I was a pretty unbothered kid. I ran around without worry, caught up in my imagination. Reality had softer angles to it, back then.

And I was a total theater kid (still am, deep down). When I was eight, I quit ballet to do musical theater summer camp. I remember my first show: The Frog Prince: Continued. I was in the ensemble, but I didn’t mind that. In fact, I loved it, since it meant I could play a scary little gingerbread child who could hiss at the audience.

I was nervous at first, you know, because it was something new for me. But I warmed up to it fast. I talked to all the other kids. Made friends. Had so much energy–so much curiosity. I’d talk to anyone there. I didn’t care. I read my books and ran around outside and life was great.

Then came teenager-dom

I’d like to say everything changed on my thirteenth birthday. That would be poetic, right? Nice and neat? But no. It was so gradual I didn’t even notice it was happening, until one day I looked at old pictures of myself and realized that the crazy-eyed gingerbread girl in the picture wasn’t me anymore. Anxiety had gotten to me like gangrene–eating away at me, rotting me from the inside out. 

I no longer had any audacity. So, I became the “mom” friend. And that might not seem like a problem to you…but I did not like that label at age fourteen. To me, it said I was the “no fun allowed” friend. I never wanted to go anywhere. Do anything. “Did your parents give you permission to go there?” I’d say. “Is it safe? What’s your plan?” I felt like a total buzzkill and there was nothing I could do about it. Because at the end of the day, I was alone.

I was alone with myself.

And we really didn’t get along.

I stopped doing theater camp. But as high school went on, I became determined to put myself out there again. I have good friends, I reminded myself. Just take a breath. You can do this. So I decided I’d make myself do something–something I knew, deep down, I would like, even if it seemed scary at first. Like the good old days.

I joined a new theater group. Made some good friends. I was finally feeling like me again. Things were on the up and up. 

But of course, rehearsals began in October of 2019.

Tech week landed in March. March of 2020.

A few days after my sixteenth birthday, the lockdown started. I’m from California…and if you don’t know, California is very particular. Everything was cancelled: my theater show, my birthday party, the concerts I’d been gifted tickets for. 

And so I was shut up into my room again.

Alone.
Alone with myself.

Leave me alone.

As the lockdown dragged on from weeks to months, I initially thought I could wait things out. Distract myself with crafts and movies and phone calls.

But then it hit the five-month mark and I couldn’t do it anymore. Something broke down inside me–the little 8-year-old theater kid hanging on for dear life. And I spiralled.

Down.

Down.

Down…

Depression festered. And the paranoia started. I walked around every day assuming something was out to get me. The shadows in the hallway. The nothingness behind the shower curtain. The daylight, the dark, you name it. I hated me, and I hated the world, and I hated feeling alone.

Nobody understood me. That’s what I thought, anyway. No one understands. No one cares.

One night, I was lying on my bed, staring up at the wooden ceiling past my burnt-out string lights. I was maybe seventeen or eighteen. It was dark in my room. Calm. Quiet. Warm. But my chest was tight as I tried not to cry. I don’t even remember what I was sad about. Everything, I guess. I felt betrayed–I know that much. Angry, too.

And I decided, I think, that I really was alone. I mean, I knew God. I knew he was there. But he didn’t care, clearly. He didn’t understand. So what was the point?

Just LEAVE ME ALONE. I prayed that in my head, as the hot angry tears fell down my cheeks.

And immediately, I felt the room change.

Something lifted off me. The air lightened, but not in a nice way. It was like I was a ship in a bottle, and the hands that held me had just let go.

And I was falling. I was falling in this big, scary world, and there really was nothing to catch me this time. Panic rose in my chest as my room felt colder. It’s like I could see the sky past my ceiling–dark, no stars, no lights, no anything. Just a void all around me. A closet full of monsters. I’d never felt so terrified in all my life.

And I realized that now, I really was alone. I hadn’t comprehended the meaning before. I hadn’t understood. And boy, did that scare me.

But then it dawned on me, amidst the terror.

I’ve never been alone.

Never.

God had been carrying me that whole time. He’d swaddled me and kept me warm and safe. He’d blocked out the monsters–the real monsters. He’d filled the void.

So if anyone cared about me, it would be him.

If anyone understood, it would be him.

And clearly he did. Otherwise, he would’ve just ignored my plea of Leave me alone. It’s clear to me that sometimes God has to teach us the hard way. There’s no other way we’ll listen. But when I realized, and said, “Um, actually God, I’ve changed my mind!” I’m pretty sure he chuckled at me and was like, “Thought so.” 

Now, whenever I’m having a bad day–whenever the world seems particularly big and scary–I think back to that night on my bed. And I remember that I’m not alone, not really. God is so much bigger, and he’s got me in his hands.

But maybe you can skip that step I took. Take it from me: you are not alone. God’s there, even when you’re too caught up in yourself to realize.

He’s there. And he cares. And he understands.

Lucy, meet Lorraine!

I think this is why I related to Lorraine, the main character of Call It Consequences. Not only is she in literal conflict with her past self, but she thinks she’s all alone in her fight. She thinks that no one gets her, no one understands, and the world is simply too big to deal with. No spoilers (of course) but I’m sure you can guess that Lorraine is just as wrong about being alone as I was.

Alli tackles all these ideas so beautifully. In both Lorraine and Lorrie, I really just saw myself.

Go get yourself a copy of Call It Consequences. It’s one of the most therapeutic books I’ve read in a while!