I’m writing for no particular reason. I’m laid up in bed after a restless night of tossing and turning. I’m feverish for God knows why and my insides twisted in a knot. Wondering if this either a new avenue for my panic or if I’m genuinely sick. The irony of all this is, I had a doctor’s appointment this morning. But the way I am feeling, there was no way I could drive myself there.
After a little relief, my insides are hurting again. But I know eventually I’ll have to eat something. Looking in the mirror this morning, I saw a tired old man. His face sinking from gravity and weight loss. I know I should be happy about losing weight, but part of me just feels like I’m melting away. Forming a puddle of who I was underneath my feet.
But as I write this confession a small twinge of hope crosses my mind. Release I suppose has been the key to my healing. A “come to Jesus moment” as it were. Still I wonder, is my life best served without thought or direction? I mean four years ago I had to pull myself away. But as the moments pass, am I now only letting life slip between my fingers?
“Confession is good for the soul.” So I wonder where am I going? I have my book to complete, but is it enough? I mourn for the man in the mirror. Is he a reflection of moments past or an image of things to come? Only time will tell, as I continue to step forward with what I’m doing. Believing somewhere that there is another lost soul that understands.