Unhinged.

Sometimes I tell the same story over and over, and then I switch and engage different audiences, hoping for answers, wishfully desiring greater understanding—solace, something greater than my own intellect. And yet, I receive only suggestive thoughts with no sense of conscious confidence of truth, only hypotheses written on nothing I can hold on to. I took a break from praying and rebelled. I was tired of praying and still lacking clarity. My prayers had been answered, and the process failed me. The heaviness my heart felt should have instantly rushed me back to my spiritual emergency room filled with faith and belief that all things happen in God's timing, but the scriptures, the cliches, and the positive thinking no longer provided comfort, and positivity of any sort and from any source was like a piercing dagger being thrown my way—painfully sharp, unwarranted, and unwanted. The disappointment and lack of understanding were thick and rugged. The more I tried to fight against the current, the more rippling effect I felt. The community around me couldn't save me. The positive words couldn't save me. My prayers had seemingly failed me. And it was just me. Alone. In a black hallway looking for the door, but the doorknob was unhinged. 

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