My semester had begun abruptly in the fall, and I entered
campus by sheer force of will and stubborn determination. I swallowed my pride
as I stepped out of my car that late August day and walked to my first class,
keenly aware of the bald spots on my head and my horribly swollen prednisone
(moon) face. I hadn’t taken much time to get ready that day, as I already knew
there wasn’t any amount of prepping that could bring my hair back or my bring
face down. And so I swallowed my pride and took myself out of hiding. Those
first few months were particularly grueling on my deconditioned body. I had
trouble finding the energy and stamina to walk across campus. My legs felt
rubbery to walk on which came as a surprise, feeling as if I was in someone
else’s body. This ‘new’ body. This body that I had been left with. This was not
my body. I had not ten months earlier been going for ten mile runs. Not to mention playing competitive volleyball
and weight training several nights per week. Now walking any distance had
become an unbearable challenge. While I was glad to be able to walk again I
hadn’t predicted it would be so hard. I began to eyeball benches across campus on
that first day to rest on ‘just in case’. My muscles ached as I walked, and the
end of the day was particularly challenging. I don’t think I ever did sit on
one of those benches. I just couldn’t bring myself to let my body win another
dreadful battle.
I remember feeling my face get warm as I passed a good
looking guy on that first day. It didn’t take more than a few moments to
realize that I was invisible. I kept walking, trying to distract my racing
thoughts. All over campus couples were holding hands, guys flirting with girls
and girls laughing with each other. I had never felt more alone. Or more
different. Their happiness felt like an assault on my senses, as I didn’t want
to think about how the rest of the world was moving on. I couldn’t think about
others my age being happy. So instead, I threw myself into my studies and told
myself it wouldn’t always be this hard.
It just couldn’t be.
My evenings were spent at home in the raggedly old raised
ranch hid away in my room with my back leaned up against the cool faded pink
wall where I was left with a pile of books and too many thoughts. Night after
night I studied, pouring myself in my books. It was the one place where my mind
was quiet, the one place where I could escape myself, even for a while. Sure,
there wasn’t much joy found in studying microbiology, but there wasn’t any pain
either.
And that felt safe to me.
Once the others had gone to bed I would often come and sit
in the living room in the dark on the old floral sofa. I would sit and look out
the large picture window. Some nights I would see a big bright moon staring
back at me. Others only darkness. There was something very raw about seeing the
dark night sky that I could relate to. It somehow calmed me while also bringing
my pain to the surface. Tears soaked my cheeks many nights as I gazed out that
window. I despised myself for my tears. I wished I could hold it together. I
wished I could be stronger. What happened to the God I knew? Where was He now?
If He really did love me like He said He did, why did He allow all of this? It
pained me to feel so abandoned by a God I thought I knew, a God I had
previously given my life to. Many times I prayed for help. Many times I prayed
to hear from Him.
There was only silence.
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