Crumbling rocks

An old colleague of mine once told me I had ‘the patience of an angel’. Without blowing my own halo I would tend to agree. The thing with us angels is that even we have a limit on how long we can fly through the landscape of life without falling from the sky. The pressure builds, the anger grows, and eventually it escapes in an almighty torrent, blowing the halo to smithereens as we spiral back down to earth.

This morning I have landed and the anger is seeping. I am opening the door and letting it go by writing it down rather than directing it at the object of my fury. He should be thankful.

If my rock had merely crumbled my wings would still be intact. The transformation has gone further than that, he has become a quagmire swallowing my self esteem, a leech bleeding me dry of my pride. It has to stop, I am worth more than this.

My life has been spared so that I can live; progress and develop. Each day is a gift, existence is a jewel to be treasured and nurtured. This cycle of self-destruction must be broken, the chains cast aside. There is no one who can save me from drowning in this marsh other than myself. I must pull myself out until I walk on firmer ground. Only then will I be able to find my wings and fly towards the glowing sun of my future.