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If only… If only the walls of my room would have a voice, they would speak of the amount of tears I’ve shed behind closed doors. If only the voicemail on my phone would say the truth, it would say that I don’t mean to ignore you, I just don’t have the emotional energy to talk. If […]

If only…

If only the walls of my room would have a voice, they would speak of the amount of tears I’ve shed behind closed doors.

If only the voicemail on my phone would say the truth, it would say that I don’t mean to ignore you, I just don’t have the emotional energy to talk.

If only that ambulance that just passed my house, will come to me instead, and fill the deep void that’s within me.

If only my medicine chest would talk, it would say how many bottles of medications I’ve tried.

If only my emotional wounds would present itself as physical wounds, I would be cared for so much more.

If only my pillow would speak, it would talk about the countless times I’ve soaked it with my bitter tears.

If only my legs would speak, they would explain how I need to drag them out the door each and every morning.

But they don’t talk. They can’t speak. They have no voice and I therefore struggle alone. Yes, I have a small support system, but when the pain gets too much to bear, I need more than that.

If you look at me, you will see a clean cut father and husband. A business owner. A happy looking guy. However, right beneath my very thin facade that I put on every morning, lies so much pain. If you look into my eyes, you will see suffering. I see it when I look in the mirror. I feel it in my soul. I feel it in my legs when I need to drag myself out the door each morning.

I feel like I’m walking a tightrope. The balancing pole in my hands, are my wife and children which give me the drive  to cross over the abyss below. They are the reason why I take that walk every day. It’s because of them that I continue my journey.

Some days the winds are calm and I have an easy time crossing. Yet, there are days and sometimes weeks, that the winds are fiercely blowing in all directions, trying to knock me down. On those days, I hold on to my balancing pole for dear life and use all my strength to stay on that thin tightrope string.

The painful contrast between myself and a true tightrope walker is that, he has crowds cheering him on. He knows that when he gets to the finish line, he’ll be a star. He will feel so accomplished and awesome. Yet in my case, there is no cheering. No crowds. No clapping from far down below. This all, makes my world so much darker. So much more lonely and painful.

I can’t look down because it pains me to see the absence of the crowds. It makes me feel too alone. I can’t look straight ahead, because it seems too daunting to cross the entire length of the rope. I’m therefore forced to look upwards. To God in heaven. I’m way up above the ground and I’m closer to God.

So looking up, I call out to Him and ask him to help me along my journey. I ask Him to give me the strength and resilience that it takes to walk this tightrope everyday again. I beg Him to light up my world. I plead with Him to show me His love and care. I ask Him to shower me with love, just like I shower my own children with love. I’ve endured  so much trauma and abuse in my life, yet I have never let go of God. I ask Him to please in turn, never let go of me.

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