Broken wasteland. My life is in glued-together shatters. I am the only one that can see the cracks. I am walking on a tightrope, hoping it will be my lifeline. Insecure bases for hope drift through my fingers tempting me to hold onto them and run away.
Maybe I could just break. Maybe I could slip off the edge and let the pieces lay broken. Maybe I could savour the sound of the crash long enough for it to be worth it. But I know it is a fleeting fantasy. It will only make things worse. It is only in quiet moments that these feelings emerge, fleeing in the light. But I am still tempted to feel gravity ripping me from the sky with its desperate fear.
So many cliffs lie before me, asking me which I shall choose to fall over. My coping mechanisms beckon me into the darkness. They promise relief in some sick fantasy. Pain is holding onto my eating, my feelings, my thoughts, my sleeping, my being. Each stab drags me closer to a cliff. Each hurt pulls me further from civilisation.
Loneliness takes my hand and leads me to its chambers. It sits me down and holds me against its bosom drawing my tears from my veins so none will leave my eyes. It says it will keep me safe, and it is the only one that wants me. Its breath bites against my skin and crawls into my lungs. Its hands reach for my neck and pull me down to the floor next to it. It looks at me and whispers desolation through the night. But another comes and opens the curtains to the light.
God takes me and dresses me with flowers and fills me with His waters. He tells me I am His and cannot fall over the edge. He shows me the light that drenched me each day. He tells me I am His. He holds me near and binds my cracks with gold and silver. He holds me near. So as I have done over and over in all these writings, I will stand and say I will trust Him. I will ask Him to forgive me for seeking comfort elsewhere. He is my saviour.