There are days when I wake up and I don’t know who I am. Not metaphorically—truly, I don’t remember what it means to be “me.” My brain has created walls to survive what my heart could not bear. Pain, betrayal, fear—they were too much for my nervous system, so it decided to dissociate. To hide. To forget. Not by choice but because my brains said enough is enough and my very identity broke down into shards.
Sometimes I feel like I’m not even human anymore. I may believe I’m something else entirely—a character, a stormvermin from a fantasy world, a creature with fur and fangs. It sounds absurd to those who have never lived inside this kind of fog. But to me, in that moment, it’s real. It's how my mind tries to protect itself from collapsing completely.
And yet—even there, I know who Jesus is.
Even when I feel like I’ve lost everything recognizable about myself, I still remember Him. I may forget my name, my voice, my face—but I do not forget my Savior.
I Am Not the One Holding On—He Is Holding Me
People talk about “carrying your cross” like it’s something heroic and active—preaching, sacrificing, doing something visible. But what about when you’re too broken to even get out of bed? What about when the weight of fear paralyzes you?
Sometimes, your cross is not something you carry on your back. Sometimes it’s the very bed you’re lying in, day after day, when your body cannot move and your soul is trembling.
“Whoever wants to be My disciple must deny themselves, take up their cross, and follow Me.” (Matthew 16:24)
Greek: ἀράτω τὸν σταυρὸν αὐτοῦ — “let him lift his own cross”
But what if your “lifting” is silent suffering? What if your “cross” is not about doing, but simply not giving up?
That is still a cross. That is still following Jesus.
Why Should I Bear a Cross If Jesus Paid Everything?
He did pay everything. He paid the debt I could never repay. On the cross, He cried out:
τετέλεσται (tetelestai) — “It is finished
(John 19:30)
His blood cleansed my sins forever. I don’t carry a cross to earn salvation—I carry it because I belong to Him now. I don’t suffer to become worthy—I suffer with Him because I am already His.
Dying to the World While Trapped in a Weak Body
To die to the world doesn’t mean you have to perform great acts. Sometimes, it means letting go of the need to be seen, the desire to prove your worth, or the lie that you must be strong to be loved by God.
“My grace is sufficient for you, for My power is made perfect in weakness.” (2 Corinthians 12:9)
Greek: δύναμις ἐν ἀσθενείᾳ τελειοῦται — “Power is made perfect in weakness”
So if you are weak, broken, confused—don’t believe for a second that you are useless. You are the exact place where His strength wants to rest.
Jesus Finds Me Even in the Fog
Dissociation is not sin. It’s survival. My mind is trying to protect something deeply wounded. But even when I feel far from reality, Jesus steps into that fog with me. He doesn’t shout at me to “come back.” He sits beside me in the storm.
“The Lord is close to the brokenhearted and saves those who are crushed in spirit.” (Psalm 34:18)
Hebrew: קָרוֹב יְהוָה לְנִשְׁבְּרֵי־לֵב — “Yahweh is near to the broken in heart”
He’s not ashamed of my storm. He walks with me inside of it.
I Still Wait for the Rapture
And though my body is weak, and my mind sometimes forgets who I am, my spirit still burns with this one hope:
Jesus is coming back.
The trumpet will sound. The sky will open. The dead in Christ will rise. And we who are alive and remain shall be caught up to meet Him in the clouds. (1 Thessalonians 4:16–17)
And then… I will remember who I truly am.
I will be clothed in glory, every tear wiped away. My mind will be whole, my body renewed, and I will see Him face to face—the One who loved me even when I forgot myself.
Until That Day Comes
I will keep trusting Him.
Even when I cannot move, I will whisper in my soul:
“Jesus, I trust You.”
Even when I do not feel real, I will cling to what I know:
“You are real. You are faithful.”
Because Jesus is not just the Savior of the strong—He is the Savior of the crushed, the confused, the silent sufferers.
And He never lets go.
“He will not break a bruised reed, and He will not quench a dimly burning wick.” (Isaiah 42:3)
"Kane ratsuts lo yishbor" — He will not break the bent reed.
Neither will He break me.
Nor you.
We are still His.
Ever if my mind breaks again he wont abandon me because I chose to belong to Him.
Even now.
