Catching My Breath

I needed her gone. She needed to leave and I needed to wash my hands of her.  I was waiting to exhale and didn’t know I had been waiting for two and a half years to do it.  She sucked the marrow of my life right out of my bones and I was a shell of a person who could no longer care to help.

She was the horse I led to the water and try as I might I could not get her to drink. Instead I ended up looking longingly into the crystal pool of life-giving water wanting to fling myself into it and drown choking on well-intentioned good deeds.

To say that I was frustrated and beyond exhaustion would be an understatement.  I was a party balloon who had served its purpose depleted of air discarded on the floor among the trampled streamers and faded confetti.

I. Was. Done.

Even though I watched her drive away with a semblance of her life packed up haphazardly, in hurriedly taped up boxes, I worried for her.  I prayed for her safety.  I’m not entirely a monster, and let me tell you, many times I had felt as though I was one.

I gave her a hug, an honest, earnest, hug and told her to be safe and keep in touch and please, please, let us know how you’re doing.  I meant it.  And even though I did that I still could not look her in the eye for fear that the truth of my jaded, fed up soul would some how leak out and I couldn’t have that.

I cautiously exhale with much trepidation.  I tell myself it’s ok to breath agains so I take another cautious breath and let that settle somewhere deep in my chest.

Oh, peace come near to me once again.  Replenish my soul O, Lord.  Give me your shelter.  Cover me with Your wings and give me rest if but for a moment until I can catch my breath.

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