Picking up pieces to memories is confusing especially since most of them I’d already put a full stop to, whether consciously or unconsciously over the years. I remember how much I at one time prided myself on being practical, rational, and self-sufficient. It becomes harder and harder to balance and be rational when it feels like I’m being ripped apart inside.
Even more confusing is trying to figure out what’s happening now, because of what’s happened back then. It all swirls around in my head and there are times, especially at night, when it all jumbles together into an even larger mass of confusion and hurt.
Sometimes I wake up in the middle of the night feeling as if I’m being suffocated. Sweaty, heart racing, nauseous, body trembling…the panic threatens at times to overwhelm me.
The darkness feels as if it’s going to swallow me.
It takes hours to get back to sleep. It’s not better when the alarm re-awakens me and hour or so later.
My body has betrayed me. Taut. Unwell. Unresolved. No matter how much anyone tries to reassure me I know that all this has to be taking its toll on my health. At the very least, it’s not helping it. At the very most, it’s a root cause.
I open my eyes each day hoping it will be the day my body will no longer deny me rest.
My pounding heart, loud and irregular and painful, answers no. The anxiety and fear that build as I prepare for the day no matter what I do to stave them off, answer no. The pain I feel with each breath, answers no, not today.
It all seems so endless, so unproductive. So contrary to the belief that every problem has a solution there doesn’t seem to be any indication that there’s any way to patch things up and move on. Because I’ve tried to find a patch over and over again and it has invariably been ripped off making the tear even harder to handle. All this is apparently not going to be a workbook or a program to be plowed through.
I wish I could go back to the way I once was: in need of nothing. Content with the way things were. Productive. Strong. Hiding. Living without the inconveniences of grief and anger and fear. Instead it feels as if all the old courage has disappeared, or was merely an illusion, part of a self-protective mechanism.
I feel like I’m sinking.
Yet, every night, I crawl under the covers to brave the darkness and nightmares again. I whisper, sometimes even chant, to God “I know You are with me. I believe You will protect me. I will trust You.”
Because I believe that’s what He wants and maybe if I say it enough and even believe it on some level all this will end. I fight to push down the waves of uncertainty and fear and anger that crash into me to no avail and I fail nine times out of ten.
I don’t understand why it has to be this way.