Fighting demons

I'm tired.

Fighting demons is exhausting, especially the ones that continue to haunt me long after I thought I had beaten them.  

It's a fight, nearly every day to keep trying.  To not let them win.  But the temptation is strong to give up and give in to unhealthy habits, and have immediate freedom from the struggle.  Whatever it is in the moment.

"Just have it, you'll feel better."

Escape.  Numb.  Give up.

"The fight is too hard, it's too hard to resist cravings and I don't have the energy."

"It won't matter anyway.  This one thing won't change anything.  Not really.  Not today.  I mean, look at me?"

"I can begin again tomorrow.  Or next week".  

Or never.

These are all things I tell myself, except they are all lies and I know it.  Even as I'm saying them, I know. 

Numbness wears off and escape finds its way back to reality.  

A reality that never seems to change.  

I can't seem to change it anyway.

God can, but He's slow about it.

And I don't appreciate that.  

When relief is what we seek, the last thing we want to do is have to wait for it.  

Change takes time and I hate that about it.

I crave the destination, but the journey isn't always pretty.  

It's kind of like riding in an airplane. 

It terrifies me.  I have lots of things in my arsenal to help me through it including meds and oils and wrist bands and snacks and music and alcohol.  "Flying Lisa" is a whole thing.  She's all about creating an alternate reality designed to numb out, escape, hide from the fear and the struggle rather than facing it.   

I don't want to live afraid.  

I don't trust God with my fear.   I tell Him I do, much like I tell others and myself.  But truth is I don't.  

Not really.

Not enough to let go of my arsenal of antidotes.  

Antidote:  a medicine taken or given to counteract a particular poison.

My poison is fear.  And it's deadly.  

It slowly kills the life I want to live, the faith I want to rely on, the truth I want to believe.  

What am I so damn afraid of?  I've been living with it my entire life, this fear, but I'm not sure I've ever really tried to figure out what it is.  What is its purpose, besides to destroy me?  Maybe that's the only purpose.  A demon's purpose is to be demonic.  To steal, kill and destroy, according to the bible.  

Maybe that's just it.  Maybe it's not more complicated than that.  

Demons have arsenals too, and their weapons are fierce and consistent.  They trip me up and snarl at me to stay down and sometimes I listen.  It feels safer to stay low rather than continue to be knocked to the ground over and over. When I"m crawling around in the dirt I don't have so far to fall.  I can sit there with my head on my knees and protect myself from inhaling the dust that gets kicked in my face.  

Except I'm not really protected.  I'm imprisoned.  

Security is not found in isolation, 

and freedom is not found in escape.    

The more I scrounge around in the dirt, the deeper the pit I inevitably dig for myself.

And a pit is not a home.