A Prayer for Courage and Strength

Life is a fine line. One realizes that, I suppose, only when God or some other force decides it's about time you realized you're a circus artist walking a thin rope; realized that you're miles from the ground with nothing but your mind, your body, and all that composes both; in such a way that you are a unique being yet also just just as ordinary as the person walking the line in front and in back of you.

As we walk, some fall, while the rest of us continue. If we are lucky we are replaced by those who come after us. If we are sick, we are replaced by our brothers and sisters. Although in the end, the result remains the same.

Lying in my bed, drugged, likely drunk, and all too sleepy - I remember what it felt like to be helpless. To have strangers be more adept at taking care of me than I myself was. And this was a horrible experience to live. I remember the awful noise, similar to that of nails on a chalk board, made by the old wheels of the stretcher as the two women carried down the narrow, fluroescently lit staircase of our apartment building. I remember holding the rails in an effort to make myself lighter for them. The least I could do, in my uselessness. Lessen my weight, my burden on others. Perhaps if I wasn't so heavy, all of this would just go away. Perhaps if I dissapeared, the lives of those around me would be lighter. Happier. And so I held on to those rails. Hoping that somehow my weight on the line would make it simpler for those around me to walk with balance, grace, and success. 'Let go of the banister' the women asked. But I held on to each rail as I was lifted awkwardly down.

In an effort to mend myself, I create this journal. I create it with the prayer that God will be involved and help me to understand myself and my illness.

That perhaps in understanding my wrongs, my faults, my errors, my weaknesses, I can become better.

Often at night, despite knowing that I am not alone, I feel it. I feel the isolation of my soul. Its discontent, its need to flee. Some nights I beg it to leave, taking my life with it. And I surrender myself to whatever fate would follow.

And some nights I beg it to stay. To give me another chance. To make my heart stop skipping beats - errors that make me dizzy and nautious. I beg my soul to give me the strength to see something in myself worthy of living for.

And so now I ask that this project be fruitful and positive. That perhaps something inside me is worth the on-going days, the effort, the will. And if I am in fact worthy of recovery from my illness, this is a prayer that this journal and journey will be blessed with the courage and strength that will lead me to discover the worth of my soul.