Lightning and Thunder

With the lightning flashing across the night sky and the thunder roaring overhead, I opened my door, stepped outside into the rain, and spread my arms high above my head and closed my eyes. My heart raced, my pulse quickened, and my breathing grew shallow for a bit; it felt like I was spinning and I was ready to puke, but I stood with my arms wide open and embraced this fear that I've had since I was a very young girl. Giant raindrops pounded my face as the humid wind swept through my hair. It seemed as though my heart was indecisive as to whether it should just stop completely or keep pumping ferociously. I could feel my breathing get out of control. Long. Short. Gasping, wheezing. I swallowed a mouthful of air and saturated my lungs with an over abundance of oxygen and felt a bursting in my ears. The hiccups came immediately and I felt I could taste bile at the back of my throat. The fear and anxiety began trickling through my mind, stretching to my limbs, my guts, and racing through my nerves. Electrical shocks prickling down the back of my neck. But I stood. I stood there in the rain, in the lightning, in the thunder, getting wet until my heart slowed a bit, my pulse grew even and my eyes opened. The sweat on my forehead lingered with the rain and I looked into the dark, overcast sky and said a prayer. And even after the prayer and the quiet moments between thunderous rumbles, the fear tried to cling, to break through the calm. I pushed against the fear, filling my mind with light thoughts. I am here. I am still standing. Nothing will happen to me. I peered again out into the darkness, anticipating the next bout of thunder and searching the horizon for the flash of lightning. That deceiving, strobing light that can snap an oak tree in two halves with one lick of its illuminating, searing fingers. And the thunder came. And the lightning came. And still I stood. Safe, unharmed.

Picking up the pieces of a broken heart is never easy. Facing the void has been rough. But somehow, through constant prayer, I am surviving. And the credit goes to God. Because I swear, I am truly a weak person. Most days I would just like to stare blankly across the horizon and get lost in my thoughts. Most days I want to just sit and never move or lift a finger. For a while I didn't want to eat or sleep or drink. For a while I wanted to be numb, to run away from the hurt and rejection and disappear into the bleak, unforgiving darkness that threatens to consume my mind. But I have to face the void and attack my fears. I NEED to. I cannot fail. I cannot fail me. I cannot fail my son. I cannot fail my family. I am a survivor. I find my way through sticky situations. I, the oldest of five kids, who went to school in a foreign country by myself with limited knowledge of the language and not one single friend to talk with on that first day of school. Not one person to share lunch with. Not one person who could understand me. I will overcome. I will persevere.