And in a burst of light that blinded every angel
As if the sky had blown the heavens into stars
You felt the gravity of tempered grace
Falling into empty space
No one there to catch you in their arms…
– Linkin’ Park, “Iridescent”
I’ve been staring at this blank screen for hours, trying to find a way to articulate everything that’s inside of me, wondering if I’ll ever be able to, wondering if I’m even meant to.
These last two months…
God, I don’t even know where to begin.
I don’t even know what to say.
These last two months, I’ve been to four different hospitals five separate times; I’ve met with family doctors, specialists, and surgeons; I’ve had countless labs and double-rounds of scans and x-rays. And still, no concrete answers, nothing that definitively says, this is what’s going on with your body, this is what has left you feeling so weak, so sick, so pained.
Nothing that promises, now…now you can heal.
I’m going in for surgery next week to have my gallbladder removed. With all the test results coming up normal, it’s the doctors’ opinions that it could be gallbladder disease that just isn’t making itself apparent on the scans — something that isn’t so rare, they assure me, with a surgery that is routine.
I’m scared. Not for the surgery itself — I know I’m in safe hands. No, what I’m scared of is this guessing game, because I don’t think any of us are entirely convinced. What I’m scared of is this wondering, this desperation to feel any semblance of relief, anything that is at least reminiscent of what my life was before this, before I’d found myself withdrawing because I can do little else.
What I’m afraid of — what I’ve always been afraid of — is this unknown.
This past weekend, my best friend and family came over to keep me company; it was the first time I’d laughed — the first time I’d felt like myself again — since this all began. I felt that strength returning — physically, mentally. And I thought, maybe I’m getting better, maybe this will all be over soon and I can return to the job that I love and the coworkers who are such a support to me, to the dreams I’d had to tuck away for this little while, to the people who are such a part of my life, my heart.
I thought, maybe I can have my life back again…
Tonight, I can’t keep the tears from spilling as everything collides into one emotional storm.
I can’t…I don’t know how to keep going on like this. I don’t know how to hold onto whatever strength I have left, when it feels like every ounce is being stripped away from me.
I’m supposed to be learning something from this, right? To put things into perspective, to understand that this is just a moment in a life and I’ll get through it, that people have been through much harder, much worse. Isn’t that what I’m supposed to be learning?
To have patience, to just hang in there…
To appreciate what I have, to be accepting and practice compassion…
I’m supposed to be learning to trust people, to realize I can’t control it all, can’t do it all on my own, right? I’m supposed to learn how to let people in, to let myself need people and to let them be needed…
I don’t know anymore…I don’t know what I’m supposed to be learning from this and I’m so scared…I’m so scared because I feel so uncharacteristically weak and numb. And at the same time, I’m inexplicably feeling everything without being able to express anything.
Who am I anymore? Who am I? Who am I but this shell who looks in the mirror and sees darkened eyes instead of the light that used to live there. Who am I but this person who can’t remember what it means to smile, to laugh, to find the beauty and hope and love in every tender moment of this life.
I’m scared. I’m scared because I feel like I’m all alone now, like I’m on my own…
And I need you. I miss you.
But I feel so empty. So lost and so empty.
And all I can think is, where are you, God?
Where are you? Because I need you. I really need you.
I can’t do this on my own anymore.
I can’t do this without you with me.