Need: France

A cloudy day outside Chateau de Maubert in Paris sounds far more appealing than this dull day at work. Espresso, a cigarette, a small French cafe. My memory makes claims of previous happiness and peace, but perhaps my memory fails me. I am uncovering my worst parts. This is my own exposure therapy. It does not seem to be working.

My fear of excessive sleep has worsened lately, as I am sleeping large amounts to avoid responsibility. I experimented with a lack of sleep last night, to test the difference; but despite completing two paintings, cleaning my entire apartment and polishing off a bottle of Cab, I still feel wrong.

I signed up for a pharmacuetical study for bipolar disorder. Last week, during my first session, the doctor informed me that I do no qualify. "You have depression and anxiety," she said. "You are not bipolar." I bounced out of her office, elated that I had an answer and glad to prove wrong every person who has accused me of the disease. Then, for half an hour, I sobbed in my car, wishing I had some kind of medical explanation for the highs and lows. I wanted a diagnosis, and the one she gave me was unsatisfactory.

But something far more severe than excessive drinking and emotional extremes has surfaced, and I do not know where to begin in tackling this monster. It started thirteen days ago and seems to be getting worse:


(05 January 2010)
"I realized that I’ve followed two gods my entire life: The vengeful, angry God and the merciful, ever-loving one. I realized that I don’t know which one He really is and I’m terrified of being wrong. I have heard preachers say, “God will NOT hear your prayers if there is lust in your heart,” and I was told by the International Mission Board that God cannot use me because of mistakes I have made. Then, there’s the modern Christian movement that says God is full of grace and he loves and pursues me and wants to hear from me even if I’m living in sin or fail to communicate with him regularly. I know there’s evidence in the Bible to support both sides, but I’m afraid of being too soft and/or too hard. I don’t know what’s right. I don’t know if God does hear my prayers when I haven’t prayed in six months out of fear of what He must think of me. I would be lying if I said I love God, because I don’t love people. I’m snobby and rude and avoid eye contact in case someone wants to talk to me. I blame a lot on being socially inept, when really I’m just choosing to deny my purpose in this life. Last night, before crying myself to sleep, I begged God to grant me the tiniest measure of understanding...because I have never felt so lost."

Two months ago, my dear friend instructed me to pursue simplicity. He told me to "remember that simple place where you found redemption, where you found rest in your soul, where you trusted you were loved."

My memories of that place are vague. "Simplify," he said. "Simplify everything."