I put plasters over wounds that required deep cleaning and stitches.

Why, you ask? It was all I had, all I could do, so I could keep moving beyond the pain.

But the wounds are there, healed on the surface, but manifesting as a constant simmer of anger just below.

I’m hurt, let me show you, but the looks stay on the surface; no one sees what’s below. What’s the diagnosis? She’s fine.

I try to speak, am I clear? Can they hear me? Do they listen? It doesn’t feel like it. Time passes and beneath the surface all the painful spots blur into one. I’m not even sure where is hurting anymore. What can’t break through the surface simmers deeper below, into harder to reach areas, leaving me constantly on edge.

Sometimes I start to believe that I’m fine too, but I’m reminded in my interactions with others. It’s a slight touch to you, but to me it’s feelings of pain that make me want to shut down. Sometimes I do, shut myself away until the feelings subside, but my survival is non-optional so I still fight, try to bleed out the bad. Deconstructing the negative thoughts and shaping them into words like these…

“I’m not worthy”…but He is, so I can be

“I shouldn’t be here”…well I’m here now

“Why am I here”…well I guess we’ll find out

The pain is lava so I carefully navigate, making my way gingerly across untouched surfaces. Saying a prayer to God, calling for help, trying to remind myself that I’m not alone in this. With His love and the love of those around me, these wounds will be opened up, dressed and healed properly.

“I will never leave you nor forsake you”. That’s the hope I cling to.