I started online classes this fall. The day they started, I emailed my professors to explain a little about my illnesses and ask if they would consider accommodating me if I needed help. They both kindly and graciously pointed me to the office of disability. I went through the application process and was quickly accepted for disability support. I'll have to re-apply for accommodations for my next classes soon.

I've been fighting health issues for going on nine years at least. I should know I'm "disabled," but I never truly thought about it. This is just... my reality. I can't remember what it's like to not feel pain at all times. It's become my normal, so when I have moments of realizing it's not normal, I crumble a little. It's not that I forget the pain. I'm just used to pressing on despite it. The smallest (or biggest) things can cause the reality of how difficult things actually are to quickly catch up with me.

Reality really hits when you have to email someone and say, "I am physically and psychiatrically disabled." It is beyond humbling for me to tell someone, "I need help. I can't do this."

I don't want it to be this way. I want to exist and function and succeed. I want to be okay. I want to be able.

I feel like the waves of illness and loneliness and darkness and sadness will never stop breaking over my head. I want to stand on the water in faith, but I'm so afraid, and I'm powerless against the waves that keep knocking me over.

The fear is almost more overwhelming than the pain. I'm scared that, like the ocean, these waves will never stop crashing either.

I know all the right answers. I know all the things everyone wants to tell me. If only emotions listened to reason.

A lot of this spilled out the other night while I was talking to my best friend. He did something I'm not sure anyone else has ever done for me. He paused, and instead of launching into all the reasons I should trust God and keep pressing on, he said, "I don't know what to say that you don't already know, so I want you to tell me all the ways this is hard. Not because I need to know, but because you need to say it. I know it's against your nature, but tell me anyway." And I did. I let all the reasons I could think of pour out, and it may have been one of the most healing moments I've ever had.

There is something refreshing about being given the freedom to ugly cry and not have to defend yourself when all you can say is, "This hurts so, so much, and I am beyond exhausted by the pain."

I want to be able to cook like I used to without having someone else open all the jars for me and needing to sit down, because it's so tiring. I want to be able to work with my hands without my fingers swelling and my joints aching. I want to be able to take my quizzes without fighting a panic attack the entire time. I want to be able to get my assignments done on time and not fight the fear of something keeping me from completing them. Those are some of the most basic things that come to mind. There are so many more. I just want to live without having to think twice about every single thing I do.

I want to be strong, but I can't be. I just can't.

Maybe I'm still not supposed to be, and maybe it's okay that I have to keep learning little by little to let myself be weak and rely on His strength instead.

Everything is overwhelming, and my heart is aching. I want so many things to be different, but they're not. They are what they are right now, and I have to be okay with that. Fighting my limitations has just made me feel worse. Instead, I must rest in the knowledge that God has me where I'm at for His reasons. It's a holy purpose that I can't understand, but maybe I'm not supposed to yet. Maybe I'm supposed to walk forward in the faith that even if I never know, it's true, and I can trust Him. I must trust. There's no other way through this valley. He is my light no matter how dark it is. I can't light my own way. I can't be my own strength. I must surrender myself to where He has me, and even if the pain never ends, He is still good. While the tears flow with desperate cries of, "how long, Lord?" I will lift my eyes up again.

Victories come through praise.