It's not as if it's a matter of will.

It's quiet now - alarmingly so. Like the dead calm after a storm with only the trickle of rain and crackling of fratured trees to remind you that life remains. We were ambushed and massacred in a battlefield we had no intention of entering. Giving up seems the most viable option in the face what is happening in front of you. Walk away. Make it stop. Ignore the consequences and ride away into the sunset. Surrender. All we can do is throw our faces to the ground and pray "Please God, make it stop", "God, what do we do?". The screaming, the yelling, the crying and heaps of contradictory emotions ("Leave me alone", "Don't go", "Give me a hug", "Don't touch me!" all within the same breath) relentlessly knocking us over, ill prepared and equiped for the onslaught. Someone took our child again and left us with a wiggling, writhing devil spawn. It seems everything we do makes more of a mess - an irrepairable rubble. The storm has passed. The battle done. Abigail is asleep. All she could muster was "I'm sorry I said those words, I don't know why I said them, I wish I hadn't. I can't make them stop."