I am not your fucking Jobe
I had already come to a stand-offish view on the belief in a higher power, the relevance of a God, and what that means to people; myself in particular.
I had already pretty much completely forsaken God. Not that I don't believe he exists, just that I do not believe in him. I can't put my trust behind it, I don't want to believe that there wasn't someone or something out there with the answers and explanations to things. That makes me feel somehow distraut. ...but believe he is there, and believing in his character are vastly different matters.
Having said that, I can only be struck by so many afflictions, or so I thought. When I thought that shit could not pile higher, suddenly I am again proven wrong. "Nothing could be worse than this," and truly nothing really can. ...but it can be made less comfortable. Maybe nothing can beat it, but how about it with a side of something else. How about two sides...and the third one is half price...what a fucking deal!
I clearly can not be subjected to this with the question of whether I will renounce God, as I already stated to some extent I pretty much have. ...so my line of thinking has strayed to, 'Let's see how much he can take before he has no choice but to come crawling back.' How much weight until I fold and say, you win God, I need you. How much until I have to repent?
Maybe I am no model citizen, but I am good to the people in my life. I've never done something so horrible that one would even consider me remotely cruel. I can have my nasty side, but we all can, and I get no worse than anyone else when they're mad.
I don't want to play the 'Why me?' card, but I really have nothing else to say. What makes me so god damn different, so special, to seemingly single me out as a target. I feel like it's biological and psychological warfare.
I don't have much strength left. I don't have much more in me before I really break. ...I know I thought I would sooner, but I have managed to keep myself disillusioned enough, cynical enough, maybe even snide, that I have been able to laugh my way through it. I try to keep up a jovial front, keep myself occupied so I can't even think of my problems...shut my brain down when I go in for procedures and tests ...close out the world and hide away inside my head. And it feels like less of me wakes up from that every time. Like I am inside, hearing my own crying, hearing my own pain, the occassional wretch and scream... and it's dulling me.
I haven't updated or really said anything much here in near three weeks, mostly because in that time there has been so much harshness, that I can't really stomach to sit here and just stew in it. This is bad enough on me right now. Having to focus on it personally, and not just joking or trying to laugh it off when a friend brings it up; two different worlds.
My front is only so stable because I am managing to keep a sliver of myself from believing that the world even exists. I can pretend everything is all roses, and things are fine. And when presented with reality, dodge it with seeming overly forward, straight to the point, and still mirthful. If I can convince others that I am not suffering so much, maybe I can convince myself.
My anger is so white hot right now that it lacks definition. My rage so intense, that there is not description to be relevant. ...and my sorrow so deep that I am beginning to drown in it. Maybe it's cowardice the way I am coping, trying to skirt reality instead of hampering about dolefully. My one gift if I ever considered I had one, was weaving words. I have spun a story for myself that I can hide away in, try to believe in, so that I don't hit rock bottom. Don't become that person again...go back to that place. The taut line between lively, and souless.
...what am I really doing? Avoiding what I fear out of death, because I feel it equates the same thing. If I can keep my consciousness in tact, if I can not lose myself again, not fall down that twisting hole into the dark, where my senses are dead and nothing matters, thoughts are almost nonexistant. Almost vegetable like...
That feeling is what I think death will be like. Where do my thoughts go, where will my mind, my consciousness go? How do you think and try to wrap your head around not being able to think because you no longer exist? Your personality, that which defines you, is gone. ...I am keeping such a tight measure, because that is what I do not want to happen. I can be poked, prodded, cut, jabbed, stabbed, injected, drained...and all of it is only my body. But all of it is scorching my mind, taking it's toll on what I can only say is my soul, or my essence. My being, whatever you want to call it. It's closing the curtains around me, putting me in the dark, and slowly making the world gray. If I lose that last sparce fraction of me, I feel I lose it all.
Can it get any worse? Yes, yes it always can. There is never an idea that shit couldn't be stacked higher, that things couldn't be more difficult, troubles mounting infinitely. Even when things are at their worst, there is always something that you didn't think of that can go wrong. And then *that* is the worst...but only until the next affliction hits.
That's what life has become. Week to week, more troubling news, another diagnosis of some new ailment. Another check mark for the list.
I am signing release forms on medical documents, agreements to let my medical files be used in research and analysis and study. I truly have become something so very different. Born of this world and unable to survive. Saved by medical science. Altered from within to maintain living; pseudo self evolution. And now fodder for medical teams to scrutinize over. A paycheck for practitioners as one after another ailments manifest within me as if on whim.
My strength is wavering, my stress is maximized. My sleep is a torrent of nightmares every time I manage to lose consciousness. My body, has actually become so worn that I might almost be incapable of insomnia; I almost feel like I struggle to stay awake 8 hours sometimes.
If I can say anything though, at least waking up every hour from nightmares feels better than waking up every hour for seemingly no other reason than to look at the clock and be pissed off about it.
I am realizing I have gotten to the point of rambling and just whipping out any passing notion. I think it best to cut my losses and wrap this up.
I feel that the definition of resilience needs to be modified. For something or someone to be resiliant, they need to be able to withstand or recover from something in a steadfast manner, for as long as possible. There is no indefinately. No man woman or child has the power to move on forever. Not even one that seems to be engineered to never shut down.
I had already pretty much completely forsaken God. Not that I don't believe he exists, just that I do not believe in him. I can't put my trust behind it, I don't want to believe that there wasn't someone or something out there with the answers and explanations to things. That makes me feel somehow distraut. ...but believe he is there, and believing in his character are vastly different matters.
Having said that, I can only be struck by so many afflictions, or so I thought. When I thought that shit could not pile higher, suddenly I am again proven wrong. "Nothing could be worse than this," and truly nothing really can. ...but it can be made less comfortable. Maybe nothing can beat it, but how about it with a side of something else. How about two sides...and the third one is half price...what a fucking deal!
I clearly can not be subjected to this with the question of whether I will renounce God, as I already stated to some extent I pretty much have. ...so my line of thinking has strayed to, 'Let's see how much he can take before he has no choice but to come crawling back.' How much weight until I fold and say, you win God, I need you. How much until I have to repent?
Maybe I am no model citizen, but I am good to the people in my life. I've never done something so horrible that one would even consider me remotely cruel. I can have my nasty side, but we all can, and I get no worse than anyone else when they're mad.
I don't want to play the 'Why me?' card, but I really have nothing else to say. What makes me so god damn different, so special, to seemingly single me out as a target. I feel like it's biological and psychological warfare.
I don't have much strength left. I don't have much more in me before I really break. ...I know I thought I would sooner, but I have managed to keep myself disillusioned enough, cynical enough, maybe even snide, that I have been able to laugh my way through it. I try to keep up a jovial front, keep myself occupied so I can't even think of my problems...shut my brain down when I go in for procedures and tests ...close out the world and hide away inside my head. And it feels like less of me wakes up from that every time. Like I am inside, hearing my own crying, hearing my own pain, the occassional wretch and scream... and it's dulling me.
I haven't updated or really said anything much here in near three weeks, mostly because in that time there has been so much harshness, that I can't really stomach to sit here and just stew in it. This is bad enough on me right now. Having to focus on it personally, and not just joking or trying to laugh it off when a friend brings it up; two different worlds.
My front is only so stable because I am managing to keep a sliver of myself from believing that the world even exists. I can pretend everything is all roses, and things are fine. And when presented with reality, dodge it with seeming overly forward, straight to the point, and still mirthful. If I can convince others that I am not suffering so much, maybe I can convince myself.
My anger is so white hot right now that it lacks definition. My rage so intense, that there is not description to be relevant. ...and my sorrow so deep that I am beginning to drown in it. Maybe it's cowardice the way I am coping, trying to skirt reality instead of hampering about dolefully. My one gift if I ever considered I had one, was weaving words. I have spun a story for myself that I can hide away in, try to believe in, so that I don't hit rock bottom. Don't become that person again...go back to that place. The taut line between lively, and souless.
...what am I really doing? Avoiding what I fear out of death, because I feel it equates the same thing. If I can keep my consciousness in tact, if I can not lose myself again, not fall down that twisting hole into the dark, where my senses are dead and nothing matters, thoughts are almost nonexistant. Almost vegetable like...
That feeling is what I think death will be like. Where do my thoughts go, where will my mind, my consciousness go? How do you think and try to wrap your head around not being able to think because you no longer exist? Your personality, that which defines you, is gone. ...I am keeping such a tight measure, because that is what I do not want to happen. I can be poked, prodded, cut, jabbed, stabbed, injected, drained...and all of it is only my body. But all of it is scorching my mind, taking it's toll on what I can only say is my soul, or my essence. My being, whatever you want to call it. It's closing the curtains around me, putting me in the dark, and slowly making the world gray. If I lose that last sparce fraction of me, I feel I lose it all.
Can it get any worse? Yes, yes it always can. There is never an idea that shit couldn't be stacked higher, that things couldn't be more difficult, troubles mounting infinitely. Even when things are at their worst, there is always something that you didn't think of that can go wrong. And then *that* is the worst...but only until the next affliction hits.
That's what life has become. Week to week, more troubling news, another diagnosis of some new ailment. Another check mark for the list.
I am signing release forms on medical documents, agreements to let my medical files be used in research and analysis and study. I truly have become something so very different. Born of this world and unable to survive. Saved by medical science. Altered from within to maintain living; pseudo self evolution. And now fodder for medical teams to scrutinize over. A paycheck for practitioners as one after another ailments manifest within me as if on whim.
My strength is wavering, my stress is maximized. My sleep is a torrent of nightmares every time I manage to lose consciousness. My body, has actually become so worn that I might almost be incapable of insomnia; I almost feel like I struggle to stay awake 8 hours sometimes.
If I can say anything though, at least waking up every hour from nightmares feels better than waking up every hour for seemingly no other reason than to look at the clock and be pissed off about it.
I am realizing I have gotten to the point of rambling and just whipping out any passing notion. I think it best to cut my losses and wrap this up.
I feel that the definition of resilience needs to be modified. For something or someone to be resiliant, they need to be able to withstand or recover from something in a steadfast manner, for as long as possible. There is no indefinately. No man woman or child has the power to move on forever. Not even one that seems to be engineered to never shut down.