The Ever to be Unanswered Questions

Some nights, when I lay in bed with only the streetlamp outside my window to illuminate my thoughts, and the whirring sound of the ceiling fan to awaken my demons, I beg for reprieve.

No thoughts tonight, please. Praying for no thoughts.

Some nights my prayers are not heard, and as the creeping trickle of ever to be unanswered questions enters my mind, I am shortly thereafter inundated with the should I haves and the could I haves and the would it have made a difference.

I try to push away those thoughts, as unwelcome as my demons at heaven’s gate; but the more I fight, the more intense those thoughts become and the sharpest nails of the ever to be unanswered questions dig into my spine until I am prone, paralyzed on a merciless bed of nails piercing the whole of my body and mind.

I get up.

I get up and walk across a condescending floor of glass shards - stabbing me, shredding me with each step; mocking me for the coward I am for no longer wanting to deal with the flood of the ever to be unanswered questions. Glass shards laughing at me for lacking the fortitude to slay those demons as they continue their torture all the way out the hall, into the living room, where I throw myself on the couch and beg for relief in the cool, soft cushions.

But there’s no relief to be given. Those cool soft cushions feel like they’re swallowing me as I sink into them, and the ever to be unanswered questions turn to accusations.

Yes, you should have.

Yes, you could have.

Yes, it would have made a difference.

There’s no arguing.

There’s no reasoning.

For the reasoning is just as condescending and accusatory as the glass shards were, and it drags me ever further into a self-manufactured pit of quicksand. The thick, heavy sludge of guilt drags me down, deeper and deeper. The more I fight, the further I sink until I am completely enveloped and panting for breath - heart pounding, panting for breath until exhaustion finally overcomes me and I am thankful when I lose consciousness.

I see the light shine through the dark but transparent curtain and liken it to the broken window in my soul. I drag myself off the couch, stretch wide, start the coffee pot, and pull back the curtain to welcome the day.

I feel the air from the dining room fan blow the dried quicksand out of my hair and cool the burning scars left on me by my bed of nails, and I smile.

I smile as the warm rays of sun touch my face and bring me hope. I smile as the beams of light banish the darkness from my mind and replace it with a welcome realization of indisputable truth.

There was nothing I could have done that would have made a difference.

I know that.

I’ve always known that.

I take the first sip from my much-needed cup of coffee and tell myself that it’s going to be a good day.

As I sit at the dining room table and pick the remnants of bloodied glass shards out of my tender feet, I feel the echo of an ever to be unanswered question creep stealthily into the back my mind. When I’m done with the shards and my tender feet, I pick up all I that have collected and walk to the hallway that separates the bedroom from the living room.

Then I throw those glass shards right back onto the floor - knowing full well that I may need them again when night time comes.