The holes in my soul have been pulled battered raw and the words to speak are choked up in my throat causing me to drown on tears and fears while listening to my heart thump erratic and watch my veins pulse, begging for that crimson regret, orgasmic release.
I am free. Maybe I should have started with that. Yet, at this time of year the bondage that once held me so tight grips my ankles and wrists with their phantom chains and life turns into fight or flight. My dreams are overwhelmed with the need to escape and I have to check the pill bottles and my wrists when I wake up to see if I had acted or if it was just another nightmare.
All I want to do is be productive. Check things off of the to-do list and go on with life like those 5 years never happened, it has been 11 years since my escape after all, but the thoughts don’t ever go away. Too many memories tied to that place.
While I yearn to write and vacuum and simply live my brain doesn’t want to remember and argues with my body to give in and sleep.
Random questions have been asked this week. How deep are my veins? Have I ever hit one? How much of ____ is lethal? I am not suicidal, on the contrary actually, I am really happy to be alive for the first time, yet those morbid thoughts from the past creep into my mind and I wonder how much grace God gifted me to keep me here -healthy, alive.
I may still be shot full of holes that penetrate my soul and scar tissue and scabs definitely cover some of those broken raw wounds, but my story isn’t finished. Isn’t told.
This year I don’t want to simply survive. I need to thrive.
And by His grace and through His love, I will.