The Chase

I was chased last night by a man completely intent on killing me.  It was 6:46 p.m. I was outside with three patients.

I ran away. Heart pounding.  Scared. Lost. 

I ran inside and screamed for help. Help reluctantly came, and one socio-path walked away – his intentions hidden by a cup of coffee and a group of police officers.

I took every inner strength I had and made myself hold in every emotion associated with “the chase” and walked out of work.  As soon as my car door slammed, I lost it. Not the normal cry – but an absolutely outstanding wail.  Everything came out. My weight issues, my  never-ending homesickness, my lack of friends, the seemingly hopeless people I’m trying my hardest to help, and my relationship with the Lord.  Defeat.

When I got home for my one hour extra break, I sobbed to my neighbor who offered tea and a hug. I am so sick of this, I told her. I am sick of being chased by the enemy and feeling defeated. What’s wrong?

I’m not looking for solutions. I’ve done that. I know what they are.  I just can’t get out of this cycle.  I am scared to death to try the solutions. I don’t want to get hurt again.

I just don’t want to be let up on.  You know? I don’t want God to let me go. He’s the only sense I have right now. 

So, please, God, help me.

When I got back to work, I sat in the back and waited until the next shift arrived. When I dared to go back out into the milieu to get ready to leave, I was hit.

I had the day off today. I hid in my apartment, underneath a giant fuzzy blanket. I watched netflix. I cried. I slept. I tried to read. I played about 30 games of bookworm. And now I’m writing.

Please pray for me. For Hope. For Courage. For Friends. For Peace.