Yellow seeps into my field of vision from the edges. A subtle evil ...
and I know
what's coming next. My heart picks up speed like my adrenaline-addicted brother's car does on a free road. Perspiration forms on the small of my back;
accompanied by odd flashes of heat in a room cold enough that most are wearing jackets - or well, wish they had brought one.
And suddenly I find myself on the ground, hiding away in some musty closet(which is not all that bad a place to be, really)
still as can be
so as not to aggravate the monster, the one beginning to stir in me.
A growing tornado, spinning,
searching for a subject on which its all-consuming discord may be unleashed upon.
Myself.

I begin to think of the comfort I crave so immensely in this moment,
and how it can possibly be acquired;
of the satisfaction of tearing up an entire pile of paper(popping bubble wrap won't do this time);
or stabbing something - anything - with a knife, until whatever is left is beyond recognition;
or striking the surface in front of me until my knuckles turn black and blue, and red;
I know I must stop thinking now.
So instead, I try to purge the bloodthirsty-ness through my tears,
and cries to God to help dissolve my fears.
I am so
tired.
The turmoil within calms a little after some time - it has to appear so on the outside, anyway.
I cry and beg and pray that I will not return to the land from which I have been brought such a long way, though I know my efforts are not necessary.

For I have deep confidence that I will not,
and that morning will come.
For His faithfulness reaches as high as the skies,
and His peace transcends.

Trust me when I say that on Wednesday night, the storm which transpired seems to have lasted a mere millisecond compared to one moment spent in His embrace.
I realize then for the thousandth time:
He is the true source, the only source, of comfort.