The End of My World
As a little girl growing up during the Cold War, the year 2000 loomed ominous in the distance. It was the year of doom that we all secretly feared. I was certain the nuclear missile would be fired that year. The month of December 1999 was wrought with predictions of destruction and chaos the world over. On a personal level, the month began with Mycroft’s knee surgery and subsequent depression and ended with a disappointing Christmas. December 31st came and went without incidence and our world rang in the New Year and millennium in a grandiose fashion.
At home Mycroft and I quietly but passionately made love as the clock struck twelve. Little did I know this was the beginning of the end of my fragile little world. I heard him talking on the phone to her later that night, after he tucked me into bed and kissed my forehead. That should have been my first clue – forehead? My stomach knotted up and I curled into a tight little ball. I naively imagined that by compacting my body, I would be protected from the emotional blow that would soon follow. However, the betrayal wreaked a havoc that no nuclear bomb could ever compete with. Here lie the emotions of a soul wounded in the battle of the year 2000. I am a survivor.
At night I feel alone. I miss his tender touch, his gentle kiss, and his warm embrace. I miss the look of devotion shining in his eyes. I cry at night for the ache that consumes me. The emptiness is so real. The void is so great. Prayer sooths my troubled heart and eases the pain. Sleep is a respite from the worry, from the ache, from the insecurity.
In the morning it hits with a force that again drives me to my knees for comfort. How can love be so painful? I cannot escape it. It is a part of me now. I will not let it control me. I must take control and responsibility for my reactions and myself. The loneliness is there, but I am not alone.
Where do I turn when there is no one left to trust? I knew there were problems, but I didn’t realize they were so large or so deep. I teeter on the edge of this cliff torn between self-annihilation and hanging on. Mycroft, who I thought would lend a hand and pull me back, instead pushes me over to fall, and hurts me beyond what I’ve ever felt before. I lay here alone, unable to cry for help and unable to heal without it. I hurt. I can’t even move without pain. Oh, so much anguish to bear!
I look at him and the remorse, guilt, and pain, emanate from his glance reaching deep within me and I can hear it, a cry for help! He calls out my name so silently he can’t even hear it himself. Help the one who pushed, who caused the pain I now feel? How can I help when I feel so much pain and anger myself? That is too much to ask. But there it is again. A cry for help. I cannot ignore it. I care too deeply. Where do I turn? I don’t turn away. Instead, I cry out for help from above.
“Please don’t leave me here alone to ache. I cannot bear it! Please help me feel your love. Teach me how to forgive.” I look again at the other crying for help and notice that his wounds are deeper than my own. These will take time and constant care to heal.
“Oh help us both!” I beg again. “We cannot do this alone!” As I turn myself, my pain, my hopes, my fears, my very soul over to Him, peace envelops me and I know that I am equal to the task. I know that together we can heal. Perhaps alone, the wounds would not all be there, but those that were would fester and become worse with time. I reach up and take His hand, trusting in His comfort. I reach out and take the hand of the one who cries silently for help, and together we begin the long and painful climb to the top where peace, forgiveness and happiness await.
As a little girl growing up during the Cold War, the year 2000 loomed ominous in the distance. It was the year of doom that we all secretly feared. I was certain the nuclear missile would be fired that year. The month of December 1999 was wrought with predictions of destruction and chaos the world over. On a personal level, the month began with Mycroft’s knee surgery and subsequent depression and ended with a disappointing Christmas. December 31st came and went without incidence and our world rang in the New Year and millennium in a grandiose fashion.
At home Mycroft and I quietly but passionately made love as the clock struck twelve. Little did I know this was the beginning of the end of my fragile little world. I heard him talking on the phone to her later that night, after he tucked me into bed and kissed my forehead. That should have been my first clue – forehead? My stomach knotted up and I curled into a tight little ball. I naively imagined that by compacting my body, I would be protected from the emotional blow that would soon follow. However, the betrayal wreaked a havoc that no nuclear bomb could ever compete with. Here lie the emotions of a soul wounded in the battle of the year 2000. I am a survivor.
At night I feel alone. I miss his tender touch, his gentle kiss, and his warm embrace. I miss the look of devotion shining in his eyes. I cry at night for the ache that consumes me. The emptiness is so real. The void is so great. Prayer sooths my troubled heart and eases the pain. Sleep is a respite from the worry, from the ache, from the insecurity.
In the morning it hits with a force that again drives me to my knees for comfort. How can love be so painful? I cannot escape it. It is a part of me now. I will not let it control me. I must take control and responsibility for my reactions and myself. The loneliness is there, but I am not alone.
Where do I turn when there is no one left to trust? I knew there were problems, but I didn’t realize they were so large or so deep. I teeter on the edge of this cliff torn between self-annihilation and hanging on. Mycroft, who I thought would lend a hand and pull me back, instead pushes me over to fall, and hurts me beyond what I’ve ever felt before. I lay here alone, unable to cry for help and unable to heal without it. I hurt. I can’t even move without pain. Oh, so much anguish to bear!
I look at him and the remorse, guilt, and pain, emanate from his glance reaching deep within me and I can hear it, a cry for help! He calls out my name so silently he can’t even hear it himself. Help the one who pushed, who caused the pain I now feel? How can I help when I feel so much pain and anger myself? That is too much to ask. But there it is again. A cry for help. I cannot ignore it. I care too deeply. Where do I turn? I don’t turn away. Instead, I cry out for help from above.
“Please don’t leave me here alone to ache. I cannot bear it! Please help me feel your love. Teach me how to forgive.” I look again at the other crying for help and notice that his wounds are deeper than my own. These will take time and constant care to heal.
“Oh help us both!” I beg again. “We cannot do this alone!” As I turn myself, my pain, my hopes, my fears, my very soul over to Him, peace envelops me and I know that I am equal to the task. I know that together we can heal. Perhaps alone, the wounds would not all be there, but those that were would fester and become worse with time. I reach up and take His hand, trusting in His comfort. I reach out and take the hand of the one who cries silently for help, and together we begin the long and painful climb to the top where peace, forgiveness and happiness await.
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