My Disease

I feel it coursing through me.  It runs helter-skelter through my veins.  I feel this, this sickness eating away at my very being.  It consumes my heart corroding my being.  My senses are heightened, my vision alert.  I can't see clearly through this mist.  Straining, straining, I attempt to view my goal.  There is no crack in the sky, and there is no light at the end of the tunnel.

All I know is darkness.  A darkness so sinister, so malicious that not even love can penetrate it.  It's said, "love makes the world go round."  To me "love makes the world stop."

I try to be a light that shines in the darkness.  I try to fight the only fight worth fighting.  The result?  A mouth filled with teeth like daggers.  The only noise that emanates from this mouth is guttural promises, promises to rip, no tear, no rend the very heart from your chest.

My throat has more maggots, more flies, and more disease than an open tomb.  A long twisting appendage that used to be a tongue caresses my wormy lips.  There is nothing left on my body that resembles flesh.  All that remains is putrid gray hide with sickly green coursing through it.

I try to be something that people can look at, not because I'm beautiful, but because I'm an example.  I tried so hard for so long to be that one positive person to my family.  Instead I'm a diseased limb waiting to be chopped off.

Any attempt to be helpful, nice, or just charismatic was stabbed.  Stabbed so many times that all that's left was a shattered, broken, bleeding being.  A bloody pulp meant to be spat on, ridiculed, and scorned.

I'm told time and time again that there's more to this.  Time and time again I'm reminded this "more" is pain.  Others wonder why I am so secluded, so wrapped up in myself.  They don't stop to ask why.  They don't take the time to ask why.  What caused this child to think, no play with unspeakable evil.  What made this person hate so many things, to stop caring about almost everything.

Pain and fear create my disease. 

My Attempt at Something Deep

I just finished walking around downtown Ypsi singing worship.  Right now, I'm sitting in my work while I'm not on the clock.  I don't really have any reason to be down here, except for trying to make Angie feel better today.

I also, want to just relax as well.  Anyways, while I was walking around singing I kind of had some of my awkward half thoughts floating around.

Here goes my attempt at writing something deep.

Open wounds take forever to heal.  Those on your body, and in as well. I'm not talking about like crones, but more like heart wounds.  I have a ton of open wounds in my heart.  They have been sitting there, and honestly have been starting to fester.

Sound gross?  Yeah, it is.  I don't know how to explain it, but I have a ton of wounds that were created by people I love, and who profess they love me.  Honestly, I don't know if they do.  I have a really hard time with accepting love especially from those people.

Take God for example, He's supposed to be perfect and such, but I have a mega hard time accepting His love because of those people.

The biggest and earliest source of my distrust with love is from my parents.  They physically, mentally, and emotionally hurt me.  I don't want to delve into the hurts, because I don't want to reopen the wounds anymore than they already are.  The physical stopped around 7th grade, but I still hurt.  It will take way to long to fully fathom that my parents love me.  I still don't believe it.  I still blow off the "I love you" from my parents.

Another huge person who has influenced my ability to accept love is myself.  I don't want to get into that too deeply as I don't really know what all I  have done to hurt myself.  That sounds funny, but most of my "spurts" of self abuse in every form are fuzzy.  I realize I should love myself, but I have a hard time doing it.  I have the capacity to love myself, but I find it really hard.

I really regret saying this, but Angie has been another person who has sown some wounds.  Her wounds are the freshest, and well the most prone to infection.   Stuff went down during the first month or so of our relationship.  Those wounds are still oozing puss.  It's really gross.  She won't talk about the stuff, that caused these wounds, which makes them even more prone to festering.

I'm running out of steam.  Perhaps there will be more later.