Company in the garden

I could see the thoughts of remorse and grief forming like cloud shapes in muted color before my very eyes. Starting in the distance, twisting closer like A tornado funnel from a birds-eye view, the figures took on likenesses of those I knew and many I didn't. But each stood as a haunting reminder of the pain I was experiencing. As I became lost in the surreal and antagonizing imagery I was unaware of all external stimuli. No longer did I hear the hissing and popping of the steam heaters, the pitter-patter of the little feet belonging to the drunk upstairs were unheard, as well as the traffic outside of my darkened three room flat. You could have doused me in hot oil and I would not have noticed. Neither did I notice the perfect circle impressed into the space between my eyes with the steady weight of my head set against the shotgun. As I stared, entranced, at the vision boiling up from deep within, starting at the 12GA slug and twisting ominously towards me becoming almost discernible before they disappeared in my peripheral.
I had only one perceptible thought; "how could I hurt so much".
Certain that at any moment I would squeeze the trigger delivering me from my tormented soul. In time the visions would release me and once I lifted my head from the barrel I noticed how much my head hurt, like a stiletto heel slowly being pressed into my skull. Sweat poured from me as the blood rushed to my head, which throbbed to match my pulse. I could not go on with life in this much pain, though the tears had long ago dried up the relentless agony would not subside. Barely able to see through my engorged and sweat-filled eyes I thought this must surely be what the Christ felt in the garden...this must be blood extruding from my pores. I reached up to touch my face, certain my withdrawn hand would reveal my crimson nightmare.
It did not.
How was it possible? Night after night for the span of a year this drama would play out in secret. How could it be that Jesus felt more pain than I? This fact, in time, began to be my first sliver of hope.
"Jesus knew this much pain and more" I would repeat to myself under my breath.
And then I realized I had more hope. Watermelon!
You see, when I was a boy of only 7 or 8 my family went camping in the high mountains of Utah. While there having a great time my dad ate some watermelon that nearly killed him. He was ,rather suddenly, allergic. As he collapsed gasping for breath he was tended to by his many medically proficient coworkers nearby. After the worst had passed he told me "son, don't eat watermelon you could be allergic to it" I loved watermelon but for 25 years I never ate another bite. Fearful that the genetic disposition of "death by watermelon" would be animate in me.
Then came the truth.
"You are not my son".
The words seared my soul like hot coals. Burning to the depths of me, incinerating everything I thought was real and true. Someone had kicked open the proverbial closet door and out came the skeleton. The skeleton was me. I tried to be strong but after dad dropped me off at home all strength left me. I descended into the abyss of confusion and anger. And being freed from my genetic disposition, into a watermelon eating binge!
Unfortunately, while offering a moment of reprieve, my silver lings only seem to prevent me from doing what I really wanted, to end it all. If only I could squeeze the trigger. The slug left little doubt that life, AKA sorrow,  would be cast off at the moment of impact. And so I wallowed in this state for a long time. Hard working youth counselor by day and suicidally depressed hallucinator by night. My ability to wear a smile was remarkable, coupled with my ability to keep it all a secret, ensured the everyone would marvel at "how well I was handling it". but there was two who knew. The sovereign knew the truth and the beatiful knew the right buttons to push.
"I knew you in the womb" said the sovereign one. "I can assure you, I was the only one there the night you were conceived" said the beatiful. As the truth of my birth had revealed the lies of my life so my mind became a battleground between truth and lies. Sorely vexed and layed waste like A field of blood after battle. The two generals stood at opposing sides coaxing me to come and fight for them. The beautiful one offered me a gun, the sovereign, a cross. Which to choose? For they both meant death. With the gun I could become free, so quickly. "No strings attached", the beautiful one would say. I considered his argument for a long long time. He was enticing. And he did seem to have the easiest solution.
But the sovereign was so strong, he could not be passed off. His cross seemed so hard, cold, heavy and so far away. Barely visible up on the hill He convince me to go closer, and it was then that i saw Christ, already upon it. For me. He had already done the hard work. for me. and when I gazed up at Him upon the cross I knew the choice I had to make. As clarity was beginning to form in my mind I could hear the beautiful one screaming from afar. I looked towards him and could see him surrendering his nobility to madness. The choice was clear. 
"I choose you" I said to the one upon the cross.
"you must forgive them, as I have done for you"
"I will, I forgive them."
"I chose you long ago, you were no accident. I don't create accidents". said the sovereign one, "only wounded soldiers can serve in loves battle" he added.
All at once I was overrun with freedom, and hope, and the beginnings of what I came to know as peace. Simultaneously I was overwhelmed by the realization that I, while wounded, also inflicted wounds. I saw the sadness in the sovereigns eyes, the weight of the pain I thought I alone bore was etched deeply in his countenance. It was at this time I saw his son, not on the cross, but standing next to me; with a perfectly impressed circle in the space between his eyes.