rome wasn't built in a day

Finding my way back is really hard.

I feel it every day. It settles over me every morning as I stumble out of bed and shuffle to the bathroom. It gazes at me as I sleepily look in the mirror trying to remember who that girl is.. or who she used to be at least. A constant rearranging of thoughts. A trickle of encouraging words and phrases to try and heal all those wounds. It follows me.. all day. Bullying me into silence, occassionally herding me into the confines of a novel.. or enticing me to watch television brainlessly. I'm tired. I'm tired of this fight. I'm tired of feeling weak. I'm tired of expending all of my energy on just trying to feel normal for once.

I don't feel hatred. Because I know there's enough of that already. I hurt though.. all the time. I pray every night and I hope it helps. I've found in myself a deep sadness for all the forgotten potential of the people of this world, a heart-felt compassion for those who are lost. I carry that with me. A piece was taken and this sadness is what replaced it. I'm still searching for joy.

One thing I learned today. There is hope. God knows. He will help.