The anxiety is overwhelming. My hands, breath, my very soul is shaking. My emotions feel out of control and I am at a loss for words. Yelling, crying, being still makes no difference. Futile efforts all done in vain. To be still means to be swept up in a myriad of emotions, to be washed over by fear and sadness; inadequacy and self-deprecation. I am speechless – all I can muster is a meek, “I don’t know.”
I don’t know what to do. I don’t know what I need. I don’t know why I feel so alone.
Surrounded by people, places, things and distractions yet it all feels empty and void of meaning. I want to run away, but I have no where to go. Is this what despair feels like? Is this what it means to feel emotions? Why did I stop bottling everything up – things were so much easier then.
Will I make it through this? Will I be ok?
How long, O Lord, how long?
What am I going to do?
The phone buzzes . . .
“I am concerned about you.”
. . .
How can I respond? Can I trust? Can I share? Can I be honest? Can I be vulnerable?
“I’m concerned about me too.”
The phone rings . . .
Hi. How are you?
. . . I don’t know.
I’m afraid, I feel alone, I don’t know what to do. All I can manage is to cry.
Words of comfort follow – compassion, care, empathy, love.
I’m . . . thankful. But not quite sure how to accept your words.
I’m in a dark place, a place I’ve never let anyone into before.
Can I share this space? Can I let you in? Can I let your words penetrate the darkness with me? Can I be vulnerable?
Take care of yourself – words that have never felt so heavy.
What can I do for you?
How can I answer. I’m only starting to integrate feelings, authentic emotions into my life. I’m trying to stop manufacturing happiness.
I’ve never been here before, how can I know what I need.
So I say all of this every last word. My hand shaking, my soul trembling. Is this was risk feel like?
This is vulnerability.
I let this kind and gentle spirit in. I take off the mask of bravery and let the world see my tears.
I am vulnerable.
I am going to be OK.