My 10-year-old son wants me to tuck him in with a prayer and a kiss each night. He came to the kitchen where his mother and I were dissolving into a disagreement. She dismissed him, saying, "Daddy will be in in about 5 or 10 minutes."
The little guy went off to dreamland, waiting for me as the argument dragged on. My wife doesn't let me sleep in our house anymore. It's complicated. But the next morning, I am expected to return by 6 a.m. when she leaves for work. This being a Saturday morning, I returned and fell back asleep since the kids didn't have school. About 6:30 a.m., my 10-year-old awakened to go to the bathroom. He stuck his head in and said, "Daddy, has it been more than 5 or 10 minutes?"
Instantly, I knew he had no idea what time it was. It was still dark out, so he may have thought half an hour or so had gone by. Not having the heart to tell him I'd forgotten in the aftermath of an argument the night before, I quietly slipped into his bedroom and whispered a prayer. "Dear Lord, be with Mark. Give him a good night's sleep. Thank you for the fun we had today at Grandma's birthday party. Give Mark a good day tomorrow at his Bible quiz. In Jesus' Name, Amen."
I gave him a peck on the cheek, and before falling back asleep, he asked, "How long has it been?"
I hesitated. "I'll see you in the morning, son," I said, and walked out.
Sunday, February 27, 2011
Sunday afternoon walk (Conversation with God)
Sunday, February 27, 2011. 1:15 p.m. My middle son is in the tub, my little son is in the crib, asleep. I have to get out of the house. The weather is unseasonably warm, near 70 degrees, but that's not why I must escape.
I have to get out.
I have to run. I don't like to run. I walk to the right. I turn about face, because neighbor's are home. I go the other way, past my house. My feet begin to run. My voice screams. Angry, anguished. Tears. Hot. Chest heaves. Heavy heart. Angry words, eyes lifted up at the parting clouds, asking.
Ver batim (at the top of my lungs): "How dare You take my wife away... She's my wife! She's mine! How dare you do that! Don't you know what that's going to do to my kids? Don't you care about their lives?"
There's more, but it makes less of a coherent passage from my lips as my legs give out. My head hurts.
I reach a burned out house, a brick exterior still stands, mocked by the gutted out trailer house it failed to protect. It's a metaphor for my marriage. Everyone sees the brick exterior today, but this week, a sheriff's deputy is scheduled to hand me divorce papers that I'm not supposed to know exist.
My brick exterior will soon reveal a charred trailer house interior to the world. My body and my mind are in shock. I return from the house to my intact house. It looks peaceful, solid, serene. How deceiving looks can be. I re-enter my house, tears dried, just in time for my 10-year-old son to get out of the bathtub.
He never missed me.
He never heard me.
I myself took a shower just before my walk, trying to let the sound of running water stifle my grotesque sobs. My 18-month-old son sometimes thinks I'm laughing as my gasps and cries come out in great gales, wracking my sides and splitting my head and reddening my eyes.
When my shower stopped the tears kept streaming. Towel in mouth to stop the screaming. God, where are You? I feel You watching but unwilling to stop my bleeding.
Why must this go on?
I have to get out.
I have to run. I don't like to run. I walk to the right. I turn about face, because neighbor's are home. I go the other way, past my house. My feet begin to run. My voice screams. Angry, anguished. Tears. Hot. Chest heaves. Heavy heart. Angry words, eyes lifted up at the parting clouds, asking.
There's more, but it makes less of a coherent passage from my lips as my legs give out. My head hurts.
I reach a burned out house, a brick exterior still stands, mocked by the gutted out trailer house it failed to protect. It's a metaphor for my marriage. Everyone sees the brick exterior today, but this week, a sheriff's deputy is scheduled to hand me divorce papers that I'm not supposed to know exist.
My brick exterior will soon reveal a charred trailer house interior to the world. My body and my mind are in shock. I return from the house to my intact house. It looks peaceful, solid, serene. How deceiving looks can be. I re-enter my house, tears dried, just in time for my 10-year-old son to get out of the bathtub.
He never missed me.
He never heard me.
I myself took a shower just before my walk, trying to let the sound of running water stifle my grotesque sobs. My 18-month-old son sometimes thinks I'm laughing as my gasps and cries come out in great gales, wracking my sides and splitting my head and reddening my eyes.
When my shower stopped the tears kept streaming. Towel in mouth to stop the screaming. God, where are You? I feel You watching but unwilling to stop my bleeding.
Why must this go on?
Monday, February 14, 2011
Emergency Room
Today was Valentine's Day. I had thought I'd wrap up my writing and clean up the house, make dinner and put out the good dishes and light the candles for a romantic evening with my wife. She works a day shift in the ER and would appreciate some soothing music while the boys played in the basement out of the way.
It was my best option for having no money since July when I lost my job. I fantasized about flower arrangements and boxes of chocolates, but had to settle for a few home made cards and a home cooked meal.
The older three boys would be coming home from school soon, and I was with my youngest. Eighteen-month-old boys are summed up in one word: ACTIVE! He climbs up on everything now. I was putting final touches on my novel around 3:20 p.m. and suddenly he'd fallen off a chair I didn't know he'd climbed. He had to have gotten up there in five seconds. Anyway, he fell and hit his eye on the chair leg and his head on the concrete floor.
I scooped him up and held him as he cried. Poor little guy!
Then he got sleepy. Oh, no! That's a sign of a possible concussion. I called my wife, who is an EMT and works at the ER. Her shift was just ending, so she advised me to meet her at the ER at the other hospital where we have our insurance.
I had to borrow my mom's van since I have no gas and no money and no job...
Then I got him a snack and a drink and took off. I had a makeshift car seat (not the "good" one, but it would have to do) and I talked to him to keep him awake during the 35 to 40 minute drive. His eyelid and forehead were turning purple, but he was in good spirits.
We got to the ER, and the sign said it had been moved to another part of the building and to follow the signs. I called my wife and she directed me to where she was waiting.
Waiting became the operative word. With a little guy, the minutes were ginormous. And the longer we waited, the fussier he became. Dinner time came and went, and the sun set. We walked with him, held him, chased him, talked to him, read a book over and over to him... at one point I was letting him stick his fingers in my mouth... although I don't like that because I've seen the nasty places those little fingers have been!
Two and a half hours later, as I was holding my not so light little guy in the entrace to entertain him with the three automatic doors (that's three directions he has to look to keep up!) my wife had had enough. It was Valentine's Day, and I had all the plans of a romantic homemade dinner for two with candles and music.
I texted my wife a couple times, even though we were in the same ER, just to let her know I was also thinking of her on this day of romance.
But romance wasn't in the ER. And our little man was screaming his hungry head off by now. Mercifully, the RN announced his name, but at that point I was halfway across the hospital on a sightseeing tour to keep the little one happy.
I huffed and puffed it back to my scolding wife, still in her scrubs from work and looking like she fit in here too.
After checking his symptoms, the RN obviously decided since he didn't throw up or black out, he was low priority. So back to the waiting room to bother all the sick people again. He was going in circles, weaving through the crowd. Since my wife worked all day, I took him 90 percent of the time.
After two and a half hours, my wife asked if she could just sign a waiver and keep an eye on him. After all, he was tired and hungry (and so was she!) and Valentine's evening was become a drag.
I hurried home ahead of her and got things spruced up with the help of my 12-year-old son who already almost had dinner ready... table set, candles lit (one candle was dripping on the table, but it was easily cleaned up before mom arrived) and everything ready except the potatoes (he'd put eight potatoes in the microwave dish for six minutes... not quite long enough there, son, but I appreciate your efforts!)
By the time mom and baby arrived, we were ready for the as perfect as it's gonna get meal and it went all right.
I'm just glad our son didn't have a real "emergency" with a wait like that... we skipped the bubble bath and chick flick and my girlie hit the sack and sent me away as is her custom these days.
It was my best option for having no money since July when I lost my job. I fantasized about flower arrangements and boxes of chocolates, but had to settle for a few home made cards and a home cooked meal.
The older three boys would be coming home from school soon, and I was with my youngest. Eighteen-month-old boys are summed up in one word: ACTIVE! He climbs up on everything now. I was putting final touches on my novel around 3:20 p.m. and suddenly he'd fallen off a chair I didn't know he'd climbed. He had to have gotten up there in five seconds. Anyway, he fell and hit his eye on the chair leg and his head on the concrete floor.
I scooped him up and held him as he cried. Poor little guy!
Then he got sleepy. Oh, no! That's a sign of a possible concussion. I called my wife, who is an EMT and works at the ER. Her shift was just ending, so she advised me to meet her at the ER at the other hospital where we have our insurance.
I had to borrow my mom's van since I have no gas and no money and no job...
Then I got him a snack and a drink and took off. I had a makeshift car seat (not the "good" one, but it would have to do) and I talked to him to keep him awake during the 35 to 40 minute drive. His eyelid and forehead were turning purple, but he was in good spirits.
We got to the ER, and the sign said it had been moved to another part of the building and to follow the signs. I called my wife and she directed me to where she was waiting.
Waiting became the operative word. With a little guy, the minutes were ginormous. And the longer we waited, the fussier he became. Dinner time came and went, and the sun set. We walked with him, held him, chased him, talked to him, read a book over and over to him... at one point I was letting him stick his fingers in my mouth... although I don't like that because I've seen the nasty places those little fingers have been!
Two and a half hours later, as I was holding my not so light little guy in the entrace to entertain him with the three automatic doors (that's three directions he has to look to keep up!) my wife had had enough. It was Valentine's Day, and I had all the plans of a romantic homemade dinner for two with candles and music.
I texted my wife a couple times, even though we were in the same ER, just to let her know I was also thinking of her on this day of romance.
I huffed and puffed it back to my scolding wife, still in her scrubs from work and looking like she fit in here too.
After checking his symptoms, the RN obviously decided since he didn't throw up or black out, he was low priority. So back to the waiting room to bother all the sick people again. He was going in circles, weaving through the crowd. Since my wife worked all day, I took him 90 percent of the time.
I hurried home ahead of her and got things spruced up with the help of my 12-year-old son who already almost had dinner ready... table set, candles lit (one candle was dripping on the table, but it was easily cleaned up before mom arrived) and everything ready except the potatoes (he'd put eight potatoes in the microwave dish for six minutes... not quite long enough there, son, but I appreciate your efforts!)
By the time mom and baby arrived, we were ready for the as perfect as it's gonna get meal and it went all right.
I'm just glad our son didn't have a real "emergency" with a wait like that... we skipped the bubble bath and chick flick and my girlie hit the sack and sent me away as is her custom these days.
Sunday, February 13, 2011
Veggie Tales
The made for children cartoon "Jonah" in the Veggie Tales series struck me as I watched it with my 18-month-old son the other day. In the Bible, Jonah is described in the second paragraph of the book as running away from God. He looks like a cowardly villain.
The Veggie version explained Jonah likely had just cause to bail on the Almighty. In his Jewish world, to go to Ninevah (as God told him to) and preach was like going to the terrorists for us and trying to rescue them from punishment. Jonah felt justified in damning the evil Ninevites. They were Assyrians, not Jews. They were wicked, not part of God's chosen people. So, when God told Jonah to preach repentance warnings to them, he bailed. He didn't want any part of God's forgiveness on the enemy.
Now, it makes more sense. But you can't hide from God, even though you may run.
Jonah, as we all know, gets caught in a storm while fleeing and is thrown overboard to save the rest of the crew on board. He goes in and the waters calm as poor ol' Jonah gets swallowed by a great fish.
God has a way of capturing our attention, especially if we're running from our mission.
I decided to define my life mission and get prepared to speak in public and to sell books I write. I have written words and spoken words, but I have let my words get dusty. I feel like I'm with Jonah, running away from the enemy instead of calling out for his soul.
If God can choose to use a stubborn runaway like Jonah, who thinks he knows more than God about salvation and redemption, I can sure get in the path of God's will and let Him use me for good.
The Veggie version explained Jonah likely had just cause to bail on the Almighty. In his Jewish world, to go to Ninevah (as God told him to) and preach was like going to the terrorists for us and trying to rescue them from punishment. Jonah felt justified in damning the evil Ninevites. They were Assyrians, not Jews. They were wicked, not part of God's chosen people. So, when God told Jonah to preach repentance warnings to them, he bailed. He didn't want any part of God's forgiveness on the enemy.
Now, it makes more sense. But you can't hide from God, even though you may run.
Jonah, as we all know, gets caught in a storm while fleeing and is thrown overboard to save the rest of the crew on board. He goes in and the waters calm as poor ol' Jonah gets swallowed by a great fish.
God has a way of capturing our attention, especially if we're running from our mission.
I decided to define my life mission and get prepared to speak in public and to sell books I write. I have written words and spoken words, but I have let my words get dusty. I feel like I'm with Jonah, running away from the enemy instead of calling out for his soul.
If God can choose to use a stubborn runaway like Jonah, who thinks he knows more than God about salvation and redemption, I can sure get in the path of God's will and let Him use me for good.
Saturday, February 12, 2011
Randy Van Warmer - You left me just when I needed you most
Oh, dear wife of my youth and mother of our four precious sons, please come back to me...
Train Wreck
I studied the best I could at train engineering school. Nobody told me how to drive a train; they just wished me luck and told me to pray and drive the train every day.
Without a set of rules, I felt ill-equipped. I watched other engineers who'd been driving longer, but none seemed to know how to transfer their skills to me. Observation wasn't enough. I needed hands on training.
And yet, I found myself roaring down the track, unable to stop the train as it picked up speed. The experience was simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying. Trees flew by, buildings, birds, telephone poles, cats, dogs, people, cars... I was passing all of them. I hit the brakes and squeaked across a narrow bridge, pulse racing. Was this a dream? You know, one of those hang-on-for-your-life rides that ends in a sweaty bedsheet when you finally awake?
I've been told you could die of a heart attack if you actually dream of falling and hit bottom. That's why most people dream of falling but awaken before they hit bottom. Not me. As a kid, I had a recurring dream of falling off our stairway in our large, two story double house in Indiana. I would invariably hit the bottom of the stairway, pain emitting throughout my entire being.
It got worse.
I dreamed of falling from a high rise skyscraper, screaming as the air was sucked right out of me. All I could do was spiral downward, dry eyed and dry tongued, rocketing faster and faster toward earth.
BAM! I struck with a force of a bullet, body numb with excruciating pain.
Maybe I was meant for this type of subliminal superhuman sacrificial suffering.
At any rate, here I am, at the wheel of the locomotive, roaring down the track and the brakes are hot. The damn track is sloping downward, pert near like a roller coaster more than a railroad track.
And yet, I found myself roaring down the track, unable to stop the train as it picked up speed. The experience was simultaneously exhilarating and terrifying. Trees flew by, buildings, birds, telephone poles, cats, dogs, people, cars... I was passing all of them. I hit the brakes and squeaked across a narrow bridge, pulse racing. Was this a dream? You know, one of those hang-on-for-your-life rides that ends in a sweaty bedsheet when you finally awake?
It got worse.
I dreamed of falling from a high rise skyscraper, screaming as the air was sucked right out of me. All I could do was spiral downward, dry eyed and dry tongued, rocketing faster and faster toward earth.
BAM! I struck with a force of a bullet, body numb with excruciating pain.
Maybe I was meant for this type of subliminal superhuman sacrificial suffering.
At any rate, here I am, at the wheel of the locomotive, roaring down the track and the brakes are hot. The damn track is sloping downward, pert near like a roller coaster more than a railroad track.
I'm spiraling out of control. I feel the wheels leaving the track. I want to pee my pants. Terror smacks me in the face with every blast of wind seeping in the open window.
I can't stop. I'm going to wreck. I am watching my life derail in front of me.
My blood chills. I close my eyes. I'm praying my fool head off, and I want to wake, but I fear I am not asleep.
Date Night
Saturday night. Between my wife's birthday and Valentine's Day. No job. No money. No worries. I called in the phone book to fancy restaurants and found the most exclusive members only one to be the one to think outside the box. Kelly, the sales director, answered the phone.
"I want to provide an extraordinary experience for my wife's 40th birthday. She's taking it hard, and frankly, I've been out of steady work since June and have no money at all. But if you're willing to think outside the box and help me, I'd be more than willing do something for you in exchange."
A pause, as Kelly considered how to reply.
"Well, this is an unusual request, I must say."
"I'm sure you weren't expecting a call like this," I said. "But I believe in being creative when necessary. I'm a professional writer, and I'd be more than happy to write a review of your club and my dining experience, if you'd like, in exchange for a dinner for two."
Kelly pondered a moment. "I'd like to help you," she surprised both of us by saying. "I'd like to think of myself as a person who thinks outside the box. If you write an honest review of your experience, I'd be willing to let you and your wife have a three course dinner for two on Saturday night."
My heart fluttered. Yes, yes, yes!
My wounded soul had a chance to woo the one I love, despite her lack of reciprocation.
Thus armed with a success, I sought more add ons. A free haircut came next, from a friend who works at a hair salon. Then, a bouquet of flowers from a friend who owned a flower shop. She considered what to do, but didn't have an option. Okay, I'll buy the flowers if necessary.
Next, I thought of a massage from a massage therapist friend.
The friend hesitated when I presented my request. "I don't make it a practice to do anything free, not even for friends, but I understand your situation," she said. "I'll give your wife a free 30 minute massage, good for any time."
What a relief! Being penniless wasn't going to prevent me from doing something for my special someone.
What next... my sister has a snazzy newer convertible. "I'll clean it up and vacuum it and put gas in it for you in exchange for taking my wife out Saturday night," I offered. Permission granted.
Yes!
Now, I had the car, the dinner, a haircut and massage. Not too bad for a guy with no money.
The experience was pleasant, though my wife wasn't willing to concede any potential romantic feelings. "Don't get the wrong idea," she said on the way home. I laughed. This was going to be fun. She doesn't know what to think of my going all out to be with her and to woo her. Let her wonder. I think she's warming up to me...
"I want to provide an extraordinary experience for my wife's 40th birthday. She's taking it hard, and frankly, I've been out of steady work since June and have no money at all. But if you're willing to think outside the box and help me, I'd be more than willing do something for you in exchange."
A pause, as Kelly considered how to reply.
"Well, this is an unusual request, I must say."
"I'm sure you weren't expecting a call like this," I said. "But I believe in being creative when necessary. I'm a professional writer, and I'd be more than happy to write a review of your club and my dining experience, if you'd like, in exchange for a dinner for two."
Kelly pondered a moment. "I'd like to help you," she surprised both of us by saying. "I'd like to think of myself as a person who thinks outside the box. If you write an honest review of your experience, I'd be willing to let you and your wife have a three course dinner for two on Saturday night."
My wounded soul had a chance to woo the one I love, despite her lack of reciprocation.
Thus armed with a success, I sought more add ons. A free haircut came next, from a friend who works at a hair salon. Then, a bouquet of flowers from a friend who owned a flower shop. She considered what to do, but didn't have an option. Okay, I'll buy the flowers if necessary.
Next, I thought of a massage from a massage therapist friend.
The friend hesitated when I presented my request. "I don't make it a practice to do anything free, not even for friends, but I understand your situation," she said. "I'll give your wife a free 30 minute massage, good for any time."
What a relief! Being penniless wasn't going to prevent me from doing something for my special someone.
What next... my sister has a snazzy newer convertible. "I'll clean it up and vacuum it and put gas in it for you in exchange for taking my wife out Saturday night," I offered. Permission granted.
Yes!
Now, I had the car, the dinner, a haircut and massage. Not too bad for a guy with no money.
The experience was pleasant, though my wife wasn't willing to concede any potential romantic feelings. "Don't get the wrong idea," she said on the way home. I laughed. This was going to be fun. She doesn't know what to think of my going all out to be with her and to woo her. Let her wonder. I think she's warming up to me...
Sunday, February 6, 2011
If I'd known
If I'd known in May it was my last intimate encounter with my wife
I'd have lasted longer
If I'd known in August she'd be gone the next day
I'd have held her
If I'd known she wasn't going to let me back
I'd have done things differently to win her heart
If I'd known what I know now
I'd have never done what I did.
If I'd known she'd want a divorce in January
I'd have made December better
I'd have listened to her more
I'd have worked harder to work harder
I'd have gotten closer
Been romantic
Been available to her cries
Held her if she'd have let me
Wooed her faster, better, stronger
Made a difference in her indifference
Stopped my lying
Stopped her crying
Done myself a favor
Done my wife a service
Protected my marriage
Saved my kids the grief.
Living in a separate world
On a lonely couch
Away
Not intended to live this way
Didn't sign up for this
Wedding vows were meant to keep
Not throw away on being a creep
I'm in too far, I've sunk too deep
She has no love for me to keep.
And so, I live without living
Do without doing
Talk without talking
Making no difference to her indifference
Making no sense of my life at all.
My journey now includes living
With the past that won't go away
With mistakes and poor choices
That carry consequences permanent in nature
Regret surrounds me like a shroud
And there's no silver lining beyond the clouds.
I'd have lasted longer
If I'd known in August she'd be gone the next day
I'd have held her
If I'd known she wasn't going to let me back
I'd have done things differently to win her heart
If I'd known what I know now
I'd have never done what I did.
If I'd known she'd want a divorce in January
I'd have made December better
I'd have listened to her more
I'd have worked harder to work harder
I'd have gotten closer
Been romantic
Been available to her cries
Held her if she'd have let me
Wooed her faster, better, stronger
Made a difference in her indifference
Stopped my lying
Stopped her crying
Done myself a favor
Done my wife a service
Protected my marriage
Saved my kids the grief.
Living in a separate world
On a lonely couch
Away
Not intended to live this way
Didn't sign up for this
Wedding vows were meant to keep
Not throw away on being a creep
I'm in too far, I've sunk too deep
She has no love for me to keep.
And so, I live without living
Do without doing
Talk without talking
Making no difference to her indifference
Making no sense of my life at all.
My journey now includes living
With the past that won't go away
With mistakes and poor choices
That carry consequences permanent in nature
Regret surrounds me like a shroud
And there's no silver lining beyond the clouds.
Thursday, February 3, 2011
I'm being followed
I look over my shoulder, and I'm sure I see it. But when I look straight at it, it isn't there.
A sudden flash goes by in a mirror; my reflection, or its?
No. There it is. I'm sure I see it, staring me down. I want to ask my friends if they see it, too. Perhaps they'd think me egotistical to assume I'm being followed. Being watched. Pursued.
I can't shake it, I can't leave it. I tried. Believe me, I've tried. Singing, yelling, praying, crying, laughing, cursing. Being in a crowd. Being alone.
Nothing works.
It's still there. I don't know if it's getting better or worse. How are these things measured? I feel okay, until I look for it. Then it's like my skin is falling off and my organs are dissolving. I can't breathe and I can't see. I panic. I don't like that feeling, so I go back to listening and looking over my shoulder, but acting as if it isn't there.
I don't like living in denial; I like to face things head on. That's how I've always dealt with challenges; no need to skirt around them or talk about them. Confront them, head on, sword raised, shield in place, armored to the gills... the "Knight in Shining Armor to save the day" approach.
I tried that this time, but it got bigger and meaner. I got burned and that was worse than before. Arms on fire, face scorched, I lept back and licked my wounds.
The stinging blinded me, caught me off guard. Reeling, I retreated. I stayed away from everyone and everything until the pain subsided. But it didn't. It got worse. I needed attention from a professional.
I sought help. Proud, but humiliated, I opened myself up and underwent a thorough examination. I found several people closest to me and revealed my wounds to them. They all basically said the same thing: "I've never experienced wounds like that before. But don't ignore them, whatever you do. Keep trying to let them heal and don't give up."
I followed their advice, but the wounds didn't heal. I tried bandages, salve, stitches, cosmetic coverups, herbal remedies, traditional medicine, the works. Nothing would make these wounds inflicted by it go away. I was followed by it, it lived with me. In me? I couldn't tell.
I decided after awhile to befriend it. My Wounder and me made friends. Now it's consumed me and I don't feel free, but I am at peace with it. I live with it. It hurts me and cripples me, and diminishes who I am. But if I cut it loose, I die.
So I exist in a new way with it and let it guide me and control how I think and who I am. I play a masquerade charade facade role in an award winning screenplay written by it.
It makes me convince everyone I don't see it or feel it, but those who know I see and feel it can't relate and can't help.
It's desperate, but it's the only thing I know to do to keep from suffocating and drowning. Survival is the absence of death, but unfortunately, not the absence of pain.
A sudden flash goes by in a mirror; my reflection, or its?
No. There it is. I'm sure I see it, staring me down. I want to ask my friends if they see it, too. Perhaps they'd think me egotistical to assume I'm being followed. Being watched. Pursued.
I can't shake it, I can't leave it. I tried. Believe me, I've tried. Singing, yelling, praying, crying, laughing, cursing. Being in a crowd. Being alone.
Nothing works.
It's still there. I don't know if it's getting better or worse. How are these things measured? I feel okay, until I look for it. Then it's like my skin is falling off and my organs are dissolving. I can't breathe and I can't see. I panic. I don't like that feeling, so I go back to listening and looking over my shoulder, but acting as if it isn't there.
I don't like living in denial; I like to face things head on. That's how I've always dealt with challenges; no need to skirt around them or talk about them. Confront them, head on, sword raised, shield in place, armored to the gills... the "Knight in Shining Armor to save the day" approach.
I tried that this time, but it got bigger and meaner. I got burned and that was worse than before. Arms on fire, face scorched, I lept back and licked my wounds.
The stinging blinded me, caught me off guard. Reeling, I retreated. I stayed away from everyone and everything until the pain subsided. But it didn't. It got worse. I needed attention from a professional.
I sought help. Proud, but humiliated, I opened myself up and underwent a thorough examination. I found several people closest to me and revealed my wounds to them. They all basically said the same thing: "I've never experienced wounds like that before. But don't ignore them, whatever you do. Keep trying to let them heal and don't give up."
I followed their advice, but the wounds didn't heal. I tried bandages, salve, stitches, cosmetic coverups, herbal remedies, traditional medicine, the works. Nothing would make these wounds inflicted by it go away. I was followed by it, it lived with me. In me? I couldn't tell.
I decided after awhile to befriend it. My Wounder and me made friends. Now it's consumed me and I don't feel free, but I am at peace with it. I live with it. It hurts me and cripples me, and diminishes who I am. But if I cut it loose, I die.
So I exist in a new way with it and let it guide me and control how I think and who I am. I play a masquerade charade facade role in an award winning screenplay written by it.
It makes me convince everyone I don't see it or feel it, but those who know I see and feel it can't relate and can't help.
It's desperate, but it's the only thing I know to do to keep from suffocating and drowning. Survival is the absence of death, but unfortunately, not the absence of pain.
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