When the Battle is Over

 I ran away from home last night. I've had to do that before, and in the last eight months I've had to do it a lot. The only thing I can tell you is that the inclination to run was so strong that I thought I'd scream. So, I got in my car and drove away. Unfortunately, escape is not simple. In fact, you can't escape. I think that is the trigger for anxiety. It seems to be mine.

The last eight months: Two months of family crisis resulted in exhaustion, leading to a flare lasting months. A medication change that altered my mental and emotional state- numbing pain but creating mental chaos. Constant pain in my legs and back, not touched by medication since October. Very poor sleep. I had frenetic writing episodes that would last up to eight hours a day for three months. And anxiety attacks. All of it has affected my personal interactions with people, so changing churches and meeting new people was another trigger for chaos. 

I needed a cell but had an arena.

So, I ran away last night. Like Elijah, I had to get food into me since it had been hours since I had eaten. Hardee's is close, and they have small chicken wraps that are cheap and good. Protein is good when the body is under stress, something I keep forgetting. 

After I ate, I sat in my car and broke. Into a lot of pieces. Put on music, cried, and asked Jesus to please just sit next to me and hold my hand. I didn't know what else to do. I was at the end of a long road, all by myself. He'd already taken every person I would have called. No one was going to come rescue me from myself. 

And that's what I told him. 

I'm tired of the mental, physical, and emotional chaos, of the pain. I told him how exhausted I am with just being here and that I don't want to be here anymore. 

And it's all true. I've never been this tired, this alone. And I've never wanted to leave this much. 

Don't worry. I'll be fine. I was once told I'm a fighter. It'll keep you going even when you should stop. It will keep you up at night looking for the best way to handle what's coming at you. 

Hell knows you're a fighter, too. It makes you a target for every imaginable and unimaginable thing it can throw at you, physically, mentally, and spiritually. Sometimes, all at once. It wants to stop you. 

 It starts with minor battles. When you survive those, the battles get harder, larger, and inflict more damage. You're going to bleed. You're going to hurt. You're going to want to die. 

If you survive, eventually there will be bodies on the field. You'll lose so many people that the pain will almost destroy you. You'll see them fall, and you'll feel the loss in every cell. But you won't be able to stop fighting. Because a fighter never stops until the battle is over. 

There will always be that one battle where you want to quit, to lie down and stop the pain. The one where you're the only one standing in a field of destruction. But you can't stop fighting. The end is just beyond your ability to see, and the end is what you're fighting to reach. To a fighter, there's something at the end that will fix it all. 

I don't know how many more battles I can fight. I'm kneeling in a field of bodies, bleeding from wounds that no longer heal. And just over that hill right there are hordes heading this way. 

However, I'll get on my feet, pull whatever weapons I still possess close and keep moving. Everyone is gone. And I'm still hoping there's something at the end that will fix everything. 

I hope it isn't very far. I'm tired.