This Was Not Her

This was not her; the mess, the anger, the reactions, the words, the feelings. This was what she was not equipped to deal with. Her head would speak to her, while her tongue went on and did as the surrounding induced. Her mind only won when on the mat she let her tears wash away her guilt, recriminations, anger, hurt, sorrow and everything else that was not welcome in the form of negativity. While those around her continued to live, they continued to be - she continued to see, and continued to plead. The overflow of pain, confusion, discord, mayhem and disrespect was no more overwhelming - it had crossed thresholds of patience some time ago, and was barely managing to keep adrift in the ocean of foreign deprivation she found herself immersed in. Swimming was something she had never been taught, and no amount of self help books were coming handy anymore. Something was deeply and surely amiss, for patience used to be the one thing she prided herself in being able to practice, and that too now was a lost blessing. With it's loss, she had lost herself (the self she had been familiar with), and knew not how to coerce back this lost self to a state of acceptance. The present unfamiliar person that existed in a shell did not understand anyone, and with every passing day was beginning to stop caring about love in all forms that it could exist. The only love that was still surviving was the love for her Maker, and if it were not for that One Familiar ground, she would perhaps have stopped existing courtesy the riot that roared in her head for the most part of her every day off late. This was not her; the mess, the anger, the reactions, the words, the feelings. This was what she was not equipped to deal with.

~ In prayer she then went back to throw herself.