Sitting in front of a laptop crying at a blank page and blinking cursor because I can't fit this past month into words...but somehow it fits into my tears and makes its way down my face, dripping onto my chest and reminding me to thank God for every second that I have here, painful or joyful.

Made whole.

This post is very overdue. Really, I have been putting off writing it. Holding my breath. Waiting. 

Two months since my last panic attack. Two whole long blessed months of not having convulsions of fear on a floor. 

It's crazy how you can look back and not even know yourself. Two months ago I was enslaved by fear; it controlled me. I had been for several years, I've lost count of how many. I was drowning and couldn't get out of bed some days without tears. I avoided social situations like the plague. The bathroom was my place of refuge where nobody could see the struggle. It became so bad this year that I couldn't eat without panicking, I'd have a panic attack and throw up, and then I'd panic about becoming anorexic. With all of these worries came insomnia, and night terrors. Nightmares and weight dropping off, a constant sensation of suffocation. Frankly, being alive at that point was excruciating. 

And somehow God got me through ministry training this Summer. He told me to go and I obeyed but was terrified and unsure and untrusting. As a third year missionary I had more responsibilities and younger people looking up to me... the secretly panic-ridden woman with a very conservative appearance. 

That's something that this has taught me about the battles of others. You don't exactly look at the girl in the floor length skirt and think, "Hey, I bet she has a massive panic disorder that stops her from functioning sometimes..."

You're usually thinking instead, "What an antisocial snob, does she think she's better than everyone?"

And in reality, the girl in the floor length skirt is overcome by sheer panic; the only thing she can think about is not showing it in front of people. 

It's taught me to be slow to judge others.

Before I left for Indiana this Summer, a sweet little boy named Zebulun gave me an origami panda with a bible verse paperclipped to it. The verse was Joshua 1:9, "Have I not commanded you? Be strong and courageous. Do not be frightened, and do not be dismayed, for the Lord your God is with you wherever you go." Some people have heard that verse so many times it may seem almost cliché to them, like something they were told too many times as a kid. I think they've even made a song out of it that children sing in Sunday School. But that verse became a challenge to me every morning- I taped the slip of paper to my door, at eye level. I brought it with me to ministry training and stuck it next to my dorm bed. It was God saying to me every morning, 

"Don't you have Me? Free yourself of this. You don't need a therapist or prescription drugs to do this. You can do this with Me because I have commanded you clearly: do not be afraid. I have commanded you clearly: be anxious for nothing."

And on the (many) days when living was too much and I was caving under the burden of letting fear control me, that was my stronghold. 

It taught me how ferociously my God loves me. 

Also, I would like to brag on my God- because he used me these past three and a half months whether I was post-panic disorder or right in the middle of battling it. Was I a mule about it? Yes. Did he use me in spite of everything? Yes. In ways I didn't think were possible, even if I had been healthy. 

But is this gone completely? I hope so. 

The very last thing I learned, looking back at the train wreck of the past five years, was that when people tell you to guard your heart- listen. They aren't always talking about infatuations with the latest boy band. "Honey, guard your heart!" The latest boy bands aren't the problem... Your sin problem is the problem. Your heart needs tending and guarding from lust and fear and every sin, or you will wake up drowning in it because you never took the time to guard yourself from it, and cut it out of you upon entrance. Your heart is the perfect place for sin to breed and expand. Keep your heart with all vigilance, for from it flow the springs of life. {Proverbs 4:23} This fear struggle isn't over, and won't be until I am home with my Savior. I need to guard my heart.

This Monday we leave to return to Texas, and it makes my heart joyful to know that I'm returning home mentally healthier than I've been in years. Jesus has helped me to overcome. 

Words can't describe the joy.

Alone is not a problem- my heart is.

"I don’t think I am afraid of being alone.

I am instead afraid of someone loving me and not being able to muster honest, truthful love out of the wretched mess that is my heart.

One can love while in pain, can’t they?

The way you can rejoice through sufferings and bring glory to God?

I hope so."

I wrote that in March. Now it's June... and once again I am proved to be inadequate.
It is so fortunate that being alone doesn't scare me.

The opposite of courage.

I am in front of a mirror, chanting calm over myself;
"Esther, you are in no physical danger. Your physical symptoms are a result of what's happening in your head, and everything is going to be okay. You are perfectly alright."
I smile at my reflection and walk out of the room...

...and then exactly ten minutes later I am on the floor of my bedroom in the fetal position trying to calm the panic out of me.

Over the past few weeks of being in Indiana, people have remarked how thin I look. "Pinched and sick.", my Grandmother says I look, and Becca grabs my waist and gapes, "Have you lost weight? Like, a lot of weight?!"

Yes. Twenty pounds in a week and a half, right off this body. Not from a terminal illness or a sudden famine, because my ailment is different. My ailment is fear, the most subtle disease that can take you over until you feel lost in it. Until you are lost in it. These veins are blackened with fear and no amount of bleeding out could cause it to dissipate.

My priorities have gone from the pursuit of loveliness to simply trying to survive.

I have grown so tired, I tell Lizzy with tears welling up; of hearing about the struggles of others- lust, impatience, pride, anger issues- and having this battle rip through me daily, in private.
When I fall apart and panic attack after panic attack rips through me like a train derailed into a wood. I can't stop them and I panic about panic and think at night, "Good God, no one will ever love me, will they?"
Drowning. A panic attack feels like drowning. There's no other way to describe it. Drowning without water as the fear takes in and smothers the life out of you.

Panic Disorder- my battle. Why fear? Why not impatience or pride or something else? Why something that becomes so debilitating and stops me from doing things thought of as normal?
The checkout at Walmart, that's a big deal. Meeting people is even worse. And waiting rooms. Who thought those up, anyways? A room just for waiting in, while twisting your stomach into awful knots? Really?
Visiting crowded megachurches. Physical contact. All are triggers. Crowds and people, and I can never start a conversation without feeling the first-fruits of panic surge through me. The inability to escape it drives me mad and desperate.

When you are finally done panicking and are no longer seized, there is such a sense of relief. It's over, finally. Or is it? Because panic disorder means that this happens often, that this is your normal. Your normal. And they don't happen when you're in danger, they hit you all the time, anywhere. You think about it constantly and would rather stay in bed every single morning than wake up and face yourself, because fear controls you. So after a panic attack, any sense of, "Praise Jesus, it's finally passed and I can breathe..." is immediately replaced by, "I know this is going to happen again."

You become desperate to escape from it. Wild and irrational. Your head becomes so weary that you count certainties for reassurance. I have a list of my own, three that I am so sure of:

A steadfast, loving, merciful God to call Father.

Salvation by grace through faith in Christ.

The gift of the Holy Spirit of Jehovah.

Father, Son, and Holy Ghost. That is all that I am certain of and I hold onto the triune God like my life depends upon it because it does. If I let go of that truth there's no telling what could happen.

I can see myself five years from now unable to leave my house. However, I can also see myself five years from now- free of this. Which do I choose, let it win or fight the Hell (literally) out of myself? It is the most crucial moment in my story; everyone waits with held breath to see if I will stay down or get up and fight. So what do I choose?

I choose to be done with a passive, victim-like mentality. I have had it up to my neck with this. The Deceiver has had his say and now I am done listening.

Fear is a liar and the Spirit of Truth dwells in me, giving me the ability to fight fear with love perfected. 

"He who vindicates me is near.
Who will contend with me?
Let us stand up together.
Who is my adversary?
Let him come near to me."
{Isaiah 50:8}

I am armed to the teeth- bring it. 

daddy-daughter-date thoughts.

"Don't be afraid of pain. Don't ever be afraid to feel deeply, never let that fear hold you back. Often times people live in fear of being hurt so they don't let themselves feel, and I think you've done that. Don't do that."

I have a kind, loving father.