SHOW ME!

In anguish I screamed at the rocks over my hideout, demanding “GOD, IF YOU EXIST, SHOW ME!” My brain, in loops, tangents, and tangled knots….

...............

When the dark falls in our bubble, yet the sun shines, we retreat into the brain, leaving one to stare out the pane of glass. A serene moment drains down the gully and the feeling of creep rises until all leave the room without moving.

The loud patiently lurks. Every wrinkle of psyche; an opportunity to layer-in like dust in floorboard cervices. We are haunted, but not. The sadness calls for the senses to focus on the abyss, the breaks, the loneliness, the guilt, the evil, the hidden. And urges to destroy the body and bake the brain blast in, attempting a coup. Somehow sturdied from the invisible and intangible, we stand. Then, we stand. Again. And again. And once again. The loud continues to lash out ruthlessly. Flashes, dreams, twinges, darkness; imprisoned. And we stand. Then more: screeching, intolerable pain, the state of frozen, muteness, deafness, transporting of self - outside the body, clawing like biting the mattress, running the tunnels of the reoccurring dream, shallow breath or none, unbearable stillness, and cold sweat, and the hot mist coating.  And we stand. The wish to cower, hide, retreat, dissociate, burn, cut, stab, maim - plead for the floor. We stand.

I long for a break from the brain and body assaults; the all-too-rare peaceful moment; the closeness of love instead of a rehearsal of horror; a weightless experience. I see dark; I feel dark; I seek dark. I am desperate. This cave consumes me until I have only a slight pocket of air remaining at nightfall. The level of hurt seems to say, “Just…. give….up.” And so, we stand.

....................................

My being longed for something authentic; a shroud, a sign, a nod to hope. I stood silent in the hallow I tunneled. Though not a person next to me, a force stood nearby. The reluctant suspicion of a presence outside of myself, but within my darkness, paused my rage.

I left my apartment for one last drive before I attempted to prove I need no longer exist.

I drove by a chapel and it was like an electric spark punched my side; something powered through my pain. With nothing left I walked my goth-attired-self into the back wall of the service. A woman and her husband asked if I they could pray with me. Rejecting the spouse, I told the stout woman I hated God. Shar did not flinch or even take a moment to react. I thought I was hallucinating when I heard her say she hated God for a long time too. Four of her sons died. And this God stayed through her rage, hatred, grief, and the journey to hope. She prayed; I ran.

I dismantled my plan to be unalive. While it took a week to call Shar, she walked me through some of the most painful pieces and offered her arm to latch onto. Cult life became a ‘was’ rather than an ‘is.’ Shar introduced me to a loving God.  The 12 steps of recovery, another resource Shar guided me into.

Thinking of the imprint of Shar on my journey likens to reuniting with a first responder who saved you from a near death. She held my hand through the decision to stay and modeled the hope for which I yearned.

............................................................

I see you.

Maybe it’s not the same, but do you relate? You can borrow my shroud; hope and certainty of a bigger world beyond cave walls. Are you up for some face paint? Smear the ashes on your cheek bones and stand as a warrior. You. Survived.

We stand.

*** If you are contemplating suicide or self-harm, you need immediate help. Call 911, 211, 1-800-273-8255, or text HOME to 741741 ***