The Journey

I was described yesterday by my employer as "happy and carefree". I couldn't help but laugh heartily on the inside, because those are the last two words I would have imagined anyone ever describe of me. I can't help but wonder what has happened to me, in the course of two years that has changed me from a suicidal teenager to an optimistic woman. 

Not so very long ago, depression plagued my mind. My body was ridden with the symptoms of severe anxiety. I constantly wondered what people thought of me, if people loved me, who was going to be with me always. Sleep was welcome relief, a respite from life. I was told I was to blame for the one who I loved the most mistakes.

Then I was abandon. I was sent out into the valley of grief, for what was felt like was to be unending journey. Every morning I woke and for a second before the crashing waves of memory swept over me, I smiled and was a child again. Then the hurricane would once again take me, leaving me gasping for breath and a single tear would snake down my cheek. 

Every night I curled up my legs to my chest in an attempt to hold myself together and screamed to the God I had so strongly believed in. Sitting under the stars in the frigid air I would drench my soul in hurt and bitterness which would leave me gasping for air. There was no escape, and there was nothing to be done. I could not escape this world, this life that was my prison.

There was but one doorway to which I could escape, but I kept that buried deep. I would not utter the words but the thoughts would race so quickly through my exhausted mind that I could not even attempt to subdue them. It seemed that all the cars went too slow, that it would be just so easy. I was told over and over again by myself that it would be for the better, that I would not be missed. I would be free from my suffering and home to the place where I would be loved.

This secret I buried deep, until I was about to give up. Suddenly terrified of my own thoughts, I released them. I was no longer a prisoner of my own mind. I began to see freedom, to see the color in the black and white. I was told I was loved, treasured, and I had a future. The grief that had suppressed me for many months was now lifting, and with each passing day I grew stronger. 

I stopped yelling at the sky, for the sky had committed nothing against me. I looked within my own heart and found the dusty corners of hurt there, teeming and threatening to be released. Still the tears came, but this time they cleansed my soul and gave me a heart restoration. I asked my Father that His will be done, that He hold me in His hands. 

Looking back now, I shiver at those dark days. Life is not so much about the destination as it is about the journey. I don't know how I got to where I am; confidant, beautiful, happy, carefree, and lovely, but I will accept it. It is the gift that the scales of my own critical nature are lifted. But with this gift, the scales of seeing others in pain has also be multiplied. I no longer cry so much about my own pain, but about the pain of others. 

I hurt because they hurt. I mourn because they mourn. My heart dances when theirs dance. Is this the gift and curse of the risen? To know the valley but have the ability to look back upon it and see how far the journey has taken? To look ahead and know that there are better things in store? 

If it is, I might not know much about what the next step is but I think I can trust that it's going to be a grand adventure. 

The End

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