Secrets we hide even from ourselves haunt us in the early hours of the morning. They chase us down dark halls. Following us, poking and prodding and demanding our attention when we are attempting to be happy in other parts of our lives. They steal our past replacing what was with long shadows of angst and guilt
Around every corner they spread their disease of depression, push us down into deep wells of despair. Until gasping for air and sobbing in pain, the day to day life we attempt to live is superseded by the desire to escape to some place of peace, of stillness from the haunting.
Finally, we live half lives, zombie people longing for what can not be because of truth that came screaming up from the depths one dark despairing day. How to hope when there is this overwhelming, life sucking pall hanging over us?
Nights are long and lonely, as are the days and those who used to know us have no understanding. We seek in places unlikely for some sort of shelter from this storm. Running for cover until we stumble into someone who will not turn us away, or demand that we get over our pain, but willingly holds us until the sobbing subsides. Perhaps not comprehending, but permitting us nonetheless to walk as slowly as needed. Waiting patiently for us to arise to whatever hobbling stance we can manage from the beaten down place that we still fall into.
How to hope beyond even this moment? I can not say. Every season leads us down corridors that point to when the past became our present and continuous pain. Looking for hope in the new day or in the laughter of a child is only even possible because you are there for me.