I am more than alone. Worse. Because there are people all around me, but they don’t even see me. They’re here, but they don’t even hear me. Mary is in Germany. She’s the closest thing I’ve ever had to a real friendship, but even she might not fully understand. I have no one. Everyone has someone; everyone but me. I am unnoticed. My existence only becomes relevant when there is tragedy; when there is a possibility of it ending.
I’m not going to off myself. I can’t. I am too terrified of being a disappointment in death; I can’t disappoint God again. Instead, I live a failing life, letting everyone down, because I can’t handle holding on anymore.
I’m letting go of my life. It has been dropped and broken on the ground, rolled around in the gravel, bruised and bleeding. I am death in life; a zombie. Every time I pick it up, it slips out of my hands and only breaks more. I keep asking God to send me someone. Someone to be close to, something like a best friend. But there is no one. No one for me. I know I’ve always said that I want God to be my best friend, but now that I need Him, I feel as if I might have turned my back.
My walls keep growing. I cannot break them. I’m terrified of what might happen if they collapse on me, and I’m terrified of what will happen if they don’t. They are there as protection for my broken, bruised heart, but they hold no form of comfort.
I’m searching for peace. It won’t come. I know God is the light at the end of this tunnel, but it’s too far and I don’t even know if I can see the end. The light I see could very well be a train about to run me down, crush me, kill me. I am broken
Over the summer I spent some time ruminating on the thought of living simply and simply living. I designed a tattoo around it. Ask me about it. I may have reached the point where that is all I have. I can’t even eat. I can sleep, but my dreams kill me… literally. I am a messed up, broken, abused child that no one can save.
Through all this, I am still running toward the light. The injuries I have sustained have slowed my gait, and I am no longer running strong. Yet I still run.
When I fall, I don’t think I’ll be able to get back up. I need to be picked up, and in my weakness, carried. I am fighting everything that comes at me, with everything I have. In my struggle, I have managed to almost acquire full alienation because I am fighting off all forms of comfort, as well as all attacks. I am no longer succeeding.
I still plan to prevail with all that I have. But I need the help of an army.