Hold her tonight
Oh, God, would you hold her tonight?
‘Cause I’m not there to stay close
Keep watch, tell her she’s not alone
Hold her tonight

This is the song that played as I drove home in the rain after a particularly grueling day.

Hold her, protect her, let her know she’s loved. The little parts of me were me today. I couldn’t find the logical, adult parts. I was trapped inside a storm that felt very, very real.

It felt so real I kept searching for safety as my body panicked and relentlessly wailed and in the moments where I felt lost, I wanted to die. It was too much.

I’m thankful safety came for me at 430pm in the form of my therapist. God, I’m so thankful.

But God, please take me out of the darkness. These panic attacks are life-sucking. The depression that comes after is life-threatening. I keep praying for answers, insight, the whole and real story. But more panic comes and still nothing even though it feels like I’m on the edge of knowing. It feels like everything is held inside of me and if I could just breathe slowly and deeply enough times or pray exactly the right prayer, or feel my feelings just a bit more, it will come—but it never does.

So I start to panic that I’m crazy. It’s just…I don’t believe I can make up these extremely intense emotions and body sensations. I don’t think I can make up flashback pieces. I don’t think it’s possible to be so incredibly triggered by specific things for absolutely no reason at all.

Through all of this, little-me wants to be held so tightly. It’s hard to hear “God will hold you” when the physical sensation of a safe, protective, loving hug is beyond helpful.

I wish I could feel God holding me, but I can’t. I feel comforted sometimes by the idea, but in the midst of reliving my nightmares in real-time, it’s practically impossible. Reality seems so confusing, I think grasping the concept of God being here with me and holding me is not my brain’s priority. But a real, physical hug can keep safe while I struggle through the nightmare. It can bring me back to the present. It can show me I’m loved, cared for, and truly safe.

Whenever it rains, the pressure in my head feels overwhelming. It’s like static bounces around chaotically in my head with moments of memory attached to each ear-piercing buzz and it doesn’t stop until the sun comes out.

Hold me, please. Keep holding. Don’t let go. Don’t let me go. Please. I need you to be with me.

One thought on “Holding

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