I stare at the blank screen and my heart goes equally blank. Not filled with nothing but filled with so much something---so much everything---that it could just as well be blank. My words,and along with them, all cohesive thought, just seem to scatter like frightened children.

Yet still I feel this pressing need to document my days. To capture the steps in my journey. Even when it feels like I'm not taking any.

And I'm not really sure why.

I've never been a good journaler. I've never chronicled my thoughts faithfully or consistently. But I kind of wish I could right now, as though some day I may want to read back on what I was thinking and feeling today.

I can't help but shake my head at that thought. Because I don't even want to face what I'm thinking and feeling today today, so why on earth would I want to down the road? Yet all that head-shaking doesn't dislodge the thought that I will someday wish had written more...

If only I could find my heart, maybe I could pin her down on paper.

But she is being help captive---without ransom or reward---by a depression and grief that is stronger than I've ever known. She is tied up. Chained. Sinking fast in a stormy ocean.

And she's given up.

She's stopped fighting. No more struggling. No more trying to tread water.

So yeah... I can't imagine ever wanting to look back on days like today. I don't want to look at them in the moments I'm actually living them.

I just want to understand. And yet... I know I never will. I know I'm supposed to simply hold His hand in faith, without the answers.

My hand is just weary from death-gripping. My heart is just weary from death-gripping.

Maybe the letting go... the giving up... the sinking... Maybe that's okay. Maybe somehow that's actually the point.

I guess I'll find out...

Dead weight sinks fast.