looking into the sun

"Am I sick?" I look at her with a look of desperation, my voice choked with fear.
"You're going to be okay" she responds with a confidence I can't understand. Although I can see straight through her fake optimism. My mind, clouded with the strangeness and torn from fatigue. She leaves the room abruptly, closing the door tenderly behind her.
I struggle to lift my hand to the small metal table beside me. My cold fingers press against the corner of the rough crinkled paper.
My hands shaking, I carefully open the letter.

for God hath not given us the spirit of fear;
but of power,
and of love,
and of a sound mind.

I fight the tears welling up in my eyes. What have I done? The lonliness creeps into my attempted courage, ripping apart the world I made for myself. A part of me wanted to go with them, the invisible voices. Just dissapear into a seperate reality, into the comfort of complexity, and endulge myself to the craving of normality. But I knew that They needed me here. The Blind one's. Confined to a hospital bed, escape seemed impossible, yet inevitable. I tell myself I could have done more. I tell myself death is just a word. But the syllables caress the weakness of my soul and seduce me, intoxicate me. To leave existance seemed an idea too personally satisfying to refuse. They need me. And I need them. This illness is just an illusion, a mask. To diverge the truth from the lies. I was sick. But the weak, powerless, naked illness had been taking control of my mind for years. There wasn't any worldly disease that could diagnose the sick, dying state of humanity since her creation.
And now I was sick with her, so ready to return to my Father. Ready to be accepted with open arms. Ready to have Him look deep into his fearful daughter's eyes and tell her,

You are Home. There is no fear here. You are safe now.