In the Middle of the Night

When I look back on my life, it’s somewhat easy to become discouraged.  Pathetically easy, in fact.  Behind me, there lies a graveyard of broken dreams, destruction, rejection, hard work that never pays off, distant relationships, distrust, hard knocks…oh, and abuse.  Always abuse.  At the foundation of all the devastation.  Ground zero.  Years and years of physical, emotional and sexual abuse doled out by my “loving” parents.

 

I have, because of this, worked rather hard during a large portion of my time on this planet to ignore everything that happened yesterday and to simply go on as best I could.  I’ve mastered the art of making do with what I had at the moment, trying to pretend that it was more than it was and that it met my needs.  In doing this, I have, at this point in my life, reached the golden age of denial.  It comes easy.  Facing the truth is more mental and emotional work than I can handle much of the time.  I live in a reality of unreality.  Where ugly things are kept below the surface.  Where the scary stuff hangs around the edges without being acknowledged.  And I brush it all away like a pesky mosquito.  Or a fly.

 

I ignore the facts of my situation until the dead of the night, when it’s dark, silent, lonely and frightening.  Then the terror of it all overwhelms me.  Crushes me.  Takes my breath away.  The monsters come out of the closet and toy with me.  I am at their mercy.  My defenses are ineffective, fragile, useless.  It is the time when monsters gain strength and I am at my weakest.  This is their world; their reality.  Their domain.  I have nowhere to hide.  They decimate me.

 

During these nocturnal terrors, I find myself feeling so hopeless and terrified, I often struggle to breathe.  I can see so clearly in the darkness that my path is heading to my sure destruction without deviation or hope of rescue.  It is, during these lonely times, quite evident the only thing that can turn my world around is a miracle. 

 

I do pray for one.  I beg God to be there for me, to help me, to reach out and make a way where there doesn’t appear to be a way.  I’ve been doing this for a very long time.  I’m not going to say He will never answer.  Maybe he’s just waiting until I hit that inevitable “I can’t go on even one more step” wall so He can pluck me from sure annihilation a split second before I utterly crash and burn.  If my heart can stand the pain…and the adrenaline shot of fear…I suppose that will be adequate.  Though I do wish for a rescue that is a little less dramatic and “last-minute-ish.” 

 

I feel as though I have been on this journey through my desperate life all alone for such a very long time, I can hardly bear to think of how many years have been frittered away, lost forever to the darkness and gloom.  I’ve struggled for decades.  Most of my life, in fact.  Truly, even when I was married, I was alone because I wasn’t loved, desired, or wanted.  Being alone for such a long time has wounded me in deep ways, just as surely and significantly as the abuse wounded me.  As a result, I’m not beautiful or wonderful or special.  Not unless you like old, broken, greatly flawed people.  My soul doesn’t glow.  My wisdom doesn’t astound.  Instead, I am weary, discouraged, greatly defective and insignificant. 

 

My heart longs for, cries for, a companion, a partner, a safe person to journey with during this last little bit of time that is left in my hands.  But my head knows the likelihood of someone coming alongside me at this point is even less than slim to none. 

 

Again, I am left with the fact that the only thing able to turn my world around is a miracle.

 

It would take a miracle for someone to see beauty in me.  For someone to desire to spend time with me…at least, someone other than the night monsters who torment me.  It would take a miracle for someone to come into my dismal world who thought I was special.  Worthwhile.  Enjoyable.  It would take a miracle for me to be able to dig my way out of debt…and I can’t even imagine what would be required for me to actually be in a position to retire.  To have an opportunity to enjoy what the world has to offer.  To see some of it and relax.  It’s beyond what I can honestly fantasize.  And to be free of depression?  To have hope?  Joy? To be glad that I am alive?  This, I honestly can’t envision.  Only a miracle; a massive, amazing, wondrous miracle, could bring about this kind of transformation.

 

So here I am, trapped in the darkness, awaiting a light that is more than likely not going to come. A light that will certainly never appear when you view my situation logically.  With a semi-sane mind.

 

My heart, however, cries out for mercy.  As I lay here. In the middle of the night.  Terrified.  And defenseless. With only the monsters to keep me company.