The Light on the Sill

When I think about life and the things I’ve been through, I wonder how I’m still here. I question when that one last straw is going to produce that forewarned break. I struggle to make it through every day. Some days are a reprieve and some just keep piling on more pain. It physically hurts, this loss. It permeates the space around me, and I feel like others can feel it too. It’s heavy and debilitating. I keep waking up every morning wondering what’s next, as my life continues to know no certainty. I just said earlier that I have gone through hard times before and that when life was good again, I would look back and thank myself for pushing through. I don’t know if I have the longevity anymore; I question that incessantly. At what point should I just call it, the flatlining of my dreams, the inevitable death of my strength. I don’t have enough; I keep waiting for something beneficial to remain, the reward. It only feels that the demons whose grasp I so desperately tried to escape pursue me without relent. I continue to discover their presence, no matter how hard I try to run and hide. Every time I feel like I’ve got it, I slide back into the darkness with them, into that perpetual forbidden dance. Adorned with this shroud of black, I struggle to perceive the light. The light, the places that I want to light, I have to get back there. Maybe when I can breathe, I will find the gumption in myself to continue on. But for now, in this transition from a life I once knew, to the one I must bear, I will allow myself to mourn.

I’m reminded of a dream that I used to frequently visit. I was a middle-aged woman who lived near the sea. My window used to look out at the shore, and I would always place a lit candle in the sill when the year grew dark. That light was meant to illuminate the way for someone that I loved. He would leave the shoreline in a vessel, drift out of my sight, and I would be left engulfed in the throes of fear. My fear being that the day would come that I would watch him leave, and I would never witness his return. The time transpired when the candle’s light in the window brought no one home, for that vessel had long sailed on. It meant only to remind him that there was still an emptiness in my life and that I thought if him every single day. It meant that my heart would never fully mend until the day that I could join him in the vastness beyond, adrift toward another place not yet explored. I understand that dream now so much more than I ever could before.

Author: jessicaambateman

I am a survivor of childhood abuse on the verge of speaking out. I have waited my whole life to have the luxury of spilling my guts and blogging is going to become part of that journey.

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