Confessions

I stare at this empty screen torn between my emotions, my memories, and my anxiety.

I have a lot on my mind.

I hate feeling like I can’t use certain words without thinking that there are those who are rolling their eyes. Do my words offend? Do they make you uncomfortable?

Anxiety

Depression

Suicide

Are you squirming yet?

It’s pathetic that I am now drowning in self-doubt simply because of the ones who doubt myself. I take three steps forward but in your eyes, I never got up off of the ground, to begin with.

There’s no winning with you.

There’s no winning with anyone.

I’ve found that your efforts, no matter how sincere, won’t matter to some. There will be those who raise a brow, smirk their lips, or bat their eyes in contempt no matter what you do.

The unfortunate side is that it’s all done in “love.”

Really? You stand over my life, with gavel in hand, leveling my worth as a human being with a guilty verdict simply because I used to be depressed? Oh, I’m sorry. In your eyes, I still am.

I forgot that I’m not allowed to be honest and transparent anymore.

How can you say that your actions are founded in love? This is not love. This is not caring. This–what you are doing–is contempt. It’s political peacocking. It’s pretend. It’s false pretense. It’s assumption. It’s painful.

What’s maddening is that I believe that it’s my fault. What sickens me is this constant wondering of, “Well, maybe they’re right.”

This is what I deserve, right? They say that you associate yourself with people who treat you like you feel you deserve. Maybe I’m drawn to you because you treat me as I treat myself.

Three steps forward but it’s all a dream.

I can’t help but laugh. It keeps me from falling apart. I wake up every single day with a choice. I can choose to see life as God tells me or I can listen to the outside voices saying “Screw it all.” According to you, though, it’s an easy choice. You don’t have any difficulty, do you? Life is sunshine every day, yes?

 

You must have never seen the darkness of hell.

My battle is a minute-by-minute one. It’s more difficult than I let on. You’ll never understand until you walk in these pair of shoes.

However, I wish you never walk the path I have. Please…listen to me, instead.

Whoever told you that life would be easy lied to you. Or maybe you’re the one lying to yourself? Don’t fret, if so. It happens to the best of us.

It’s funny how so many “Christians” claim the name of Jesus yet live their lives as if sorrow wasn’t a real emotion. Believe me, if you’re a “Christian” and are not actively dealing with sorrow, I reckon you’ve been fooled.

“How?” You may ask.

Should I even bother answering this again? The last time you asked you did not listen. No, don’t misunderstand me. You heard me but you did not listen.

The only place honesty and transparency have taken me is loneliness. These voices call me to pull back a little. They want me to mince my words. Maybe then you’d accept me and love me? Maybe then I’d fit into your idea of what a “Christian” should look like, talk like, and act like?

Truth be told it doesn’t matter what I do. In your eyes, I’ll never have it together. In your eyes, I’ll always be a burden. In your eyes, I’ll always live with a crutch; even if I’m running through fields of beautiful flowers.

Maybe I will. Maybe you’re right.

You don’t love the me that I am today. You don’t even see me for who I am today. You view me as you want me to be seen: helpless and desperately in need of your saving.

I don’t need your advice. I don’t need your half-hearted attempts at “counsel.” I don’t need the pity spewing from your tongue. You don’t save me. You can’t. You don’t have all of the answers. Why do you pretend as though you do?

I need someone to love me as I am. Someone who is willing to walk the journey with me no matter how dark, dirty, or despondent it may be. I can tell you that that person is not you.

Don’t even tell me that I don’t need someone. Go spend some time in isolation and then tell me that you don’t need people. Don’t you dare.

Do my words strike a chord? I’m certain that if they do, it’s not a pretty one. I don’t speak my words in hatred so therefore, I will not recant. I will not live my life as a lie. Maybe you can, but I can’t.

You may read this and feel as though I am talking to you. That is not my problem anymore, it is yours. If you don’t like what you read, don’t. If you don’t like the way that I do things, who told you that you had to stay? If you think that I’m not good enough based off of my personal struggles, can I tell you to go first look in the mirror?

You and I are not so different.

Am I being listened to? Or just heard?