Even if all of the above were not true, I don't think I could have forced my feet to move or fingers to dial or type. If I got hold of another human being, what then? Could they understand the thing I could not understand, could not even express? Would it wreck our relationship for them to know how I truly felt? What if they were in a bad mood themselves? Maybe nobody can understand or help. Maybe I'm doomed to be tired for the rest of earth's eternity.
Pardon the dramatics -- insomnia makes one a little desperate. The thinking goes like this: Sleep is a basic human function. If I can't perform a basic human function, how am I supposed to achieve anything worthwhile in life? Anyway, I lay curled up and aching and confuzzling myself. I've often wondered how to know when and to whom to turn when I get like this. Ignore it? Suppress it? Bawl my eyes out?
Like I mentioned -- I just don't know. I don't know who I can trust and I don't feel like trying to figure out whether someone dislikes me or not at the moment I'm most vulnerable. I don't get this feeling of distrusting and needing people at the same time. I know keeping it to myself rarely helps, but then, talking it out doesn't often help immediately either.
People make it seem like because love is a basic human need, it's a basic human right. We have a right to demand attention and sympathy and adoration just by being needy. Ironically, needy people are often super unadorable. (Believe me. I know. And so do the people who love me anyway.) Perhaps, in a way, this is true. I know I ought to love the needy and the hurting because they're human and made in God's image: they demand this right of me, they demand my Christian duty, they demand my mercy because God poured out mercy on me. Still, I don't feel comfortable demanding the same right of other people. Rarely do I flag somebody down to share my deepest confusion. I wait for them to ask. I drop hints, yes, but that usually translates into "Great -- she's in her grumpy mode" or "Poor thing, she's had a bad day" and some frothy, arms-length encouragement floats my way.
I should be grateful. Maybe normal human beings can feed off that kind of love? It just reinforces the idea that nobody really cares in the way I need them to care. Hence the heart cry listed above: "I'm tired of needing of help." Really, life would be a piece of cake if people weren't involved. Which means I'd be left alone with myself. Just kidding -- I'll take the real world, after all.
I'm not even close to figuring out whether anybody can be trusted to the extent I need -- but I do know that when rights and confidence are concerned, I currently don't have them. Not with people.
With God, it's a different thing. I didn't realize this until halfway into my complaint last night, when I listed all my "I'm tireds" aloud to the Creator and expected Him to listen. Not in a demanding way. I just sub-consciously expected Him to listen -- more than that, to care. To act on my behalf. Even though I knew my weaknesses and unloveableness, I had this brazen confidence to rattle off my deepest feelings to the most important, powerful and sovereign being this side of reality.
I caught myself doing this and cried for joy. (I'm female. Don't laugh.) The one who matters most in the world cares the most about me. I have His undivided attention. I don't have to figure out if He's in a good mood or if He's going to respond selfishly or if He's going to misunderstand me. He never sleeps, so two a.m. was as good a time as any to have an emotional breakdown in His presence. He doesn't forget about me or ignore me or pretend He's listening while really doing something else.
He loves. Unconditionally. Not only that, but it's my right. Through Christ, I gained the right to be His child (John 1:12). Theoretically, He has to love me whether He wants to or not. Luckily for me, He wants with everything He is to love me.
I used to wonder if anybody could love me in the way I need and want. I talk about love a lot for that very reason. Funny that I do -- because the God of angel armies and eternity and love itself adores me. Even when I'm a blubbering insomniac.