Lost in the Darkness

I’m lost in the darkness; I can’t see a thing. I don’t know where I am or how long I’ve been here. I used to be able to see, I used to know where I was going. I was never confident it was the right way, but I felt safe treading whatever route I chose.

Now I’m afraid to move. What if I’m at the edge of a cliff? What if a step in this direction is dangerous? I don’t want to die, I don’t want to feel pain, but I can’t stay here forever.

I get down on my hands and knees, and I feel the ground around me. I bring myself forward when I know it's safe.

Slowly.

Carefully.

I’m so scared. I don’t know where I’m headed. I don’t know the right decision. I just want to see again. I want to be free from this void.

“What are you doing?” a familiar voice asks beside me. “Why are you on the ground?”

“I can’t see,” I explain, “and I’m afraid to move forward.”

“It’s just too dark over here. Let me lead you to the light.”

I feel a hand wrap around my arm and pull me to my feet. My legs wobble, and my mouth turns dry. I don’t know if I’m ready to stand.

I should try. “Okay, just please move slowly.”

“Don’t be silly.”

I’m yanked forward, faster than I want to go. “Wait, wait! Slow down!”

“It’s okay. I can see where we’re going. Don’t worry.”

I struggle to find my footing. I kick a rock, drag my feet, and stumble. “Please, not so fast!”

I resist and fall.

“Will you relax? You only fell because you won’t trust me. Stand up and let me guide you.”

My hands and knees are scratched. They sting, and I think they’re bleeding. “No. Please, I don’t want to move that fast.”

“I don’t have time for this. If you don’t want to help yourself then I can’t help you.” The voice grows distant; it follows the sound of footsteps trailing away from me.

“Wait! Don’t leave me,” I plead. I reach out and grasp at empty space.

Alone in the darkness, I feel afraid. I feel helpless.

I want to shout, to beg for help, but I don’t want to be weak. I don’t want someone to take advantage of me, and I don’t want to be a burden.

I curl into a ball and cover my face. I can’t help it, I begin to cry.

I think of all the times I walked alone without fear, without worry. The times my friends and family walked along with me. But things have changed. Many of the people I’ve loved and trusted are gone. Some have died, others have moved on. Now more than ever, I realize how much I need them. How much I miss them.

Maybe it isn’t such a bad thing for me to stand and walk alone in the darkness. I might get hurt, I might even die, but does it matter? No one’s here to help. No one’s here to care.

If I find the light, if I can see again, I’ll come out stronger. I’ll come out braver.

Right?

I sit up and wipe my face with my arm. My hands and knees still burn, my face is still hot, but I don’t care. I don’t want to crawl around anymore. I don’t want to be afraid.

I take a step on uneven ground and slide. My heart skips a beat, and my hands become sweaty, but I take another.

Then another, and another.

With some steps, nothing happens. Everything stays black, and I feel no different. But then other steps bring me pain. I scrape my leg against a stone; I hit my head on a low wall.

Tears sting my eyes. Anguish fills my chest.

I want stop, but I won't. I have nothing to stop for.

“Hey,” a voice says. It’s unfamiliar. Is it speaking to me?

I take another step.

“Hey, wait!” the voice comes closer.

A hand grabs my shoulder, and I try to shrug it off. “Don’t touch me!” I shout. I don’t mean to be sharp.

“Please, just stop,” the voice begs me.

I stand still, frowning. “What do you want?”

“I want to help.”

“Well, I don’t want help,” I lie.

“You can’t see in here, can you?”

I turn my face away from the voice, but I don’t respond.

“That’s okay. There’s light not far from here. I can take you to it.” The voice is soft; it sounds kind.

“I don’t want to be pulled around. I want to move at my own pace.”

“That’s fine,” the voice reassures me. “If you take my arm, I’ll guide you. I won’t walk any faster than you.”

I don’t move. I want to be trusting. I want to be helped. Why is it so hard? “Do you promise?”

“Yes. I promise.”

My heart flutters, my muscles tense. I raise my hand and glide it through the air until I feel an arm. I take hold. “Fine,” I grumble.

A delicate hand lands on my back and turns me to my left. “It’s this way. Walk when you’re ready.”

I’m not ready. I don’t know why, but I’m not.

I stand still, lightly gripping this person’s arm, waiting for them to grow impatient and storm off. Waiting for them to disappear into the darkness.

This person stands still beside me, waiting for me to take a step.

Finally, I do, and they take one with me. I take another, and so do they. We walk at a snail’s pace deeper into the black nothingness.

“Watch your step here,” the voice says, gently guiding me around an obstacle.

“Why are you helping me?” I ask.

“We all need help sometimes. And if I can afford to offer it, I think it’s the right thing to do.”

“But I tried to push you away. Why didn’t you leave?”

“Because I could see you were nearing a ledge. I didn’t want you to hurt yourself.”

I remember now that I did hurt myself. I almost forgot. The pain has nearly faded away, along with my fear.

I pick up my pace.

Shapes begin to take form in the blackness. I think I can see the source of light in the distance. I think I can finally see the path I need to take.

I look at my companion and see a kind face smiling back at me.

As the light grows brighter, I feel shame for my resignation. For my apathy. “I’m sorry,” I say. Not to the person beside me, but to myself.

“You have nothing to be sorry for. It’s always okay to be human.”

I feel a smile take hold of my lips as we step out from the darkness and into the sunlight.