Tell me again. How often I have screamed that in my head and my heart? Tell me again that you love me. Tell me again that it will be alright. Tell me again that the pain will go away. Tell me again that I won’t be swallowed up by the anger. Tell me again that the hurt will stop hurting. Tell me again that I am valued, appreciated, loved.
It isn’t that I people don’t say it. It is that I have developed the crusty exterior of a pineapple in order to protect myself. My head has taken control. It rationalizes feeling. It explains why and how to survive the pain, the isolation, the anger. I am stuck in the shell. It is dark and dank. The sicky sweet smell has begun to tingle my nose. I want out. There is no human way out.
Please no more. I have heard the cussing. I have heard the disappointment. I know I hurt you. I am trying. I heard the yelling. I heard the anger.I saw the flipping the bird at me. I felt the cold stare and the hatred. I panged at the tainted words and thoughts. I heard the desire for abscence. I heard the icy exterior. I heard your heart break. I heard mine too. I also heard the hidden spark of love. I can see the glimmer of hope.
I scream, “Tell me again,” hoping that it will crack the shell. It echos in my ears. My head reverberates with the noise. My heart pounds fiercely. The pain is excruciating. The tears flow, the shell cracks. God reaches in and gently touches my shoulder. He tells me to stand and walk away. Is it real? Can I trust this? I am afraid. I step…slowly.