The Pressure

The pressure grows, externally.
while internally, I begin to shrink into a corner of myself.
As I crouch on my knees, my face pressing
into my skin
I beg for divine wisdom. And I breathe.
And cry.
I ask all the questions that I know are pointless to ask.
But I ask anyway.
Why? How much longer? When will it end?

The flow doesn't stop pressing down. Like a flood,
my own fears consume me, and I nearly drown.
My heart races, beating so fiercily that I think my chest will
explode.
My hands get hot. A pounding in my head, similar to
that of the blades of a helicopter hitting the side of a building, won't let up.
Am I standing too close? Is it that simple?
I stand up and take a few steps backwards.
Only slightly tripping on my own feet.

Down to my knees I fall again.
I must release it. The search for an answer.
Sometimes there isn't one.
That is when I must just trust the outcome
to God.

I tell myself that He is watching all of this.
I tell myself that He will work it all out.
But part of me doubts this.
So I say it to myself again, and again, and again.
Till six am.

Sleep finally overtakes me. At last.
I can rest.
I don't have to have all the answers.
And I know its okay to keep asking questions.