I don't write to judge reality, or God forbid, to judge Him. It is simply difficult to live with. Past arrows form a chorus with present ones (and future ones— another story), whispering and shouting a message of pain and insecurity. That message is a lie, even though the wounds are real. Though I think I weep alone, I do not. Because a path is hard does not mean it shouldn't be followed. He is in this. Trust Him.
It's just so hard.
Afterward, I read some poetry online, though I knew it would only make it worse. It was instead a strange comfort. Not sure whether to be thankful or concerned about that; for now, I'll take the comfort. A presence, even if a ghost. If anyone knows ghosts, it's me.