The monstrosity of the problem fills me with fear and trembling. Literally, I might add. Why … why must this go on and on? I thought things would now settle and I might be able to go off my medication. But it doesn’t look like that will be the case. When do heartaches end? Not as long as we are alive. I get that. So why can’t my heart and soul come to grips with that fact and allow me the courage to go on without getting attacked?
During the time of my mother’s death, just three months ago, a couple of words kept popping up in my mind. “I am strong!” Those are not my words, I thought. How could it be? Nevertheless, I repeated them as they appeared across the screen of my mind or I heard them as they quivered its loudspeaker. I knew I was emotionally weak, but with all the preparations of a funeral and the family, who came to say their farewells, some inner strength walked me through; a strength given to me by God, I believe, to bear the weight of death. When I try to analyse things, it feels as though, He carried me along the ill-trodden path of sorrow, through the sinking mud and mire. Other’s told me how it would work. They had had the experience.
These last few days however, it feels like I have been planted back on my feet and given a slight prodding to continue my place behind the plough. My legs are feeble and faint at the knees, fearing I may fall and not be able to rise once again; my sight, as though, blinded by the piercing rays of the hot sun. I am lost in a field of prickly thistles, purple flowers stretching towards the heavens; thirsty for a steamy glass of cold water brimming with ice-cubes. I so want to feel well again, to feel life with all its goodness and pleasures.
I have an anxiety disorder. The symptoms disappeared about five years ago when I was given some medication to ease the anxiety. Attempting to wean myself from prescription drugs, I have cut my dosage in half for about a month now. I was doing fairly well until the anxiety attacks resurfaced. One of the side effects causes me to sleep endlessly. It’s so hard to read or write when you feel tired and worn. I wish God had kept me in His arms throughout the rest of my life. It was so much easier then.