A Treading Casualty

Surely I will drown. No one can save me and I am not willing to save myself. I am caught in a riptide of my anger and the undertow of my sorrow is pulling me under. Waves of panic tower over me and come crashing down. I choke on the sea of my salty tears as they rain down, rarely ceasing. I gasp for air as I fight to keep my head above the waters that are sucking me under. My bitterness weighs me down, making the attempt of treading these waters near impossible. I can’t swim in my emotional sea and I am doomed to be the next victim, the next tragedy of a past that couldn’t be reckoned with. I tell myself to just breathe but my chest is too heavy under these turbulent waters. The storm rages and so do I. The clouds rain down their sadness and so do I. And I see You standing there along the shore waiting to rescue me. You long to be my safe harbor but I won’t let You. I refuse to let go of the very thing that is sure to kill me. Why do I attempt to tread these dark waters without You is beyond me, yet that is exactly what I choose to do. I am jaded and apathetic towards help because I can’t see the bigger picture. I look at authority and laugh in its face. They forced me against my will so long ago, and I refused to be forced again, even if it’s only for my good and because they love me. I will do the very thing You tell me not to do, I will do the very thing that breaks Your heart because right now I am controlled only by my hatred of injustice. They each went free, they each live a life unpunished, while I am forced to live a life in shame. Could I let You take that shame from me? Sure, but I don’t know how and right now I don’t know if I’m ready. I think my anger is justified, yet then Yours should be too. I am a casualty of my fate, but only because I choose to be. Freedom seems like some sick joke that those are free choose to use to taunt those of us that are chained like dogs to our past. Who can swim in chains? Not me. What shall I do then? I have confessed much with no promise to do anything about it. So chains of a tormenting past, pain of shame, anger of injustice, is what I will wear as I am pulled under. Surely the riptide will shred me to pieces, while the undertow pulls me down piece by broken piece. And You, my Safe Harbor, will stand there and cry with me longing to rescue me, always reaching out to give me a reprieve from all of me and all of them. The only question is will I choose to be a casualty or will I reach out and take Your hand and finally find the love that can save me from all of this and all of me that I would choose not to be?

Melissa Fitzwilliam