I sat downstairs, trying to hold it all inside, trying to hold it together, not let it win.
Fuck you, prick, I’m stronger than you think.
But it had already found me, consumed me, and was ready to spit me out, broken, isolated, seduced by the allure of darkness.
The location of the antidote was no secret, neon signs flashed irridescent, desperately pointing the way.
I paced, literally, figuratively, one foot poised to take the first step, the other firmly held by the duplicitous grasp of emotional quick sand, pulling, enticing, whispering….’come on, bitch, you know you wanna’….
A pause to consider.
Both held fear for differing reasons, one path I knew all too well, the other, however, was new for me.
I detest change, better the devil you know…..
The internal monologue begins.
Show Him, talk to Him, let Him see.
Let Him see what? Weakness, fragility, a broken(breaking) Flutterby.
I don’t know how.
It’s tempting, to stay hidden in plain sight, fiercely biting back tears, a stubborn determination to bear an affectation of poise whilst denying the feelings of drop exist.
A little too tempting though, it all just feels so…….so wrong.
Something sinister lurks beneath.
A gentle nudge, encouragement, decision made, I go to Him.
Small, afraid, trembling in His arms.
He makes me speak, but I’m angry now, irrationally so.
Angry at feeling the way I do.
Angry that He’s not a mind reader.
Angry that He can’t intuit for Himself where the problem lies.
Angry I have to vocalise.
Anger at the tears which just will not go away.
All anger directed at myself for being weak enough to succumb.
I hate being seen like this, I deal alone, it’s the way it is.
Except circumstance has conspired against me, circumstance has forced me to be seen.
Circumstance has decided on my behalf(sneaky bastard) that this time, dealing alone is not to be.
Strong, assured, He offers me a raft of words to which I resolutely cling as I cry it out.
Drained, emotionally depleted, but no longer broken.
Safe, comforted, restored, held up, trusting in His arms.