August 15th - 2nd entry

Sucker punched.  
Blind-sided.  
So many emotions…so little ability to process them into words.  

So I’ll purge now and edit later.  

I can’t begin to describe all the voices in my head
…warring spirits all insisting on a part of me.  
Blaming…naming…finding fault voices that threaten my serenity.
  Endangering my inner…already depleted…resources.

Those butterflies that visited a couple of weeks ago were not a figment of my imagination.  They were a storm-warning signal that my spirit recognized.  One that my heart discerned but my head could not yet decipher.  

At times I’m so grateful for the gift of discernment and at other times I feel it a curse.  

The knowing…the expecting…can play havoc on ones mind.

Simply put, we’ve hit another bump in the road.  
A tremor of sorts.  
But my inner radar has yet to detect its magnitude and I fear it may be bigger and stronger than we can identify at this point.  
How deep and how wide the issue, remains to be seen.

The Prodigal has declared his depression.  
Boldly and with a certain degree of blame.  
At us.  At his living situation.  At his work place.  

His once humble demeanor has become prideful with demands like a kidnapper requisitioning ransom.  

And…once more…we are expected to pay.
  

Physically, Emotionally, and Spiritually.  
Oh…and yes…financially.  
The entitlement once again rears its ugly head.

Are drugs involved?  The tests say No.  
But we know that we’re dealing with a smart addict.  
If he wants something bad enough…he’ll figure out how to beat the tests.  
He’s done it before.

A therapist, a psychiatrist, a coach.  All…I want to believe…trying to help.  
But does each one have all the facts with this master manipulator?  

Or has the Prodigal put into play, once again, 
the art of triangulation.  
Get everyone to see his point of view so that he can get his way.  

He lives inside his head so much... 
I honestly don’t know if he does it consciously or not.

Manipulation?  Always’s the question.  

Wanting the easy way out?  Could be.  

Laziness.  Definitely an option.  

Is there true clinical depression?  I don’t know.  We’ve been duped so many times before.  
Trying to figure out the truth.

The seat of my sadness…
I think…
rests uneasily in the fact that our Prodigal has not hit bottom.  

Just typing those words gives way to another duct springing a leak.  

The tears come easy now.  
A gentle stream that forms waterways down my cheeks.  
No ugly sobbing.  
Just soulful sadness.

I leave this entry here…to review and rewrite if necessary.  
I need to take care of me today. 

To run to my place of serenity.  

To walk the sands of time.  

To meet my Savior at the sea.