Her BrainStorm

I wake up in a military hospital. I am a Prisoner of War. I must have gotten injured during battle and have been brought here. Where am I? Who took me? Gosh, when and how did I get myself into this mess?! After all, I prepared for this battle my whole life. I was equipped with everything I needed. How did I get caught?!?! I need to escape. Fast…
These were some of the initial thoughts that enter my mind upon waking up from the ten-hour brain tumor surgery. The room is cool and dry, and dimly lit. “beep beep beep” – I hear beeps all around me. Unfamiliar voices encompassing me outside of the room where I am being held hostage against my will. I hear footsteps approaching. I need to hide! I start to panic. Godddd help me!!!! They’re going to kill me! I need to hide. I try to escape. I see a door that is slightly ajar and dimly lit I will hide in there the next time I hear the enemy footsteps. Sweating profusely, I stay awake the rest of the night keeping a look out for my enemies who I’m sure will barge in to overtake me when least expected. Help me God! “Knock knock.” door opens. I quickly jump out of bed and dash into the bathroom hoping to outsmart these vicious enemies but they’ve been trained, and are way too fast for me. I hear footsteps approaching, and I make a run for it, but they’re too fast. They grab hold of me and put me back into the prisoner’s chamber where they strap me down. They continue to torment me day after day; and night after night… after a few weeks, an alarm starts to sound when I try to escape. Days turn into weeks and weeks turn into months. I must have done something really really bad. Who am I? Where am I? My brain attempts to finally gather some information about this reality. I used to run an online business but whom were my consumers? Did I sell shoes to my family members? Wait, customer base sounds limited, so maybe not. Hmmm… let me think… I think I used to live in Fairfax, VA but I’m not sure either. Do I have a family? How old am I? What year are we living in? And I used to love and serve a God… I can’t remember His name. Oh! It’s Jesus F-ing Christ. Oh my gosh! Why do I keep thinking His name in a cursed way? I don’t curse. The devil must be playing tricks on me. Christ’s tainted name continue to ring in my head like a broken record over and over again. He’s not real. Even if He is, He doesn’t care about you. You served and worshiped Him but look how He’s treating you. You’re not the chosen one. Get over it.
– these thoughts continue to ring in my head over and over again. I descended into the darkest valley of my life. I couldn’t wake up from it. I was trapped in a trance-like state where my ability to gauge reality was completely suspended. Fear, confusion, and concern overwhelm me. I want death…