I opened a drawer and instead of just a paddle, I saw that it contained all my pieces of life. I was amazed to realize it was all mine, and I never even knew that I had kept it. As I stood there staring at all that stuff, I started to recognize some of it. Each object I saw blew me away, and I felt a though I could faint but did not, because each time I stared at something I saw two more things pop up in my sight.
Even when we see things, we sometimes do not, yet the mind catches glimpses and hangs on. That’s when my eyes are drawn back, once again, to take a look at the sharp edges and the dilapidated corners and see that the knife still has a bite. I am stunned to discover that it all has not just disintegrated because it is so old and dirty. Why hasn’t rust and mildew taken over? It all smells the same as the day I put it in there, and it just will not seem to go away.
Then I wonder how nobody else has found this drawer that has all my belongings shoved in, and why can’t somebody help me clean out the crap that I stowed inside? How can I sort through all of those things while being safe and happy for my kids, and get to meetings, and pay the bills, and go to the unemployment office, along with the speed bag that keeps pounding in my mind, and the story I have written?
Since I have found this drawer, I now know it is there, and I also know how dangerous it can be since those little ones depend upon me. I feel the responsibility to clean it out as fast as I can, yet it is hard, very hard, when there doesn’t seem enough time because…
Time has no meaning now and I must watch the hands on the clock as they move, else I can get lost since then is now, and now is then, throughout my day and that is when I think I have gone completely mad.
Yet, I cannot just reach in and dig things out of that darned drawer because, like the thorn on a rose, it can bite even the gardener who planted it. I don’t want the kids to know about this drawer because I am afraid they will get hurt; they may even try to reach in to help and their hands are too little and uncoordinated. They really have no idea of the weapons of emotional destruction that lay hidden amongst this junk. I don’t want them to get hurt as I did when I put it all in there in the first place. Since it is old, and now it is dirty, infection can set in. The thing that hurt dreadfully before it was dropped there can be doubly hazardous the second or third time around. Toxic. This shit is toxic and I want it out.
It seems that all I have done is look, and have not done anything about the contents yet. I do not have any idea what else is hidden. I see rape and abandon and humiliation and degradation, and love and beatings, and self-imposed starvation and all sorts of consuming and,
Faith that still stands strong as I get so perplexed. I do not know what I should do to take care of all these possessions. I pace around in circles at my keyboard in the basement and wonder when grey hair will come, as I go to meetings and encourage those I can help whilst also learning to ask for myself, as feeble as I am.
Through trial comes perseverance and through that comes character and God, they say just absolutely loves character so I guess I am really quite one.
I want to be done. I want to stop the waves of emotion that come as a tidal to my soul. I want it to slow down, not so much a storm now.
Just to make it a little smaller now,
A little quieter now,
A little stiller now,