The pain is always there lurking; it's fury quieted by the pills, so many pills that you begins to trust. You think that with the shots and nerve burns and medicine; that you may be able to push through and endure.
Then one day you sit down on a yard sale chair (left out too many seasons in the weather; you think too late) and crrrrraaaackkk and as it shatters so does all the faith you have held on to over the last 2+ years. You hit the concrete amongst pieces of the chair and the crescendo of pain sends you sprawling down the slippery slope to the dreaded Pit. The place where sleep is a precious diamond illusive and coveted. A place where showers area Mt. Everest that you are unequipped to climb You slide down to the edge of this Pit so dreaded, so dark and so horribly familiar and comfortable. The Pit pulses in anticipation at your decent. The stench is nauseating yet intoxicating too; and you are once again faced with the decision; do you keep sliding and welcome the darkness? Or do you begin the painstaking work to build your faith once again and let the Light shine once again?
Maybe tomorrow...
I don't really care where you write -- online or in a book or on toilet paper -- you need to keep writing. I was looking back through old posts and writing was therapeutic for you. I love you.
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