It has been quite the feat to scale the tall walls of my waking. Each time I suffer a relapse into unwanted memoirs of misery, my breath shortens its cadence, and my heartbeat runs afar. In my distress, I send desperate prayers to God, begging Him to relieve me of this cup. But the relief never comes.
Won’t you grant me permission to be happy and enjoy the gifts I have been given?
Random experiential catalysts continue to rob me of my future. And my joy does not last. For I was condemned to bear the mark of a delayed curse—an enduring agony that activates like a sleeper agent in the night. What triggers the inexhaustible trepidation, I do not know. But I wish for these wounds and scars to be taken away from me. Yet, they remain evermore.
What good is it for me to run from the one who dealt a thousand and one papercuts, only to be repaid with lacerations from that ghost?
You would only have me suffer. Like the low blows of betrayal and abandonment weren’t enough. Is it my defeat you seek? Allow me to disqualify you from this pitiful game. Rather than let you win, I will instead taste the sour note of pain that only I inflict upon myself. I shall push my body to the point of death in suicide sprints and pass out from the strain of power lifts. Physical trauma will become my teacher and numb my sensations of sorrow.
My body aches from the repeated torture, but it is the only thing to pull me from the hollow groanings of my soul.
I shudder at the thought of slumber. What once brought me peace only drags me into a depression. Welcoming new days with alarm diminishes my will to live. In this slump, it’s all meaningless. God keeps telling me to wait, but I no longer know what I am waiting for. Everything has become a debilitating distraction. A vain endeavour.
I still carry the wounds of a previous war, unseen battle scars like poison in my veins, hidden but quietly healing… or eating me alive.
Most days, I remain living in this real nightmare. There is little delight in being reminded of my insignificance. Forsaken at every choice they received and abandoned in times of need, it wasn’t enough to open my eyes. I was never chosen. So, I now see the lamentable reality. My happiness meant nothing to them. And all my efforts were inconsequential.
Am I still selfishly chasing after significance just to prove that I matter to someone… anyone?
Where have my feats taken me other than defeat? There is no use in being brave if it helps nobody. Where is God in all this? Distractions have become my drug, inducing dissociation to take me to deceptive delights. I have become weak and afraid of the dark and the discomfort. I desperately still want air in my lungs. And I suppose this is my body’s way of telling me it wants to live.
In my long season of waiting, it has been difficult to comprehend the duties I must fulfil. But the saving grace? The knowing that we are freed from our bondage to sin. And, of course, our relationship with Jesus in the darkest of nights and all the delights of our days.
I don’t intend to hide or pretend to be someone I’m not. Nor am I asking for pity (so help me if you do, I will punch you out). I am sinful, but as I struggle, He will be with me through all my days. In all our feats and defeats, distractions and delights, Jesus is the only one who satisfies us fully and forever. Amen.
水 