And then you start sliding.
You are grasping for anything to hold on to – internet articles, research, twinges in your stomach, personal stories delicately told by others who can only pretend to have walked where you walk.
You wonder how you got here – how one thing, result, emotion knocks the wind out of you over and over; leaving you to wonder if you are brave enough or physically able enough to get up and take it again.
Fighting bitterly with the voice in your head questioning your every move. Paralyzed by fear. Is it worth it? Do you want to keep feeling this way? Are you strong enough?
Down you go.
Desperately grasping on to “what ifs” as variables to change for the next time. Attempting to pinpoint what went wrong. Dissecting everything you ate, how you worked out, your deodorant, nail polish, tampons, sleep schedule. The answer has to be in here somewhere. Keep looking or you’ll fall down even further. Delicately picking apart each part of your life is what is keeping your hope alive.
“It’s science. It’s easy. Even teenagers can figure it out. Try this. Try that. Take this pill. Spread your legs. Pee in this cup. It won’t hurt that bad. Calm down, you’re too tight. Come back in a month.”
I’m afraid I’m slipping down to where there is no light. The further I fall and the more my face is muddied with hope lost, blinding me from receiving any good news, the more I lose sight of the potential gift on the other side.
Innocence lost. Babies not conceived by a kiss in the night, but rather careful examination and calculation of the schedule of our internal organs.
Where is the answer? Jesus, I need the light. If you will not let me see the light, at least let me feel it, or feel You. I am tired of slipping. I am tired of feeling along in this hole. Pull me out. The darkness is more than I can bear.