Lonely. So lonely.

I can’t describe it. It used to come with the time change—early darkness. When you live in it anyway, it is harder.

I talked to David tonight and my voice broke up as I said “I just want to go home.”

It isn’t that I don’t believe I could get a job when I get there, but it is the effort involved. I feel a crash coming. I am holding on for dear life and when it comes, I need to be settled in something I can do. I don’t know If I dare leave it open because when I crash I am going to need a routine. I don’t mean to sound like some negative prophet here, but it is just obviously that barring a miraculous healing of the trauma I will have to have a time of crashing and healing—that is just logical. And if I am living in Dallas doing temp work for a semester, I wonder how well I can handle that.

It is so quiet here. I am thankful. Barking dogs are worse than silence. But sometimes I think I can hear my brain cells dance in my head. When David called tonight or when I see Terry or I have any contact with a person I love, my heart fills up instantly. I have so much in me that can’t come out anymore. The last time I was this barren I was also isolated by choice. It was before I was loved.

Someday when this is over I will be strong. Someday I will be able to share this with everyone. The heart of it, I mean—the stuff I can’t share now because it means explaining too much of my blasted heart. And I can't talk about daily life and how it affects me because I still have to live it.


My heart is made of crystal right now. How easily it will shatter with the wrong thing—that is why I am caught in an ugly place—too desperate to stay and too scared to go.

I need a break—just one thing and I can make it. As crazy as it sounds I WANT the crash. I don’t mean that in a bad way. I want to let it out. I know it is intense. It is months of emotion—more than the months I have lived here—it is everything in me. It is my life. And I need to process it. I can tell it is intense by the moments I start to let it go. When I was home a couple weeks ago, at church I could not stop crying—but it felt like I was finally purging something. Last night when the Crockers led worship it was the same thing, though not so intense. I can’t let it out here that way. But inside me are tears at a level I didn't know I had—they almost feel like someone died. I taste them for a moment here and there and when I do I realize they are deep.

I need early morning prayer. I need to go to that dimly lit church at 6 a.m., half awake and see Pastor Jerry on his face in the front and Martha sipping her coffee. That is probably one of the safest feelings I know. It is easier to sense the Lord there at 6 a.m. than any other time. I found another job opening tonight and sent my résumé but for every one more than 20 minutes from Tyler I feel sad. I can go to church and go to dance even living in Dallas—with LOTS of effort. But I can’t go to early morning prayer. And while it may sound crazy, that absolutely breaks my heart. I think this relates to an image in my head a couple months ago, when I realized what was going on. At that time I thought there was no way I could ever go back to Tyler but there was an early morning prayer image I have not been able to shake.

I need that. It is air right now.