What I told my manager tonight was that I wanted to stab him in the chest with a screwdriver. The statement appeared to disturb the three customers with whom he was sitting at the time, but really, it seemed less severe in context and actually it’s not far from the truth. The truth is my job makes me want to stab myself in the chest with a screwdriver.

The way I feel about my job is the way all the teen mags talk about whether or not your boyfriend is “the one.” If you’re a different person when he’s around, they say, then he’s not good for you, not healthy for you, and not the one for you. I hate the person I am when I’m at my job. It’s not good for me, not healthy for me, and not the one for me. I’m an angry person at work, I constantly scold my coworkers and complain and gossip. Sometimes I’m not. Sometimes I’m actually me, happy and overjoyed at life and blessings and what God’s doing in my life. But it doesn’t take much to set me off, and I can count on one hand the times in the past year when I’ve had a good attitude and a good night, all night. And then I worry that I can never be a credible witness. How can I invite people to my church or talk about all the great things God is doing around me and in me when all people see is Angry Rebecca, or Becky, as some people have labeled my psycho alter-ego. One girl tonight actually told me I’m always mad at someone at work, and it always seems like Rebecca-against-the-world.

I’ve tried to reassure myself that Jesus came to serve, that He humbled Himself to wash others’ feet. I recite the twenty-third Psalm sometimes to myself. It may sound extreme to you, but the valley of the shadow of Death is just about right. I pray about it every single day. Every. Single. Day. And yet, I get to work, and I end up feeling repeatedly discouraged and disappointed by everyone and everything around me. That leads to anger and the anger leads to my open mouth, spewing out negativity.

I tell myself it’s in my best interest spiritually to just quit. If your eye or your hand causes you to sin, the Bible says, cut it out or cut it off. So do I cut my job out of my life? Which, of course, brings me to the single reason I’m still in this same place after so long: money. Good money. Money I couldn’t earn anywhere else, at least not immediately. And I have too many responsibilities to too many people to not have a relatively solid source of income. If I knew God was saying, “It’s okay to quit. I’ll make sure you’re provided for,” then I’d quit. Tonight. I’d call my manager at home just to tell him where he can put his screwdriver and the oyster shucker he handed me tonight. I know God will always make sure I’m provided for, really, but if I openly go against His will, I have to be prepared to face the consequences. And I don’t think I’m ready to do that. I need to know it’s what He wants for me, and I don’t know that.

Shift gears. Health still isn’t so good over here. I’m still dealing with this headache crap and have quite literally given up all hope of ever being healed. It’s not that I don’t think God can–it’s that I don’t think He will, not now. And I know prayer can help me deal with it even if it won’t take it away, but the truth is, knowing people are praying about my health and not feeling better actually makes it worse. I start asking myself, “What am I doing wrong? Do I not have enough faith? Did I do something bad that can only be punished by this constant pain?” But last night–actually after being so offended by some of my church family that I almost walked out of the house where we were meeting–I took a chance and asked for prayer for healing. And then, following the prayer, came something I hate more than almost anything–people who swear they know what will cure me. I don’t like talking about what medicines I’ve tried. I don’t like talking about what I know is and isn’t the cause. I don’t like talking about how long I’ve had them or how frequently. And I really, really, really don’t like people telling me what helped them. I don’t like people telling me about an article they just read or a TV show they saw with a possible breakthrough. Because I just don’t have it in me to try and seek a cure anymore. I can’t. This is the only outlet where I actually feel it’s okay to talk about it, probably because I don’t always get the let’s-try-and-cure-Rebecca conversation.

So. Most of this is me ranting and getting it off my chest. I’m discouraged to the point of tears and disappointed to the point of extreme anger, which of course leads me back to the point of tears. I’m weary and I’m sad, and I have my faith in God but have lost my faith in everything else. So the other part of this is a really long request for prayer. I don’t even care what you pray for or if you’ve never prayed before and may not even be sure if there is a God. If you consider me a friend, I’m asking you to please say a prayer for me. Just one. That’s all I ask.

Peace, love to you all, and prayer.