Battle Cry

It’s a beautiful day. The sunrise was a vision of soft yellow and pink reflected through big puffy clouds as I walked home from the gym. As I gazed upwards, I felt a faint smile appear on my soul. There was a moment when all seemed right and in place. A moment when all of the noise was quiet and I was just there. Oh how I wish those moments would last. That they would turn into days…months…years. Or even just a few hours.

I am at war.

Every day.

At war.

I spend my life making appearances. I make sure everything appears as I think people assume it is. I project the surfaces of my life because they are all shiny. They are all as they should be. Husband. Dogs. Home. All a dream unattained by many. All shiny.  Hiding what is happening underneath.

I am at war.

Every day.

At war.

It is dark and tumultuous under those shiny surfaces. It seems that, the darker the interior, the brighter the exterior. It’s like the surfaces glow because of, not in spite of, the turmoil. When the war is raging, all the more effort is put into making sure the surfaces remain untarnished. Making sure the shield reflects only the sun.

I am at war.

Every day.

At war.

It used to be easy for me to expose the war. Somehow, somewhere along the battle lines I’ve shut down. I’ve polished the armor to the point where the truth is blinded by the reflection off the surface. I have spent so much effort in maintaining the glow that, to allow a glimpse beyond, the contrast would be too harsh.

I am at war.

Every day.

At war.

The days of quietly winning, or perhaps it was more loudly ignoring, the war seem to be fading as it is getting harder and harder to answer the battle cry. Too much energy has been spent without renewal and now I find myself lost on the field. My defense mechanisms, having been neglected, no longer able to save me.

I am at war.

Every day.

At war.