Have you ever watched the light draining from someone’s eyes? It’s a scary thing to watch. It’s even scarier when the person you’re looking at is your own reflection. Sometimes we find people who show potential of being great and kind but it’s hidden under a shell, and we make it our mission to bring it out. I’ve learned the hard way that some people just aren’t great. There’s no use in pretending that everyone is wonderful and amazing because that’s not the reality. There are people out there that just aren’t. It’s not our mission to save them or bring out the good. I don’t remember signing a contract that made me Jesus.
I recently [finally] let go of someone like this. I watched the light drain from my own eyes as I tried to be like Jesus. I’d get back up after every swing, speak love instead of hate and do everything that I thought was right. What did it get me? Pain and nothing. The hardest thing to do is to separate yourself from people like that and not feel like a failure. But the important, key truth is that your value does not come from someone else, especially someone that sits back and watches your soul die. The Bible doesn’t call me to be stupid or a doormat to anyone.
I felt the black hole inside of me growing. Whenever I feel the hole opening, I can either wrestle with it, shove it deep inside and pretend it’s not consuming me or I can hold it in the center of my being, record its actions and release it to the world in the form of words. I feel as if I’m holding fire in my hands and tossing the flame back and forth so one hand isn’t more burnt than the other. Either way, it leaves a little mark, the question is, how deep do I want the scar?
I often ask myself what would happen if I just let this black hole open completely inside of me. I wonder what life would become and who I would become. If I let it open without fighting it, the black hole would consume my entire being. My mind, soul, body, everything would be swallowed up in darkness and I’m left with a shell. What would I do? I wonder if I would immediately go to a blade and end my life. Maybe I would become even more sadistic and cynical than I am now. Maybe I just turn into a murderer and go to prison. Maybe nothing happens. The shell moves and rots eventually. The end. End of story. Period. That’s it.
My mind wanders down dark dangerous paths a lot. I no longer trust myself alone. The tiny thread of me that wants to save myself makes sure someone is around me at all times just in case the darkness comes out completely. The rest of me doesn’t care anymore. I’m not suicidal in the traditional sense, no, I just don’t put effort into living. I’ll text and drive without a thought. I’ll cross the street without looking even if I hear tires approaching. I’ll speed and wonder what a car crash would be like. It’s like I set myself up for these situations almost half hoping to just end it all but make it look like an accident. That way, I’m not at fault, right?
They say depression is in the mind. I feel it in the chest, not directly in the middle but over about half an inch to the left. I feel it sitting directly in the middle, not towards my chest or towards my spine but directly in the middle where my heart should be. It sits and gnaws away at the rest of me. What was a prick has slowly come undone. It’s the thread at the end of our sweater that catches our eye one day but we think it’s too small to take seriously. A week passes and there is now a small hole where the thread was. Still, this is not enough to take action. Eventually, a longer thread begins to make its way out of the hole, eating the sweater, until all you have is a pile of thread. I just watch myself come undone and I don’t care anymore. The beginning is always the hardest because you never know where to start. The thread can pop up anywhere. It’s just there. Then suddenly, you’re gone. You’re a pile of nothing.
Normally this is where the analogy of God or whoever is up there comes in as my tailor. He would come in with His needle and patch this hole right up with a pretty color but not today. I think He checked out a long time ago and I’ve been kidding myself. I’ve thrown myself at heaven’s gates begging to be freed from this pain and all I hear is silence. I knock and knock only to see the “No solicitors” sign growing bigger and bigger. Instead of knocking with the other believers, I decide one day to walk away. No one is answering so why should I keep knocking? There are other houses with other tailors willing to help me sow up this mess inside of me, the mess that is me, sow me up, please. Or just let the hole consume me. What difference does it make? Who cares? I don’t anymore.
For now, I can keep breathing. Keep wrestling. Keep pushing forward. I don’t have to try so hard to be tough anymore, it just comes naturally. Maybe I’ll turn into a cold, harsh, stereotypical military person. I’ll pierce metal with a glance and freeze a heart with the dead look behind my eyes. I’ll only care for myself and let you fall down without a second thought. I look out for me. You look out for you.
All my life I’ve given and given until there was nothing left to give and now, even when I have nothing left, I continue to want to give to those that want to take. I’m turning into one of those desperate losers begging for someone to love her but really it’s not about the relationship status it’s about the heart behind it all. My heart isn’t working anymore. Can I borrow yours for a short amount of time? Will you teach me how to make it beat again? Can you stay by me until it learns and can beat on its own? Will you stay after I’m okay again? I wish someone would say yes. No, it’s not going to be God, I have a Bible thank you, no I don’t have a minute to talk about your Lord or whoever, just simply another human being please. Just a dose of normal for the deranged. Just a glimpse of sanity for those who have lost it all. Just a hand to hold. A real hand when all the other hands have let go and decided to let you climb on your own. I’m stuck on the bottom and you’re all watching me sit and stare into the sun as you climb away from me. We are survival of the fittest after all, who has time for a bottom feeder like me? Maybe I should sit down here and die out along with the short necked giraffes who couldn’t reach the leaves, no you jerks, just give him a leaf or two. I’m not perfect, no, but neither are you. Does climbing away and higher from those who can’t climb make you feel better? Does it make you feel strong? Well I sit here waiting for someone to fall and then maybe I’ll stand on you for the head start I need to get out of this hell hole.
If God were to ask me at the gates of heaven, “Why should I let you in?” I would probably say something like, “You probably shouldn’t. Not anymore.” And we’d laugh, high five, get a drink then I go on my merry way to another gate.
“Whoa, that’s dark. How can you say those things about God?”
I was told that hell is an eternity without God’s presence. My friend, if that is hell, then I’m living it and I’m going to make do with whatever scraps of comfort I can find.