My Island

There is $0.41 in my bank account right now.

I’m at my wits end. It’s been one thing after another. It’s the never ending medical bills. The having to be out of work for a week because I got my neck cut open. It’s the two car payments. It’s the client telling me to take the week off. It’s the threat that I’m going to be sued by the guy who hit me and that I should lawyer up. It’s taking care of everyone else all day long nonstop and then coming home and sitting in a room where I’m surrounded by dirty laundry and mugs that need to be washed. It’s the hallow feeling inside. The lump in my throat. The anxiety and the depression. It’s nothing yet it’s everything at once.

I’m shaking and terrified. I’m on an island of quick sand sinking faster and faster as gigantic scary waves bigger than life come at me from all sides. Even if someone came to rescue me in a helicopter with a long rope I don’t know if I’d grab on. I’m at that point where I’d be okay if everything swallowed me alive because I’m so exhausted I don’t know how I can keep doing this.

Everything was going so well. I wasn’t living paycheck to paycheck for the first time in years. I quit my terrible job and started a company where I was the boss. I had an awesome savings account built up. I was driving a nice car – my first car – my baby. I was feeling okay with life for the first time in a very long time. And then everything hit at once. Literally and figuratively. It was an explosion of sheer panic and nervous laughter.

The past six months have been pain on top of agony on top of disaster. I don’t know how to fix it. I’m in constant panic mode. I’m trying to please everyone yet I’m sinking further and further into a depression I’m not so sure I will be able to get out of this time.

And trust me…I know…cry out to God and He will hold me and comfort me. But I’m too embarrassed to even walk towards Him right now. I’m too weak to try to fix my faith walk. I don’t know what to do. I don’t know who to go. My parents and my brother have their own struggles right now without me crawling to them asking them for whatever help they could offer. And it’s not their fault. They each have their own island, their own quick sand, their own huge scary waves.

So I will sit here surrounded by dirty laundry and mugs that need to be washed pondering why I can’t just take control of life and handle things like an adult. And I will cry. And hyperventilate. And hope I will be able to fall asleep despite the fight going on inside of me.

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