(no subject)
I can't even think straight.
I've lost everything. I only cared about one thing. I only care about one thing. And yet it continues to elude me with malice Satan would be proud of. And yet to others, it seems a gift freely given. Almost free and complimentary. I would have sacrificed everything. I mean, I already did. But, like the cruel vending machine that life is, my only dollar was eaten. This must be hell. I don't drop these terms lightly, I think this must be hell. The only reason that I can come up with for this is that I am being punished. Punished for my mercy. Punished for my kindness. Punished for my willingness to give myself. Punished for every single fucking thing that I have ever done in God's name. So what. The only thing that I care about has been replaced by a monument to what it could have been, but never will be. And so without this, my life seems meaningless. There is no escape from it without breaking the standards which I have held for as long as I remember. I don't want to kill myself. Part of me wants to die, though. And here's the punch-line: I still think there's hope. That is the absolute worst part of this. It's like the barb on the fishing hook, pulling and tearing and cutting hurting, but never ever letting go. I know there isn't, but enough of me thinks so enough for me to keep plodding along like a slave to my own hopeless dreams. I am broken. There is something wrong with me. I wish I could get it out, but I can't. There are no words. I just want things to be better. God would not allow that, of course. We can't have me being happy. As far as I can tell, the world is divided into two populations. The ones that God loves, and the ones that he doesn't. But I seriously want to know what I did wrong. What I did to deserve this hellish misery, this walking death? Fuck. I can't get out. There's no escape. "I want something good to die for." Me, too. I want a ticket home.
I've lost everything. I only cared about one thing. I only care about one thing. And yet it continues to elude me with malice Satan would be proud of. And yet to others, it seems a gift freely given. Almost free and complimentary. I would have sacrificed everything. I mean, I already did. But, like the cruel vending machine that life is, my only dollar was eaten. This must be hell. I don't drop these terms lightly, I think this must be hell. The only reason that I can come up with for this is that I am being punished. Punished for my mercy. Punished for my kindness. Punished for my willingness to give myself. Punished for every single fucking thing that I have ever done in God's name. So what. The only thing that I care about has been replaced by a monument to what it could have been, but never will be. And so without this, my life seems meaningless. There is no escape from it without breaking the standards which I have held for as long as I remember. I don't want to kill myself. Part of me wants to die, though. And here's the punch-line: I still think there's hope. That is the absolute worst part of this. It's like the barb on the fishing hook, pulling and tearing and cutting hurting, but never ever letting go. I know there isn't, but enough of me thinks so enough for me to keep plodding along like a slave to my own hopeless dreams. I am broken. There is something wrong with me. I wish I could get it out, but I can't. There are no words. I just want things to be better. God would not allow that, of course. We can't have me being happy. As far as I can tell, the world is divided into two populations. The ones that God loves, and the ones that he doesn't. But I seriously want to know what I did wrong. What I did to deserve this hellish misery, this walking death? Fuck. I can't get out. There's no escape. "I want something good to die for." Me, too. I want a ticket home.