a crucible

A crucible is for refining and purifying matter, using heat, not so that it is burned up and consumed, but rather purified and unadulterated. I have been in this crucible twice now. The walls of this vessel are composed of anxiety, dread, and horror. The first time was when I was 17, and this second time I am 45. I fear the final crucible will be at the end of my life, and in fact, annihilate me. Until then, I am being refined, redefined, purified, and tried. The anxiety is the looming unknown. I don't know what will happen next. I cannot guess, I don't know. Then the fear, the dread, the horror of something bad, something even worse than what has already occurred. First it got bad, then better, then bad, then worse, then laughably horrible. Each day is a fresh horror. Each phone call a reason to panic. Food is ashes in my mouth, sleep escapes me. I wake, thinking I have had a bad dream, and the reality that hits me is actually worse than the nightmare. I pace, like a big cat in a small barred cage. I jump at every sound. When will this crucible stop refining?