Sometimes it’s hard, to take it straight up. Life, as it is- or as it just feels at the time. Without media, that mental medication that takes the edge off it- for a moment. Fleeting. Hollow. Dumbly painful.
The words float around in my head like satellites, blinking, painfully passive, but still managing to drone out a constant signal.
Something’s not right.
Like a piano that’s not tuned- the keys just off enough to give you the type of dull headache that makes you act like you’re a jerk and be terribly tempted to be one too.
Pain is noise.
I think about that sometimes. Pain is pain because it’s distracting. Like a noise. Like a pitch just a little too high.
It’s in the background; filing off my edge. My ability to focus. To not make obvious mistakes. To feel comfortable. To be at rest.
Oh, the endless noise.
I always figured myself for the kind of person that has a really low pain threshold- but tried really hard to not look like it.
Always trying to look more hardcore than I am.
Always trying to be a character other than the comic relief. The hero, if I’m being honest. My pride is so so shameful.
I know it’s wrong, but sometimes I really frustrated with the way I am. When I read my personality profile, the hard to stomach reality of my chipper-ness, my bubbly personality, makes me feel ridiculous. Of course I’m positive, and metaphorical, and friendly.
That’s just the way I am.
I should thank God for it because He saw fit to make me like this. I say all the time; I can’t even remember what I had for dinner last night, what in the world would make me think I could come up with better plans and laws for the universe than God, both infinite in His existence and in His wisdom?
I feel like I’m under the flame of a blowtorch- the heat is so intense. Sometimes I just especially feel Satan trying to back me into a wall. I feel like we’re playing Jenga and he’s pulling to loose. This vital block here, that vital block there.
It’s not just one hard thing, it’s 2 in a row. Or, if that doesn’t happen, he can always pull out that shadowy, watery, so effectively crippling what-about-your-future-you-can’t-accomplish-anything-you-suck-at-your-dream-your-dream-is-wrong-you-are-wrong-and-selfish card.
I start getting so depressed. I don’t even get pleasure out of anything. Listening to Switchfoot wasn’t even making feel better- that’s usually not a good sign at all.
The pressure. So much pressure. I know it may seem strange to some people, but one of the hardest struggles I have as a Christian is giving up TV shows when I think I’m supposed to. Seriously, it’s one of the biggest, hardest things for me to deal with. I know that sounds crazy, but it’s true.
I’ve noticed before that I feel more life purpose and I feel more emotionally energized when I am constistantly watching a TV show almost every night. That’s really alarming just reading what I just typed.
Without it, I feel lost. I feel like a band trying to stay in time without a drummer. It’s so weird. It also seems so wrong.
Recently, there was a show I stopped watching and it’s been tearing me up. If I really love God, you think I’d be all “counting it all joy” and being hyped to sacrifice for Christ…but mostly I just feel disappointed, frustrated, depressed, and gripey.
Satan loves to plant the lie in my mind that my religion brings me more unhappiness than happiness. I think he’s doing that because he knows that so many of my life’s decisions are filtered through: will this make me happy or will this make me unhappy?
Sometimes, it’s really hard when I’m allowing myself to be discouraged and depressed and I start thinking treason about, why are you doing this if it’s making you miserable?
I think the real question is, is this /making/ me miserable or am I letting it make me miserable?
I don’t need TV to survive. I will be okay.
God, I really really really need to believe that you are enough. I was watching a music video tonight and I started praying and I said: please help me to believe you more than I believe me.
I’m saying that again.
I need the help to even be willing to believe you more than I believe myself.
I’m in a really dark time right now, at least partially self inflicted, I’d bet. I feel stuck, depressed, restless, and hopeless at the same time. Not a nice mix, I’ll say.
Every once and a while I’ll get this little jump in my heart where of belief will rise up in me and for a second I’ll have this moment of believing that things can get better. Like a flash of sunlight inside of me. After thinking about it, I realized that I was feeling hope.
Slightly insane that I didn’t recognize it right away.
I want to feel that more. I don’t like living here. In this place where I find myself drawing on the walls.
Have you ever come up with a stategy on what you’d do if you got thrown in prision for a prolonged (or indefinate) period of time? Not from the stand point of “I did something wrong” but more the “convicted unjustly” kinda thing? Like, how would you cope? How would you rise above the 4 cement walls and only seeing faces that hated you?
I have several coping stragies, to be honest, but the one that sticks out most in my mind is that I’d draw on the walls.
Somehow, I’d get chalk or pencil or something and I’d cover the walls with pictures. Animals, and heroic people, and princesses, and princes, and flowers, and birds, and lots and lots of everything. I’d do something that they couldn’t ignore. Something that grew off the walls like a weed in the best possible way.
Something that even hard faces, and prison food couldn’t contain. Something alive. Something that grew. Something beautiful.
Tonight found me trying to cope. Tonight found me picking up a pencil off my desk in my room and walking over to the wall. There’s a penciled picture of a horse on the drywall now- and even though it’s not perfect, from where I’m laying on my bed right now, it looks just about beautiful. And it looks free.
“…and you will know the truth, and the truth will set you free.”