I cannot make myself understood.

You can’t know what nobody has told you. I think it’s time that I did.

Sometimes the so-called ‘preparations’ aren’t enough. You’ve tightly locked the doors and windows. You’ve done everything asked of you, and faithfully so. You’ve even exercised to induce a sense of dopamine calm. You’ve worked starting at the same time and for the same length every day. You’ve interacted with human beings at least a few times this week. You’ve started sleeping during a normal time frame. But sometimes the system fails.

Failure may stalk you, unpleasant and unshaven. It’s a rotten guest. You can tell it to leave until you’re blue in the face, covered in tears. Eventually you give up and slide back into bed and shut the door. It’s settled in to stay. Immediately, it’s all demands, refusing to let you out of the house. The phone stops ringing. It’s just you and, what seems to be, an endless trial.

When God wants to punish us, he grants us our sins. I try to get better every day. I need to reenter the world; and run back into my life full of hope. I want to say that I’m ready to be myself again, a daughter, a friend, and a girlfriend, someone who is strong enough to let others lean on me. I want to listen. I want to give. I want warmth and heat and light.  It’s gone. I was gone too long. They’ve let me go. All that remains is this overwhelming, nearly tactile cloud of resentment. I required too much and have nearly nothing left.

I spend the nights sitting in my room, trying to think how I could do it alone. For the past few months, that’s what I’ve aimed to do. I can’t stand it here, so I’m leaving. It’s time to become horribly dependent on Him; on God. I plead for help. I promise to behave. I’m on my knees before you, so please… don’t laugh like the rest of them.

I’ve become a product of my own mind, a pastiche of memory, dream, fear, desire. All I have is today, this moment, to work with. I’m starting a new story. I’m inventing myself one experience at a time. I can choose who I become. I can write my future. I can create a person; write a story, full of faith. While there are days when I wish to God I could trade brains with someone else, just for a minute, just long enough to get some peace, I wouldn’t exchange the life of my mind for the life of another.

I am who I am. I relish my life. I will not throw it away. So what if it isn’t ‘normal?’ It’s the one I have. It’s difficult, beautiful, painful, and full of laughter, passing strange. Whatever else it is, whatever it brings—it’s mine.

I’ve got this gut feeling that a flash flood of love is going to be sent my way. I will be taken to unimaginable heights, but not until I’ve healed. I need to be free from dreams of yesterday. Soon—it’ll only be me and him. Waiting only makes me love him more.  From the start, he will be strong enough to latch on to me, bear the weight and lift me, induce buoyancy. We will float in a brilliant, blue sky; above the reach of personal demons.

Until we meet.