Emily and I sat on the hill overlooking the city, bundled up to fight off the December cold. "When God sends the trials," she told me, "He sends them all at once." A quiet chuckle dripped from my lips; "Yeah. That's for sure." These trials reveal things about us that may have been hidden. Does God send these trials so that He can just point out our faults with a flashlight? No, He sends these trials so that He can reveal to us our faults so that we can make changes in our lives. Trials are a bittersweet reality.

Thursday night I just sat on my bed and opened my Bible. "God, please just give me something that I need to hear." I opened to a passage in 2 Corinthians 4: "We are hard-pressed on every side by troubles, but we are not crushed. We are perplexed, but we trust that God knows what He is doing. Our very lives are in danger, but we are never abandoned by God. We get knocked down, but we get right back to our feet again." Encouraging, eh?

Last night I had multiple conversations with many different people from school. Many are going through the same exact thing I am. My dad went through a hard breakup when he was a sophomore in college, and he can identify with my suffering. Everything worked out for him (obviously). I am doing my best to not lose hope. I am doing my best to keep hope alive. Even when it seems like all hope is lost, I am putting my trust in God. "I have no idea what's going on or why this is happening to me, but I'm going to dare to believe that you know what you're doing!"

Here are the beautiful words of Liz Curtis Higgs on what it means to "fear God":

There are two kinds of fear. The sort that stops us in our tracks, turns our hands to ice, makes our hearts thump in our chests. Frightening, numbing fear. And the sort that bows our heads, drops us to our knees, and reminds us who is in charge and who is not. Reverent, awestruck fear.

I find those words interesting. Christmas Break begins next week. I have three finals and a paper to write on Elijah, plus a 3:30-6:00 closing shift at the coffee shop on Thursday. All is well, though. This semester has been a very difficult one. I wish I could go back to the beginning and avoid some things altogether. Heck, I wish I could go back to the beginning of summer and begin preparing for this semester! It started off grand and beautiful, but things went to hell as much as they could. I believe that God will restore me if I stay faithful, and I believe He will do it in a way that is bigger and better than I could possibly expect.

Do you know what I’m afraid of? I’m so afraid. I never thought I would say this to you: I am afraid of being alone. This fear haunts me, eats me, consumes me, day in and day out, judging and liquidating my every move. I fear, so badly, never having anyone. I fear growing old, cold, alone, never tasting love, and dying alone and forgotten in those whitewashed tombs: nursing homes. I am so afraid I will never taste the kiss of a loving girl, the warmth of her body close, be the focus of sparkling eyes and tender touch and shy smiles. I fear never being loved, only watching others parade in fashion while I lie hungering and thirsting and crying in my own silence. I can’t rationalize my fear away; you can’t rationalize the fear of snakes or spiders, and my life’s history gives no alternative meaning: ‘No one wants you, and all who might are taken from you.’ I am left alone, unwanted, watching my friends and their girls, watching the one thing I so intensely desire fall into the hands of others. For so long I’ve lain alone at home in bed as my friends went out with all those who shared affection.

I don’t want sex or making out. I want someone to talk with, someone to hold close, a girl who doesn’t shiver at my sight, but draws close, finding comfort in my arms. When she cries, I want to hold her. When I cry, I want her to hold me. I am a romantic shunned, looking around and seeing sex-mongers cheating the romance out of girls, leaving them hollow, slutty shells – the rape of all good and true. I want a girl so badly, a genuine and authentic, loving and cherished, a beautiful and captivating girl to find refuge in my arms, to cry no more. I want to go to candlelit dinners, to hold her by a fire, to feed off her warmth under the stars, to whisper in her ear, ‘It will be okay.’ I want to love and be loved. I want to tell her, "You're so beautiful and I love you with everything I am," and have her be comforted and encouraged.

Did you ever see the movie Donnie Darko? Donnie falls in love with Gretchen, and she is killed – run over by a car. It is very tragic. This haunts me, sears me, paralyzes me. It comes up in my dreams and nightmares. I am Donnie – weird, socially blundering, wanting the girl. Gretchen is the one I seek; I am the one who’s filled her dreams of weddings and engagements and honeymoons. Then she is taken, brutally and savagely, innocent and angelic, battered and bloodied. This I fear, too: discovering the One – and she is taken from me. I fear she will be taken from me.

Isn't it wonderful when people who call you a "close friend" do something that repeatedly hurts you, and when you go to the person telling him/her how much he/she is hurting you, all you get is a, "Sorry. I wish it didn't hurt you." And they knew it would hurt you before they started, but it didn't matter to them.

The friendship doesn't matter. My "friend" doesn't really give a crap about me. All he cares about is himself. He may say otherwise, but his actions show this brilliantly.

So what does someone in my situation do? Turn my head? Act like he's not hurting me? Well, it DOES hurt me. It hurts like hell. But, apparently, some people just do not care. Some people are so low that they'll hurt good friends just to get what they want.

Despite the intense cold, it really is beautiful. I went to C.V.S. yesterday with Emily, and I bought a pair of cheap gloves and a hat to wear over my head. Lizzie cut my hair yesterday, so it’s short again. I get it cut just about every nine months, then let it grow back and cut it again. Everyone seems to think it looks good. I have been sleeping a lot this week: a two hour nap yesterday, a three hour nap today. My medicine makes me more sleepy than usual. It’s difficult to get up in the mornings. I’ve been slaving at projects, too. I finished one project Sunday night, I have one to do this evening around 8:30, and on Wednesday I have yet another 10-page paper to write. Over the weekend I have a paper on Elijah to pull together. It should be relatively easy and exciting.

The Festival of Lights is this Friday. Last year I went with Ashley Ryan. Exactly a year ago—literally, “to the date”—she broke my heart. I couldn’t imagine how God could be working in that situation. I thought all hope was lost. Now I realize He knew what He was doing, and I realize that it is good that I am not with her. I am doing much better in dealing with the whole Julie ordeal, but a small part of me wishes I were going to the Festival of Lights with her (we talked about going when we were together). However, I will most likely be lounging around at home doing not much of anything. I’m fine with that, though. Really. I am doing much better, and I want people to know that.

Those things that bothered me so much three weeks ago have become mere memories. It is scary to think that I was so bothered by them. I know now that my condition exacerbated them to great trials. Now I forget about them until someone says something, and even then it doesn’t really faze me. It is amazing how much the medicine has been helping. I literally feel like a “new man” and clarity is beginning to come into my life, clarity regarding lots of issues I’ve been struggling with.

I am already beginning to feel much better.

I taste joy when I wake. I can laugh and feel free. Those things that bothered me so much a month ago are mere foggy memories. I find myself becoming more and more content with life, more and more happy. A spring is in my step, a smile on my face, a light in my eyes.

The darkness is pulling black and the brilliant light of morning is piercing into my life.

"A foggy day in London Town had be low and had me down. I viewed the morning with alarm. The British museum had lost its charm. How long, I wondered, could this thing last? But the age of miracles hadn't passed, for, suddenly, I saw you there, and through foggy London Town the sun was shining everywhere." (A Foggy Day in London Town)

Can you help me remember how to smile?

Make it somehow all seem worthwhile?

How on earth did I get so jaded?

Life's mystery seems so faded.

When my relationship with Julie began , I felt like I was at the beginning of something beautiful. And for two weeks I had the most enjoyable time of my life. Yet two months later, I realize that it was the beginning of a lot of emotional pain. This is not Julie’s fault, it is mine. I can’t stress that enough. She did what she had to do, and that is honorable. I am thankful she did not drag it out. I realize that the blame lies with me in two ways. First, because I did not handle the breakup appropriately. I let my feelings—not my logic—control how I dealt with the breakup. Second, dealing with the breakup was compounded by my bipolar disorder. The breakup was a small part of the emotional pain, but the bipolar disorder exacerbated it to extreme levels.

I am on two different types of medicine right now. Lexapronin, an anti-depresent, and depakote, a medicine that helps curb my cycles and helps “level me out.” I can already feel a difference. My aunt, who also suffers from clinical depression, told me that when she got on medicine, “It felt like a cloud was lifted off of me and I could see clearly.” Right now, for me, the fog is beginning to clear. Not everything is pie-in-the-sky, happy-dory, but I am beginning to experience energy, motivation, joy, and laughter again. The feelings of hopelessness and despair are becoming less-and-less. It is as if my eyes have been opened. The whole breakup with Julie really doesn’t bother me too much anymore, though I do have my moments. I’m beginning to function like a person should function.

I feel like I am at the beginning of a different chapter of my life, one significantly different and significantly better than the last. I told Emily, “It’s crazy how much has changed in the last two months, and two months from now we’ll be saying the same thing.” Emily is going through the same kind of things I am going through, so she has been a huge help for me in dealing with this.

Through the suffering, I have learned a lot. I have seen where changes are needed in my life. I have learned a lot about God’s grace, mercy, forgiveness, and goodness. I have been challenged and tested, and I have stood my ground and passed the test. “Was it easy?” Not at all. We all come face-to-face with suffering countless times in our lives, and I hope my own run-ins with suffering will one day enable me to help someone who is experiencing what I am experiencing now.

A few months ago, I told my dad, “We live lives of suffering with moments of happiness.” He said, “I’m not sure about that. I think we live lives of happiness with moments of suffering.” I am beginning to see that he was right. It’s been hard the last few months, but things are beginning to take shape, become clearer, and I am being transformed more-and-more into the person whom God wants to be. He is training me for the life He wants me to live.