Tell me what to do.
I want you to be present for me.
I need you to tell me what to do because I can’t figure it out.
I’m lost, and you’re my sheep, guiding me through the field.
Here in this dark cave, there’s no flashlight.
Underneath the moon, I’ve never seen anything but listless wandering people. Their vacant faces asking for help.
But they don’t want to be helped, guided or saved.
I want you to hear my pain.
In order to move through this hurt, I’m dedicated to working through this with you.
You promised me that I wouldn’t have to do this alone.
When we first met you said, “I’ll be here for it all.”
You told me to put my hand on my heart and feel it beating.
I felt it.
It was so loud,
I learned what it meant to be alive that day.
And I could finally recall what it was like to be present in that moment and not panicky or anxious.
I remembered that I didn’t need to stand on my own feet.
You told me that if I felt like falling you would catch me.
Tell me I can.
I’ll believe you.
You saved me once and you can do it again.
And by “save me” I mean, you helped me save myself.