Two weeks of climbing out of the hole. Just when I could feel the warmth of light on my face, I lost my footing and tumbled downward—the bulk of my progress suddenly gone in an instant. Barely holding on to the last edge as the cold rocky bottom eagerly beckons me. I can feel it’s pull. As if it controlled gravity itself.
My arms are tired. My body is battered and worn. My breath is heavy. My spirits low. As I grip the ledge with whatever strength is left in me, it seems all too easy to let go and return to the unforgiving ground below. It now seems like a haven compared to these jagged walls. I can hear them whisper, “Just let go.” I feel myself entertaining the thought but despite the deceitful comfort it offers me, my heart speaks louder. It tells me to push onward. It reminds me of the reasons why I had tried to climb out of the pit in the first place. There was only darkness, fear and slavery waiting for me at the bottom. It reminded me that everything I ever wanted was outside of this hole that had swallowed me long ago. I could feel the hate in my heart for this prison that has caged me for so long. It motivates me to climb again. Even though my strength is borrowed. Even though I can’t see the light. Even though fear tries to grip me and the familiar calls me back. The fighter in me longs for freedom. Longs to taste the world outside the darkness. To smell the green grass and gaze at the blue open skies. To move freely without the jagged walls to confine me. To breathe fresh air once again. To feel alive.
So now, I battle with myself in my head as I dangle just above the bottom. Will I find the strength to climb yet again? Or will I fall back to the bottom as I always have? Time will tell and it won’t be long.