A Little Black Bird Told Me


Let’s see just how dull and dreary a post I can manage.                            It’s when I have nothing to say (or write) that I likely need to write the most, because it’s when my minds slips into a place of either complete apathy or uncomfortable discomfort, that I don’t feel like writing; for after all, it rather adds up to the same shit that for some reason I find clarity in having in hard print- Sometimes only accomplishing thinking I’m even crazier than previously thought.

           For a short while, I had been exchanging words with a rather peculiar stranger with an even more uncanny penchant for listening to my thoughts I would otherwise keep to myself. It was a bit surprising that this person’s screen name referenced looking for the calling crow, when he had absolutely no means by which he could have known that I had recently changed my artistry name (of which is another odd story)because it was on an old Music site that I hadn’t as much as logged in on in over a year. Being that a sign so obvious even *I* couldn’t deny it’s purpose- I broke my vow of social monkhood and actually rather enjoyed the human interaction with such a detail- oriented individual. I’m reminded of the night before, asking God to send me a sign so obvious that my doubting heart couldn’t deny it- because this year I’m awful at faith.

Faith that God will do what anyway?”

is what I always ask the Christian eager to encourage me to press on in life, blindly hoping for an end of which no one is certain of. I honestly have no idea, because if I’ve learned anything in this past few years of hell- it’s that God doesn’t usually work how, when, or to the end that we want.               While He’s more than able to do most anything He likes- I can never reconcile where our desires meet with His plans-

or if they even matter at all.

         It took a whole lot of painful introspection and weeding out most of my bleeding insides to realize that for some time now I’ve held a vain hope that things will get better. I held the subconscious belief that “God wouldn’t give me more than I could handle”- because we’re told that so often,

and yet it’s completely false and unscriptural.

In fact, I personally doubt He’s even working for our carnal goals- because His ways are above ours; and comparatively, this life is about five and a half minutes long.

        God has allowed circumstances in my life that I clearly can’t- or have yet to – handle, and it takes 100% of my energy only to keep my head above water. He knows how my spirit and mind work, and He knows my every thought from afar. I’m not ashamed to say it was God who has always orchestrated my protection from my dumb shit, provision for my lack of it, and even threw in some joy and happiness for me over the past 20 some years of walking with Him-

until He didn’t.

Or I couldn’t see it. I still don’t.

I don’t understand why He always answered my questions, told me the unknown, and answered my every prayer in the way that I had hoped, for so long- and then stopped.

        Why has He always bothered at all, or much less: be swift in answering my prayers and petitions- as if He would give me a piece of the sky if I asked; until I had an extremely important matter- one that has long eclipsed all of the trivial things He’s blessed me with.

Yet I’ve prayed more than a thousand times for this and

no answer.

No change.

I think maybe He spoiled me for too long.

Is it a numbers game?                               Is He finally sick of my shit?

     He has given me signs that He’s still there, but after long enough I struggle again with doubting my observations entirely; like holding my last breath in between every sign, praying there will be another to keep me going before the oxygen burns away in my lungs. I consider that maybe I’m still just a naive, wishful little girl who still wants to see magic in everything- struggling to grow up and accept the realities I loathe. It took the longest time for me to finally swallow that little red pill and align my heart with my mind-

that things may never get better.

Let’s face it- circumstances don’t change as often as *I* need to change.                      

                         And let’s be straight- I fucking hate that, when it comes to this one thing- which is probably no coincidence.

There’s no obligation for things to get better, because God doesn’t owe me anything at all. He does as He pleases, and when no man can understand why- none can rightfully question Him either.

            I’ve said with my mouth that I knew my place in regards to God’s will, but deep inside still allowed myself to harbor the hope that one day God would work for my happiness- a sentence that makes me feel stupid and shallow to write, but I can’t deny it.                  

Just because some truths may be awful doesn’t mean that if I close my eyes it won’t still be true.



       I’ve watched things get worse: one medical crisis after another; consequently losing my job, license, car, income,  worsening MDD, and losing my closest friends.

         I’ve fought with every ounce of my strength and will to stop the spiral, redirect my life, and change the things I couldn’t seem to accept. Selfishly. With no shortage of discipline or motivation, I realized that I’ve been banging my fists away at a brick wall- possibly set there BY God.

       While I’m not one to blame everything, or my decisions on a cosmic force; I’ve been so confused, devastated, and angry.

Why was God torturing me like this, by not sparing me of these blocking Obstacles,

Of which He knew I didn’t have the strength to scale.

Of things He knew were my very worst nightmares, as if it was by design.

         I’ve been guilty of being angry at God when life became intolerably painful- something I say because I think most growth (and art) is done while being in a tolerably painful position.

You know, that place just barely before you start to meticulously plan your  suicide- I’m totally fine with pain. But pain to the point of being personally crippling, and I object.

Why do I accept only good from God- when I didn’t even deserve it– and act presumptuously disgruntled when my best years fade away to a distant memory?                 So what was my solution to all of this? *insert recommendation to click out of  browser here*

To kill myself of course.

Beyond the shadow of a doubt I hope and plan on being dead by 30.

Because life is intolerable and I still managed to have the gall to think that my perception of misery mattered, and I’m a selfish asshole who just wants to be out of pain and dismissed from this seemingly morbid joke that is life.

But really, excuse me for lacking overwhelming optimism at the discovery that I may be an awful person- and furthermore a cowardly one at that.

Too cowardly to off myself at the moment, it turns out.

So here I am. Writing.

Practically realizing my life was a lie and I’m not the person that I thought I was before this shit went down- before I couldn’t have my way-

like a fucking child.

So there’s that.

My mom used to always tell me if I didn’t play nice no one would want to be my friend. 

Oh look, I wrote something.

~The Calling Crow~

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