My boyfriend and I had broken up. My landlord had sold my house. I was house-sitting for a work-friend. It was summer and I’m a teacher so there was no work to occupy my mind. At that time, I didn’t have a faith community to lift me up. I was alone, in an unfamiliar place, with no one to talk to and nothing to do; torture for a person with an anxiety disorder. My panic got out of control for another one of those week-long stints.
I called out to God and heard no answer back.
One Sunday, I decided to go to the tiny church that was within walking distance on the backcountry road I called home for that month. I describe myself as a carcass that day. I felt utterly lonely, exhausted, empty and pathetic. I knew I was at my lowest point. How could I feel like this when I am a child of God. I’m a failure. Maybe I’ve done something wrong to deserve it. Where am I going to live? Will I be alone for the rest of my life?
