I think.. maybe.. trepidatiously.. I can say that I am healing. A little bit. And there are backslides and moments when I am sure the whole wound will rip open, worse than before, fester and kill me without any warning.
I just keep reminding myself, like I do when I'm walking the halls with my 18-month-old at 3 am, and he's screaming.. and I would like nothing more than to go into a coma for a few months... I murmur, "it's ok.. you're okay. It's ok.. you're ok.." I never have known who I was saying it to more.
And here I am saying it still.
We're okay. It's okay.
Eventually the dark night will be over and morning will come. I have to believe that. The sun has never refused to rise, before..
And while my "night" has been very, very long.. the sun has never refused to rise.
Perhaps I've had cloudy days in between when the sun was there and I could barely see it through my windows.. when I refused to throw open the windows and let it in anyway. It's all darkness to me, in this state of mind. I'm not sure how to see anything else lately.
I've lived this way for so long.
I have to live healed. Whole.