I've been sitting here staring at this damned computer for the past twenty minutes. The blinking of the cursor and the monotonous emptiness of my brain is distressing. I'm a pianist with no piano. So I sit and I click, and I write words with a keyboard.

Somewhere between the distance from there to here is some semblance of who I have painted myself to be. I wonder who the hell I really am underneath the layers of facades and images: spouse, Army Wife, Christian, Mom...

I don't feel like being very supportive. I don't feel very kind or friendly or silly or loving lately. I feel incredibly alone. I feel incredibly unappreciated. I feel intensely used. I feel overwhelmingly exhausted. I feel like giving up.

All of those feelings are immensely irrelevant, but yet completely relevant all at the same time. Feelings are images and snapshots of subconscious occasions that I don't have the intellectual fortitude to psychoanalyze, categorize, and humanize. So I suppress and eventually my brain digresses into a miserable state. It's the way it cures itself. I am essentially forced to grieve what I don't necessarily understand.

Is it possible to love someone more than you love yourself? I mean, with every single freaking fiber of your being, to love them that much? And then on the flip side of that equation, to hate them with such an intensity that you don't know how to describe? I mean, what would you really be hating? The love? The failures? The disappointments? The unfulfilled expectations? The happiness that only they are capable of providing?

Gosh there is so much to grieve I don't know where to begin. And the phone calls into the abyss seem to yield little results. I simply don't know how to stop playing along with my own masterpiece.

I hate the memories that fill my brain of experiences I have lived. I hate the nightmares that haunt my sleep. I hate the complete incapability I have to prevent any of the horrors that have come, and will come again. I hate the guilt that refuses to let me go. I hate the guilt that I don't bear, but probably should. I hate understanding so much more than I should. I hate being unable to let anyone take care of me, but the one damned person who is literally incapable of doing it. I hate that he's incapable of doing it. I hate that his attempts are not good enough. I hate that I'm not good enough.

I hate walking through the shadow of death. I hate that knowing You're with me doesn't bring me the comfort I want.