Day One (After Thousands)

I’m in such pain, I’m in such hellish agony. Every day is worse and worse, and sometimes don’t want to keep going. But I can’t just lie down and surrender like Bl. Marthe Robin. I have too much energy, too much fight in me, too much function. I can eat, I can walk… but everything is a fight, everything is a struggle. Nothing works on its own. Meals are work, bowel movements are labor and the Passion, sleep is Purgatory. I have to work so hard just to stay alive and function as half a person. Why does everything have to be such suffering? Why did God put so much fight in me? Why couldn’t He just take everything away and make it simple, and let me just fall backwards into the pillow of Lord Jesus’ arms and bask in His comfort, be stroked by the Blessed Mother like Bl. Marthe Robin? Why does He give me just enough to keep going like a normal person but not nearly enough to really be one – for everything to be pain, everything to be struggle, everything to be constant work and attention and focus and preoccupation and thing falling apart fear of loosing it all if I let go for one moment – never rest? Why does He give me this? What for? What’s the point of me, my life, this absurd struggle? I could reach and love others and Him so greatly from a sick bed. What’s the point of all this bizarre and grotesque rigmarole, this constant nighttime thunderstorm?