Drowning

I feel like I'm drowning.

I know I'm a drama queen, but I don't see any point in lying about how I feel on Nine to Phive. Especially when hardly anyone reads this blog since I've gotten so lax about updating it. No one will be fooled, if you know what I mean.

A Muse performance at ELEV8 conference this year. I thought it was sufficiently depressing.

Maybe it's because I now have an IC flareup for two weeks out of the month. Every month.

Maybe it's because I'm scared to death that I won't be able to keep a full-time job, let alone a job in the highly impractical field that I love.

Maybe it's because I've had to take a 19-credit load this semester just to graduate on time (barely). Oh, and those extra credits? They cost me $800 of over-enrollment fees.

Maybe it's because two of Muse's biggest performances of the semester are over and I don't feel relieved. No less busy. No less stressed. No less out of breath.

Maybe it's because, after two and a half years of marriage, I feel like I should have worked out so many of the selfish struggles that my newlywed friends seem to have no problem with after just a few months.

Maybe it's because I feel guilty turning to my family for support when they're struggling just as much as me right now.

Maybe it's because I love God, love my church, and love my brothers and sisters in Christ, but can't find the time or energy to invest in my personal spiritual life.

Maybe it's because I want more than anything to write freely--stories, poetry, journals, grocery lists, bucket lists, this blog--and I can't even find time to do my required writing for class.

Maybe this is my life now.

Struggling.
Fighting.
Keeping my head above water. 

 Drowning.

I thought graduating this spring would feel like a weight being lifted, but as I approach commencement with all of this and more baggage (some of which won't disappear the moment I walk across that stage), I feel as though it's just a doorway into different and heavier weights pressing down on me.

Pressing down on my lungs . . .  
On my heart . . . 
On my spirit . . .  
I'm broken . . .

Drowning . . .

Oh, and a drama queen. There's that, too.

Final Scene from "The Chains"

This is the stage interpretation of "Let My People Go,"a spoken word poem that concluded Muse Creative Arts Ministry's production of "The Chains" a couple of weeks ago.

The combination of this piece and the monologue right before was incredibly powerful. The man on his knees as the piece starts is portraying Spartacus, the former gladiator turned slave revolt leader who delivers his speech to us from the cold shores of the river Styx--from death.

Originally, we were planning on ending on a somewhat positive note, saying "even if you fail to break free from the chains that bind you, all that matters is that you try." My co-director (also the actor playing Spartacus) suggested a better idea:

"If you try alone, you will fail. And failure sucks."

That's a direct quote.