I became too angry to care.
Anger dragged and crushed every emotion with it at this strange, new height.
My sobs became dry.
My heaving became breathless.
My tear ducts empty.
Call me hypocritical, but what can I do?
I am one person. My anger does nothing.
My anger at the moment when the city of lights grew pitch black. It did not bring those lives back.
At the tyranny upon the streets of Beirut. How little compassion there was for them.
At the people who daily fight the battles of depression. Loss. Worthlessness. All battles of equal numbness.
Anger does nothing. Numbness does nothing.
Where do I stand?
Isn’t it impossible to stand at both far ends of a spectrum?
I am cut in half. Both halves struggling to meet each other
To become whole again.
Oh, how I want to feel.
Neither extreme anger, nor extreme nothingness would do.
I want to feel again.
Lord, I want to feel the equilibrium you feel.
The anger, but the hope Christ has.
The weariness, but the perseverance Christ has.
The sadness, but the joy Christ has.
The hate against evil, but the love for humanity Christ has.
I want to feel
even though I am dried out.
I want to see puzzle pieces of broken hearts put together.
I want to love those pieces.
I want to rise.
Help me to raise my right hand,
as the militant who takes the oath of faith, and say:
– I no longer accept feeling “nothing,” when Christ gave his everything.
– I no longer accept feeling “everything,” when Christ already bore that everything.
And since I have asked these things of you,
I, then, accept one type of extreme:
For you, my God.
Lead me. Show me. Instruct me. I beg of thee.