Wish I could sleep...

Why is it so difficult for brokenhearted people to admit they are hurting, for me to say I'm hurting? Why is there a need to put up a front, a facade, and declare to the world that we're fine? What impression does the tough girl image really give off anyways, that I'm strong and confident, persistent, moved by nothing and able to handle anything? If they look a little closer, won't they see right through me?

Do I think God doesn't see through it? Doesn't He know me in all of my frailty, all my weakness? Then why can't I say I need to talk to You?

I'm not sure if I'm scared He'll yell at me or be angry with me, disown me or get fed up and quit listening to me after I throw out a million excuses for why I've been just so. Part of me wishes He'd yell at me. Maybe then I'd get so upset and flustered that it'd all come spilling out and I'd say everything I need to say. Maybe then I'd feel like He actually cared, was still after me. But how often does it really work like that?

Even if we are in the same room, I can't seem to say anything, can't even look at Him. I can't look at the tears roll down His face. I'm not seeing His pain, not seeing how much His heart is broken over my broken heart. I don't see how much it hurts Him for me to think He doesn't care, to run farther and faster with that thought pushing me. He would cry with me if I let Him. He would wrap me up in His arms if I let Him. No matter how far I go, He will always welcome me home.

Maybe all I have to do is knock, look at Him when the door opens, run, and fall in His arms.

Now for the courage. It's going to be a long night.