Words from the abyss

I stare at the page. No, that’s not right. I stare into space. Into nothingness. Empty of anything but anguish. The mere thought of lifting my hands to the keyboard, exhausting. Thinking thoughts that require more than automatic muscle movement, overwhelming.

If you’ve never experienced grief this strong, you cannot know how this feels.

The blankets are my shelter. Like God’s wings, they hide me from outside forces that take too much glaring effort to face.

Exhaustion. The exhaustion is much, much more than being tired. It’s the lack of will to do anything but sleep, stare, sob, and sleep again.

I wonder if God feels this way over children He’s lost. And if He does, how His mercy is even deeper and wider.

My thoughts are stuck in a thick goo of anguish. Anguish isn’t the right word. It’s much more than despair. It’s pain, squared by pain times itself, over and over and over again. An exponential abyss of dark, infinite hell.

I know now why they wear black when they grieve. This is so much worse than death. So much worse. And I. Can’t. Find. My. Way. Out. This yawning void sucks me down with each strain toward the light. Each small advance thwarted by the constant shadowy reminder of the cause of the torment.

The only escape is death. But death doesn’t come. With bodacious irreverence life marches on with trivial duties. Make the bed. Brew the coffee. Feed the cat. Sort the socks.

Why do people go on as if nothing has happened? Why does the sun continue to shine? Why do the stars and moon mock the darkness?

I must think new thoughts. I must put praise on my lips.

No. No energy. My mind is too full of intrusive sorrow. I cannot be a hypocrite today. To pretend I’m okay when I’m clearly not is too heavy a burden. Today I can’t paste on the smile, stick out my chin and write pretty prose.

The blankets. So soft. So comforting.

The cat purrs. I close the laptop. Close my eyes.

Tomorrow will come.

Maybe there will be new words tomorrow.

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