I was standing at the edge of my life. Feeling every sorrowful feeling that could overcome my body. I was overcome. I was exhausted, depleted from energy, dehydrated. I was dying. The sky had disappeared; the sun must’ve been an illusion. The night was darker than ever; there was no moon to reflect the night. The moon must’ve been an illusion.
Hope is for those with a vivid imagination. The ones that received the gift of overcoming.
It was as if someone had been holding me for a very long time; I was hanging by a thread. The grip stopped doing its work. It had stopped gripping the one that was hanging on. Me.
One day, the hold was gone. Completely gone. I could not find it. The wind was weak, but I could feel some of it still. I tried to take deep breathes of the thing that the hopefuls breathe, but found nothing there. The hopefuls had taken all the air, and all that was left was the empty. The empty, the waves, the nothingness. The hold; the grip: gone. The supportive hold of my imagination had left me. I should’ve known it would happen. I had heard of the chosen ones; they were the few. I was not part of the few. My few were the most. Yes; I was part of the most. By the most I mean the majority.
With them went the supportive hold that kept me together. I had to breathe on my own, but it was painful. It was the darkness, coming again to consume me. Not even the sun could bring light to my existence. I was drowning. I was dying. Nobody, not even God, would help me. Because nobody likes a “giver upper.” They corrode you, make you bitter. Yes, they drag you down ad show you the darkness. It is scary because…well, nobody should see the darkness unless they belong to it.
I am not a godless person. I am no atheist or unbeliever. My problem is actually very simple. I have simply experienced the loss of the spiritual connection that once held me to Christ. I know of the sacrifice, the pain, the guilt, the unfairness. I know about the judgment that did not belong. Yes; the misplaced judgment. I know of the tortured body; it should’ve been my own. But perhaps I get to pay the wrongdoing right here; right at my seat. This is payback for what I did to the Son.
Playing the blaming game? Yes. You see? I am a weak soul drowning in uncertainty. I belong to the place that lacks air, form, depth, and soul. I cannot, will not, may not see the light. But do not be fooled; I have my moments. There are times when I have seen the light, but I see it with care. The light never stays with me; it comes as it pleases.
But for a day, for a minute, or a second…how I wish it would stay. I wish I saw this light everyday of my life. But it doesn’t want me. I bring it down; and down is not the way of the light.
I do not know. I hope that I do not die a physical death where I am still feeling this dead. I have been hoping for a dead place where I experience life? Yes, I understand. This makes no sense. This shifty inside; unstable, unworthy; lacking self-confidence because of my ungrateful way. I am tired of the waves. They consume me and drown me. They drown me, they burn.
Yet, we cannot place blame on the waves. For the waves kill what must die. The waves kill what must stay dead.
Need-to-breathe. Standing at the edge.