Free Write 2.23

God where are You? I am finding that You are so different from who I thought You were, and everyday’s trial gives me reason to continue in this separation and reaffirmation that I am indeed alone in my own futile thoughts and fruitless wars. It all terrifies me beyond what any soul can bear to feel, that my being built this sentence for myself- but that I truly could not have done any better or different. The more I observe and learn of this complex universe, what it’s all for, to where each circle back leads- the more I am displacing every belief I’d had and all the more convincing it is of not belonging. Who knew that hell had levels anyways, before descending into the next one, to an eventually waning surprise. Everything is falling through the cracks and slipping farther and farther away, and they can’t even see it. They see me here and they think it’s all just the same. And maybe it is, but I am not.

God where did you go? But it doesn’t work that way anyways, You don’t fix circumstances, You change our attitudes regarding them. But changing things isn’t even what You wanted from the beginning. You did everything to save us for eternity, but sometimes nothing can save us in this life because we’re all burning out fast; feeling it in my flesh and bone is sobering. But forever scares me and I’m not noble enough for the purposes of this life. I just wanted what I thought would make me happy, shallow and simple happiness- because nothing else feels good either. But obviously it’s not about that either. And the more I watch, listen, and understand- the more I realize that I don’t have any fucks left to give or energy to spend to someday pull someone out of a hole, because I guaran-fucking-tee there will simply be another hole to fall in after that. It seems that’s all the human race is about, helping eachother up so we can hurry on to the next burden. God, I once was someone who hoped in You, listened to You and followed Your direction; but now I feel a child of perdition to my own innate apathy I can no longer overcome. My own burden grows heavier by the day, and the knowledge gradually setting in that it shall never be removed lessens my will to continue to stand up. And You sent me so many people who tried to help, You sent me countless supernatural signs of which I cannot deny, and granted most anything I asked for but what I wanted the most- the one thing that has destroyed me from the inside out, driven a system into unavoidable isolation, and left me contemplating approaching mortality. I wanted to live and to love, but it seems I never will in any sense of normalcy or consistency. And it feels like the end of the world in more than the figuratively overdramatic sense.

The withered mountain grasses aren’t the only thing that’s dying. Maybe the intensity of the feeling is just because I’m involuntary off the medications I use as a bandaid for unavoidable fates- but then again, it may have been what caused me to start taking them all in the first place. Anything to get away from how depressing reality is. Honestly I’d much prefer to just keep myself indefinitely manic, because there are colors there sometimes, and before I was wired I realized that there are no vivid colors in this life without a chemical high. But those eventually go away too and you can’t keep running, as whatever you’re running from will circle right back to you. Because you can’t get away from these things, and I knew that all along but desired to bide any remaining time. But now it has run out. I thought I had found hope but it has expired and so have I. But God, I really am terribly grieved in my deepest heart You see for where I find myself, but no longer carry on in the same way on this path. For death would be much more favorable than to continue on the path that has been either sentenced or allotted to me. Yes I know how precious time is and how little of it we each are to know, but it doesn’t take so much of it to understand the order of things and to feel utterly misplaced and unqualified. But death is easy- though neither permitting any rest or escape.

Life is toilsome and admirable but nothing I find any iota of investment in. Many people they will go about and waste their lives laboring for what they will have little strength left to enjoy, fabricating meaning and fulfillment to support life being as it has always been through the generations. Of this I will have no part, nor could I if I had desired to. You have granted me the knowledge of many things I did not know, telling me both great and trivial secrets from youth, and in my long-standing solitude I believe have known Your favor and evidence more than most. But with this I can’t understand how You could care enough about the smallest most inconsequential details of my life, yet in Your perfect knowledge allow the debilitating and dominant parts to persist for so long as to render me irrevocably spent. I’m not so ignorant as to deny the continual suffering of others as well, mostly to those of much more admirable character than myself, and to wonder how Your care and higher purposes reconcile with our trivial and subjective suffering.

I can often be tempted wonder if we haven’t simply fabricated a God that makes us feel comfort or hope, when in reality God is who He is and always was long before any of us were a thought, whether we approve or see His actions as good or not- for goodness apart from a singular omnipotent being defining it- will always be merely subjective. So though the actions or allowance of God are not good in my account of benefit, it still is not only good but just. However I can only wish that I could too bring myself to feel that anything is indeed good, because my feeling that everything is worthless and what God allows is somehow unfair doesn’t change the truth- which is still true whether I can believe it in my heart or not. Regardless, I often think for what I have seen and been given that we are highly fortunate that God is not malevolent, in which the hand that none can turn back and the definition of truth or goodness would be ruin. I will never understand the workings of God or why He allows the unspeakable to befall so many, seemingly undeserving by the world’s assessment of it. So if this happens to the countless unnamed, that even so many children with scarce knowledge of evil should suffer, why should I ever hope that God would deal me much better than that? Why does God call all in His name children, but still leave some to die? No, I think their trying to encourage me is in vain.

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rant 2.21

I’ve been staring at this blank screen for days now. I write something and then erase it because it doesn’t say what I need to say, only mocking. I don’t even want to write. I don’t care. Of course I continue on striving, learning, yearning for nothing, and warring with myself. And with finding truth- in the fact that it was always there inside- I find it neither comforting nor motivating as some others seem to. I even realize how narcissistic it may be to use this blog to mostly just talk about myself, when there’s so much going on in the world collectively. But it still seems to always be there, staring right back at me all the time in the back of my skull; everything feels empty, exhausting, meaningless, and of no value but to grate at raw nerves. Consciously I know there is purpose in this world, I just don’t feel like a part of it because all I can feel is pain, anger, and confusion. It’s the many fallen aspects of this life that seem far too difficult for me to also come to terms with, as we all have to.

I know I’m wasting my time, and I wonder if the truth isn’t simply that this is who I am- that I shouldn’t continue to hide from the world waiting for a change that will never come. Maybe I’ll always struggle with this darkness, this terror, and the feeling of disconnect and disinterest in breath or community. I know I just can’t seem to let go of the past- even though I know nothing is meant to last- because I don’t believe that the future could possibly be anything but a cumulatively deepening misery, of which is likely only imposed upon me by the constant gnawing awareness of everything in my mind that seems highly contradictory to the necessary mold of character being a part of the world demands. Ultimately I just don’t give a shit and I’ve given up-and everyone will tell me I can’t do that- but it’s only for weariness and having no reason to keep pressing on. Everything seems like nothing and I find my mind so defensively dissociated that I can’t even access the details of what’s going on or what my issue is to justify my increasingly volatile behavior.

I’m still working with yet another set of doctors- usually switching every 4-6 months when little to no improvement is seen. Every fucking time I perhaps can see a tiny glimmer of hope, it goes away despite all my efforts to hold on to it. I don’t understand. I feel God has abandoned me in this situation or was never a part of it. Everybody tells me there’s a reason for the things that happened- that it’s not just all my fault- that God is using my pain, is orchestrating something, or has good plans for my life; but I see nothing and can’t even imagine any more anything that could feel good to me but to find an early exit. Everyone’s trying so much to help me but at this point I’m so angry, don’t believe anyone can help, and want to tell everyone to fuck off for sheer frustration. I feel misunderstood. I feel that I can’t find the words. This is gonna fix it, this treatment will be it, just do this next; throwing darts at a board. I don’t want to do anything anymore, or ever again. I don’t want to jump through any more fucking hoops because nothing ever changes and my soul is so fucking tired and hasn’t slept in ages that it seems like the ending is a when not an if.

I don’t know why I always feel so fucking morose or why I always have a sense of doom right behind me. Surrounded by people I feel alone, connected to no one. Why. I feel that the universe is incoherent and inconsistent- like fucking wonderland where nothing makes sense, the same equation never works twice, the scene is always shifting and you have to run twice as fast just to not get swept back to where you started. A woman I barely knew said God sent her a dream about me, saying that I was cursed by Masonic oaths and curses of those gone before. Why, how, or if she’s full of it or not I don’t know, but I sure feel cursed sometimes. Not to whine or attempt to garner pity, but for the enigmatic nature of medical, spiritual, and psychological issues that follow like a shadow.

It feels like we’re just wasting time, waiting for something we’ll never know. Everybody’s going through shit, and everyday seems the same. Whether there’s purpose or a goal in mind, I don’t even know how to care because I’m so tired and disillusioned with every fucking thing myself. And it’s not even as bad as it gets, I know that; And no, I don’t want to talk about positivity because right now that still just seems like lying to yourself.

I just wish I knew what all this waiting and wandering is for. I just wish it would go away and that something would make actual fucking sense, that actions would bring results, or something would feel like anything other than running in fucking circles.

Free Rant 2.13

It’s sobering and even more frightening when I can’t push away the realization of just how quickly time passes and indeed that at the end of this life I know it will be at a time that I look back, surprised by how brief it actually was. I fear that I’ll spend my time waiting for better days, when perhaps better days are a myth-they’re right now- and I’m just wasting them until I end up looking back realizing that life was a slow downhill and I should have appreciated more where I was before the vantage changes again. And the pieces, the moving characters and parts are indeed ever changing. If I’ve learned anything in these difficult years, it’s that an eventual point there is something to be missed about most everything and that’s what makes each piece of this chessboard so impacting to me; the weight with which every passing away is felt is miserable but simultaneously wondrous in its lending of the understanding of each of our fleeting time here. It’s really not about getting to a certain point where things are OK, they likely never will be, being the most difficult part to accept- that this life is meant to be a compilation of moments, just extended moments to be had only once, but felt for the entirety of remembrance.

Somehow I never could enjoy these things however, as they are ever tainted by a continually morose reminder of their impermanence. Because as soon as it is obtained, it shall pass away; the bittersweet nature of our existence. Though I assuredly tend more toward feeling it’s bitterness, and I’ve never known how to mend this within myself in such a way as to affect me at the core and change my true countenance to actually feel joy. It used to be easier to anticipate a better future- or even just a future at all- but I never cease to be reminded of the unbecoming tendency of mine to observe the patterns of Time and conclude no reason to endure the future- much less hope for it.

I wish that I could procure and keep something that felt like anything but all that Time’s stealing nature has rendered customary.

And if this really is as good as it gets, then I’ll have essentially made it in the world- with a roof over my head, food, water- the necessities for physical survival of which we all spend the majority of our precious time and energy just to obtain, at the equal rate at which it expires. But ultimately none of this is anything new, and really already known by all, even if only in the subconscious workings so as to make it more bearable and not an obstacle to participation in the daily races.

But I’ve already been blessed with these provisions and have seen my sparing from a great many tragedies far worse than my own. But somehow recognition of this truth fills me with an objective gratitude of no feeling but sadness that everything is always so cyclical and empty. I could wish that it be given to someone who would more appreciate this divine preservation so as to be able to experience the rumored other emotions than the few that I have been long and well acquainted with. I feel guilt and shame for my lack of a more favorable countenance.

And I’m left in my mind only to wonder the moments that I so begrudgingly remain for. What else is there to be done, assumedly only to affect another with the remaining capability to feel said emotions of peace, hope, joy, or love? All these moments weave in circles- simple as that. So why in my heart do I not care nor feel like a part of it?

Free Rant 2.11

Have you ever felt like you were suffocating- with its iron grip in your chest and around your neck- not just lasting for some moments, but lasting for weeks to months to the year; yet despite its duration never seeming to grow any more tolerable or operable. It just weighs down your skin, frays at the nerves, and steals your mind away from the chaotic yet ultimately vapid reality that we are obligated to remain so attached to. It occupies every thought, the burning desire for that breath of oxygen scalding through your lungs and filling your mind with a panic so profound at every moment that it can make you feel entirely alone in the universe; or as though you’re trapped in a case of thick glass, simply watching the world around you blur by, so surreal yet each individual so astonishingly invested in what you can barely feign any objective cognition of. Everyone around you is breathing, aren’t they? How do they manage to at least make it appear so easy? Why can’t you pretend as well as they; for surely they too are aware of this Terror that is so present here- aren’t they? How can they not feel the Fear that so consumes you, stealing away the oxygen you once took for granted? The mind pulls away long before the body makes its last retreat, and the disconnect is so profoundly terrifying that you don’t try to explain it at all, seemingly for a distance much further than it actually is between you and any other resident of this world.

All I wanted was to come back down to earth, to take back what I lost, to abandon awareness of this Fear, but the farther I run, the more it chases; the more I fight against it’s will the more fiercely it wars for my fractured and fragmented mind. I don’t think they’ve felt it, I don’t think they know or have been to this place, or they wouldn’t be walking about so and talking of such distant things as peace, hope, joy, love- what are those things anyways? Was I ever a part of their world, or just a wolf dressed up at least to a black sheep in their world, trying to pretend I understood these fruits when really all I know is this dark place of wandering to no end and the constant awareness of demonic presence or oppression? I’ve tried a thousand times to get out, to leave this damned stronghold of suffering and confusion; so why do I always end up right back, exhausting every ounce of strength yet holding so tightly to a world passed away that I’ve never felt strong enough for, my grip is tearing through the flesh and bone and I the final cord I’ve held in my bloodied hands is slipping. I feel I’ll do something more desperate because now I’ve let go and I wonder how I’ll ever get out- though it grows more difficult not to listen to the truth screaming out from inside, that I don’t believe I’ll ever escape and it feels like it’s been a thousand years. Or was it just a day?

2.10 free write

I really need to talk but I don’t know what to say

I can’t seem to sort these thoughts out from normal to inane

It feels that’s where I’m at and it’s getting very close

What’s real, have I gone mad, would you even want to know

It’s so fucking loud and it never goes away

It’s just trying to get out and it’s making me insane

I need someone who understands what’s near impossible to explain

But I don’t think they can, though many have thought the same

I need to silence my mind, what’s consuming me alive

And I never would’ve dreamed it could be this bad inside

I don’t want to feel this way, I can’t become this person

But all I hear, see, and feel is the pain, and I can’t bear this burden

Can you hear me, I’m screaming so loud

But not a single word ever seems to come out

And I just act like I’m crazy and losing my touch

The facts they get hazy and I’ve run out of fucks

I don’t want to try anymore, I’ve done it ten thousand times before

And each time around just feels like dying a little more

It sounds so dramatic and to you it’s all the same

Well maybe I’m just an addict in a pursuit that’s all in vain

Why do you care, maybe I’ll be the one to make you stop

It’s hard to believe You’re there, I’m not cut out for this job

I’m not strong enough anymore to hold up what this has become

And with every year gone forward, I see never to be undone

Does everybody feel this way, and I’m the only one who can’t take the weight?

How did I get to where I am now, how do I get out?

I need to open my mouth and let it all out, because it’s literally killing me so damn slow

But my mind is too faded, my thoughts are so jaded, who would listen to me ramble on so

I feel like every little thing times a thousand has become altogether too much

I’ve been resisting but inching while inside my soul is twisting at the thought that I’m destined to jump

I don’t want to fight anymore

Though I know that I’ve said this before

And they wonder how I manage to act as I did

Because I’m so far past the edge, that I don’t give a shit

When this tension never lessens nor does it sleep, unprecedented, it tortures and follows me

I needed some rest, a place to lay my head

Something to make me feel anything but this dread

but now I don’t know if I will ever feel again

Even with all the time to heal and try to be different.

Free Rant- a little about the calling crow

I keep thinking that I should at least try to write something, if at least for the sake of attempting to organize my thoughts or what’s going on; but it’s as though I would rather do anything else, So that I may continue to grossly dissociate as means to get by at the expense of my seemingly deteriorating cognitive and emotional coherence… So here goes nothing, something new because I don’t give two shits about poetry lately, And have probably spoken in veiled riddles, symbolism, and not-so-fictitious characters and analogy for long enough; To the ironic end that really nobody knows precisely what I’m talking about other than an exhaustive anthology of bitching, complaining, and telling parts of the truth that despite its validity still sound melodramatic.

But by no new occurrence, I’ve come to a place in my life where I have quit therapy after over three years, and essentially lost or cut out every person that I even casually associated with. Though partly for the reason that I’ve been living staring down the precipice of non-specific irrational freak outs, which I don’t want any person to bear the brunt of, trigger, or even really witness. So here I find myself with a blog that I have many times of late considered deleting entirely, and a bunch of strangers that I suppose I could talk at for the sake of attempting to keep myself at least emotionally afloat on the driftwood that I’ve been lost down this fucking river on for years and years now. I had a dream that it ended; the floating, the waiting- everyone thought I was dead, including myself. But that relief never really came, Not after so much waiting and so much hoping to find hope to hope for.

So who am I? Other then some lady whose mind thanks in fragments of disastrous sentiments arranged in such semblance as to feign rationality..?

I just turned 26, so just shyly no longer in my early 20s – basically at the point that I thought that I would have some of my shit sorted out by now or at least created some kind of system to work for myself to get by. I live with my parents who patiently house and support me financially, though I do contribute a small sum via disability that I was able to obtain a year ago after three or four years of fighting for it. I have been unable to work since November of 2012, For idiopathic petite mal seizures; and not long after that time did I find that my entire life began to dismantle right down to the very health of my bones and mind, as though it were some written curse. Since that time in the events that occurred soon after, I have maintained a life of near complete solitude from any person but said therapist once or twice a week- Of which I felt that I was honestly paying just to listen to me as I have no hope that they could offer any solution or anything that I haven’t myself realized or tried, even risking sounding arrogant. I’ve done many, many years of therapy, with multiple intensive inpatient hospitalizations lasting months at a time. And I found these things to be of no help either, eventually developing a proclivity for finding more interest in a psychotherapist’s personal life than my own. I eventually came to the conclusion that I would have to find my own answers, make my own way, create my own solutions that had never been done before for a constellation of problems that I have yet to hear of another having before. And perhaps I did find some of those answers after all those years of denial and kicking against the goads, And they definitely were not the answers I had hoped to find, though it was of no surprise.

Beside mental health issues- namely major depression and anxiety disorder since the age of 14- I’ve seen hundreds of doctors and accumulated tens of thousands of dollars of debt for persistent, mysterious health crises that have also contributed to my not living in the world; for the past five or six years now I have had no part in it because I rarely feel well enough to leave the house. I’ve had problems with my heart, my liver, kidneys, stomach, digestive system, endocrine system, And most other organs to varying degrees. One particular instance, going into the first stages of liver failure, and top LA endocrinologists could not tell me why. That was some five years ago, back before I could’ve ever imagined what my life would become today, back before I wanted to die and actively sought the means for it. So I prayed to God, I asked him to spare my life, and that I would do what it was He wanted me to do on this planet. Well God did spontaneously heal my liver, to the surprise of the doctors who basically told me to get out of their office because they don’t believe in God. Well that was all fine and great except for the fact that later I felt like I got tricked because I had no idea what the future held, Or that I would so deeply long that God had let me die. Sparing the details of a daunting history, it has only been proposed time and time again that these endless maladies and other enigmatic phenomena could be related to an abdominal surgery I had as a young kid- oddly enough the first memory I have in life, my brother handing me this plushy red ladybug and then the nauseating bubblegum anesthesia.

Now for one of the many facets that is a bit more humbling to admit, that I have struggled with anorexia since I was 15 years old and still do to this day- to a much more severe degree than anyone in my life is knowledgeable of. People knew this about me in essentially my past life, when I was surprisingly functional- but now it is a less obvious secret of mine as the development of hypothyroid in my early 20s has kept me at a more normal weight without having to eat. People don’t worry about me anymore for reason of my outward appearance, and that’s exactly how it should be; I think telling anyone that I am so tormented by an eating disorder to be quite embarrassing as the words typically bring to mind much more alarmingly gaunt figures than the reality of the many other people walking around who too have this demon. In over a decade of dealing with this every single day, it’s worse than when I started and honestly the foremost reason why I seek to die; Like an inescapable hell personalized just for you or a nightmare that can never be woken up from. I am fully aware of the countless people who have recovered- having seen, known, and been in treatment with- But don’t frankly prescribe to the notion that “anyone can recover”, Because as fanfuckingtastical And magical that sounds, if it were actually true, no one would ever die of an eating disorder. And this is terrible to say but this is my space and my only allowance to be egotistical-I sometimes wonder If anyone would be surprised if I was one of them, Because I’ve been basically starving myself for a few years now, This year still even worse. And yes I’ve been in treatment. Again and again and again and again. And I feel fucking pathetic.

So there, I said it. I’m not better in that respect, or with depression or with managing to acquire a more positive attitude. Now I realize that common sense would immediately suggest that perhaps an eating disorder is the reason why I have all these health issues- granted I’ll give you this as at least contributory, but in my experience I have found these issues unrelated and have no patience for wasting time defending myself on such grounds.

So where am I going with all of this other than just blindly ranting… All this to say that It’s been a very very long time, an equally toilsome road, and for all of it I feel now even further away from where I need to be than when I started all those years ago. The last remaining parts of the little girl me for so long subconsciously held onto the belief that somehow God would make it all OK in the end, that things would get better, or that there would be a reason for the loss of my young life or for my I’ll just call immense suffering- but ultimately I fear that the free will granted to each of us has and shall continue to impede my ability to correct whatever mistakes I am making again and again to end up where I have in life or what I am evidently deserving of- All for reason that I realize I am simply not strong enough. Not anymore. I’ve been Strong, but I’m tired. And in more pain than I’ll bother trying to convey.

So what prompted me to even write or rant about any of this in the first place as opposed to the usual vague poetry; that after some time of getting into one of my dark dark places, having been in chronic pain of a long “fibromyalgia” flare up, knowing that I’ve been in pain every single day for a couple years now, in the middle of an chemically abysmal depression, riddled with anxious terrors, And ultimately hopeless that any of these or undisclosed matters will ever improve – I had come to the place of more seriously contemplating another suicide attempt. I had planned to get some Nembutal, at least for insomnia, and knowing my abnormal metabolism of medications, at least try and work up the courage to take too much. Confessedly I’ve already been misusing various prescriptions and whatnot for a while now, for various needs, but rather hoping that I’ll give myself a heart attack, but somehow always being fine. Like I’m a coward and keep thinking that perhaps if I can get a drug with high enough risk factors that something bad will happen and I won’t be charged for suicide. Foolish thoughts like that. Every day, all the time.

And looking at everything I’ve emotionally vomited here just rather pisses me off because it does absolutely no justice to expressing the half of it or just how fucking done I’ve been with life for a while now. I’m done with being sick and in chronic physical pain, dealing with irrational and unpredictable mental illness, and I’ve come to the point that I can’t live one more god-forsaken stupid fucking shit day in a cage of a body that kills me everyday for reason of the emotional suppression of its not being dead. My choices and freedom lost to me- and all this useless wasted time, the only reason I have not more firmly pursued the means of my quietus is that I have learned much enough to know that there is no rest in death, that we indeed walk in the Lesser Darkness, and that that which is to follow for some is unspeakable and who has visited it and remained the same?

I do believe that I have had the taste of the kind of suffering that few will understand and cannot be explained with words. I have known the company of demons. I have been to insanity and back and now, all I want is rest. Quiet forever. A refuge away from myself and all the clamorous nonsense of doing and fretting over stupid, stupid shit that has frayed my nervous system to a complete breakdown. But life never stops coming, it never stops taking, it never stops draining, I never refill, I’ve been on empty for so long a time; the longer I stay here, the more sure it seems to be my fate, perhaps even in the next life if I can’t feign some kind of fucking gratitude that I was given breath in this world to suffer with most of them somewhere thereafter a young age that’s already gone by forever.

So this is me here to be so bold as to say that this world is full of good things, good people, and opportunities for those with the strength to get them; but it’s also full of misfortune, suffering unquenchable and so deep no words can express, full of disconnect, isolation, and torture; such that the good is nowhere near frequent nor enduring enough- if you can even feel such pleasures- that the suffering is worth enduring just to stay and hope something good will happen some day and be your fucking needle in a haystack of the innumerable hopes fallen through. And I’m no fool to wait around for that shit anymore.

I never could have seen any of this coming. I never could have imagined all that I would lose and how everything I held dear would change, taken from me. I never could have fathomed what it feels like to practically rather put a bullet in your head than wake up in the morning; or that my own body would become the inescapable prison of my torment. But here I am- funny how that works- by now perhaps the most tough, cynical, bitter bitch around… And it’s ironic… I am my shadow now, because I wasn’t always what I am today. Now I’m just another sad calling crow.

1.17 free write

Me, myself, and the drugs make three

All pretty fucked up but you can’t always change things

Some things just are

But that’s not all,

I know that there’s beauty in this world that still remains

But days like today all I can feel’s the pain

I’ve been weaving a web of lies and don’t know how to make it better

I’ve been thinking about it a long time and decided to write this letter

Sometimes intricate deception is really only a method of protection

I’m tired and done with being pushed around

I’ve learned these lessons, I’m no longer a child now

You think you know best, and I candidly welcome your suggestion

But when you push and overstep you’re tempting my aggression

Call me the most stubborn bitch around

But it’s because I’ve lived it out

That when I follow others decisions for me, in the end

I’m then the one left with the damage to mend

Wasting more of my time, losing my ground, just toiling away to make up for it now

You don’t even know me, I’m not your fucking kid

Do you really believe I’ve no knowledge of what I did?

I’m fully aware and waiver the risks and I really don’t care even if it did

Were not all a textbook case, so take a step back for the next look made

Because you weren’t there

It’s not like this mess occured in a year

You can reiterate how something should or should not be a certain way

Or this is that and how that’s just a matter of fact- but it doesn’t always work like that

Sometimes there’s simply a price to pay for any benefit in the necessary way

And its a cost of which I’m willing it’s wage

I don’t have to justify to you

Why I decide what I do

You can’t just walk right in all incidental and expect me to throw away all my accomplishment, albeit incremental

I don’t believe in miracles anymore, I’ve believed too many times to failure before

If you can help, show me

But don’t expect me to leap off cliffs with no knowing

Does God talk you? Maybe He does me too- but I wonder who’s hearing who?

I’ve come to a place in my life where I’m not gonna wait for anything twice

And for more than an hour long, for no one now but God

This is my answer to your questions, having run out of patience

I make no demands but that you sequester your expectations.