Someone put a fancy machine in him, of gold and ornately decorated. In the night, he discovered it. Angry and impulsive, he ripped it out, yanking out some good and healthy parts of himself. Sitting back, bearly able to breath, his mind is filled with regret and begs for self forgiveness and understanding. His mind circling on what he could've done. Someone never revealed to him his ability to cry out to the One who made him. The human maker could've removed the fancy technology the very next night or series of nights but was not given a chance.
...or maybe He was and where there is smoke there is usually fire... sometimes even holy fire. "...about the stages of grief... one of them being denial. I believe thatís probably the same psychological defense mechanism that we humans have built into us to help us withstand severely stressing situations, the same one that causes numbness when one can no longer withstand trauma." ..."'Okay. OKAY! HE'S NOT MINE! Heís Yours. But I love him. I love him so much.' Numbness gone, I wept."