Every once in awhile a sense of futility overwhelms me. It's very strange because my life is rather focused, and certainly very busy. I believe it's based in the continuous battle I fight to merge my emotions and my thoughts. I keep telling myself, okay, I'm understanding more and more, I'm making good connections, I'm really trying--why can't I eat? Why, when I do eat, do I loathe myself? For that matter, why do I hate myself at all? Why do I still feel that I have no right to be with people? Why do I still feel nauseated at the thought that now people who know me understand just how broken and used I really am--that purity was taken from me and I can never be innocent again? Why, when I look at my husband, do I wish with all my heart that someone as wonderful as he, could have a wife without my experiences--one clean and chaste--one with whom he doesn't have to go to counseling every two weeks? Why do I still have a deep aching sadness when I understand that in the end, I have to finish this alone? No one else can go with me, because there is no one who has lived my life, made my choices, felt my feelings. And the truth is, I don't want to do this alone--sometimes I'm afraid that as I move forward I'll lose the person I've built--the "me" that is now. And sometimes I'm just plain afraid. And while I understand that Christ can make the journey with me, sometimes I find myself yearning to put my trust in some tangible, visible, arm of flesh.