. want. to. stay. home.
"Yeah," I reply, "I just want to stay home."
"But it's okay. This is just what's going on right now. It's not who I am."
He nods again. We've talked about who I am. I'm God's daughter. Covered with grace.
And right now, this daughter is just going to take it
The best part is that I'm not announcing this to you. I'm announcing it to me. I'm the one who needed to define where I'm at.
I'm at home.