Everything’s more fucked up than it seems

Words never near enough to explain anything

The devil has me in hand again

Have you ever seen God in it

Everything’s more empty than it looks

Everyone so distant and can’t say what I should

Have you ever been to hell, this week

From the back of your skull where it carries

Have you ever been so thirsty but cannot take a drop

Have you ever seen 

Tell me, where did you find God 

With eyes sewn shut

Have you ever for long stood so still

You see the dark man at the window sill

You held my hand once

But I can’t keep my balance

Have you ever slept with hell

So dark in the corners of this cell

Felt your heart slip from your chest 

bones separate from the sinew and flesh

Have you ever had the ground’s deep waters

But run for days only to find rotten cisterns

Standing in a circle clear

where no one knows that I’m here

With skin so thin

That It always seems to gets back in

I can’t see, you can’t understand it

And we wander

Have you ever seen God here

I would meet Him anywhere

Have you ever been to hell, this week

I’m standing in this circle clearing

There’s a devil and a scream that I keep hearing

This is all I’ve got

Tell me, have you seen God?

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~

A Short Silence and A Long Lesson

           I feel as if I need so badly to write something-anything to begin to try to sort out a little of the continual whirlwind that my mind is in. Only it seems there are too many little pieces flying in a tornado too quickly to grasp for the means of conveying them to myself, much less anyone else. I’m developing an ever increasing ambivalence for words, because no amount of them seem to satisfactorily say what I want to or am experiencing inside. So here goes something of a recounting nature….

             I’ve been home now for almost two weeks after my month and half long venture in a residential treatment center and then psych ward. After a bit over a month, in a moment of overwhelming frustration, I prayed that insurance would suddenly drop me and all coverage- though I had another 2-3 months of treatment. So the next day, the insurance did and I found myself home again, though it felt the most surreal kind of unfamiliar for those 6 days. I thought I would be relieved to be home and away from the kind of controlled environment that made most drug rehabs look extremely lenient. Instead I found myself rather shocked and not knowing what to do, going from 24/7 dictation to near complete freedom.

Only I’m still not free.
I still have this disease in my mind.

In my bones.

In my hope.
             The inexpressible depression that’s gnawed at my mind and body for so long hadn’t lessened then or now. The suicidal ideation and attempts that landed me an involuntary stay in treatment were only attempts to kill the pain and escape the guilt and condemnation I wrestle with inside. 

                When I was sent home and it all crashed in on me- realizing that all the work had changed nothing regarding how I feel inside- I tried to hurt myself again and ended up in a psych ward on a 51-52/50 hold. Sparing the details, the place itself was enough incentive to hopefully never try to off myself again, because I would never want to go back there. I dare say it was as bad or worse than the movies and the cliches. They kept telling me it was for my own safety and that I was a danger to myself. Yet feeling more like cattle than patients, under some creepy Freemason/ illuminati regime, it was anything but safe- physically or mentally. People in my life had been telling me long before my admission that “this is a test”, or that it was at least coming. 

Well, this felt like the test of a lifetime. 

             Being trapped and powerless in an energetic black hole that could break most healthy individuals without even any predisposition to mental health issues, I quickly figured out that if I showed sign of the absolute terror ripping away at me- that I would be kept longer. I couldn’t afford in any manner to stay any longer. Every day was wearing down my nervous system and fabricated disposition- so I took the pills, swallowed the fear, dissociated, and pretended to a degree that I never knew I was capable. 

 Luckily, I was released for stable presentation (though I felt anything but) to another impatient center, of which I requested to return to the one I had come from. After enough awesome people fought with insurance companies, it was approved for me to return there. 

           Everyone including myself assumed that I would kiss the ground and cry tears of joy just to at least be back in a physically safe environment. Instead, I ended up being too exhausted and dissociated and everything I had pushed down in order to present in a certain manner manifested. Essentially, I quickly became too physically and emotionally sick to continue in any kind of treatment. In addition to already being at an extreme of exhaustion and sleep deprived for a week, I was forced to cold turkey stop a couple medications I had been taking for the past year. This was definitely the best time right? Ha..

“Psych yourself out of it.”

“It’s all in your head!”

“Aren’t you grateful to be out of there?”

“You just don’t want to get better.”

I heard it all in my few lucid moments inbetween various episodes. 
I couldn’t think. Was I dying? 

I couldn’t remember. I couldn’t get the world to stop spinning for days. 

I couldn’t prove to anyone that I truly feared and do believe that I was in the middle of an actual nervous breakdown, and not the kind we so lightly joke about. My head is always a fucking freaky place, but this was seriously scaring even me. Everyone kept telling me that I came back a different person, and not in a good way. 

“Where did the Warrior go?”
“I feel like I don’t even know you!”
I KNEW I wasn’t right in the head and my body has always followed suit. 

But I couldn’t prove it to anyone. 

I shouldn’t have had to.
        I laid on that bed enough days and nights thinking, praying, and crying about what to do. I felt pathetic, voiceless, and unheard when I tried to “assert my needs”.. The indescribable fear I felt inside was dragging out every minute to make some of the longest days I’d experienced, but I was still stuck somewhere that I couldn’t recompose myself. I felt trapped.

          After about a week I started to make plans to leave “Against Medical Advice”, whether I had somewhere to go or not. Bank account empty, food stamps spent for the month, I could only think of one person I barely knew who I could stay with. I didn’t want to mooch off anyone and the last thing I needed was to feel like an imposition to compound my life guilt, on top of everything. Last minute, and much to my surprise, my parents told me that I could move back home- that after a month and a half and some unforeseen circumstances, I had given it more than a fair try. So after much thought, prayer, mediation, and against everyone’s advice, I went home- unaware of any contingencies I would experience. 

             The past couple weeks have been a new level of dual exhaustion still, but I’m trying to do things anyway- though completely unsure of what to do with myself. I’m still trying to calculate what the purpose of this whole ordeal was. I’m not necessarily questioning my decision to leave, but I at least figured I would be somewhat better off afterwards. I’m still working with the same things, only I’m more tired, with better acting skills and a tougher outlook on life. 

            I have absolutely no plan at this point-

 but I suppose that’s nothing new, considering the last couple years. I’ve become a leaf on the wind- always wanting to leave yet stay, wandering in and out of life, and all the maddening paradoxes of which I can’t seem to get together for a minute. I want to be able to be ok with where I’m at, but I’m not. I seem to have compassion for everyone but myself.

            The one thing I have undeniably noticed in this last couple months is a level of connection with God that I had never thought possible. The sorrow isn’t lessened. The pain isn’t easier- but I feel like the darkness within myself has finally begun to shift into light. I don’t particularly feel better- just different and I can recognize the difference. In the deepest days of sorrow I’ve been blessed to experience glimpses of the highest, brightest promises of eternity. I’ve always told God that if He was going to speak to me or give me any signs, that they had to be so obviously undeniable that they could practically slap me in the face with their implications- and He has. 

            He’s spoken to me in such a way that I can’t even wrap my mind around, that He actually has been hearing me this whole time. He’s been with me- silent for a time of testing- but there. I can almost take solace in simply knowing that He has seen all the countless moments I’ve kept hidden from everyone. He’s showered me with so many signs and confirmation of my direction and security that I couldn’t begin to write them down. Even after trying to seek God most of my life, I had come to a point that I would hesitate to say He even existed. Now there’s no doubt in my mind at all that He’s there and loves with a kind of majesty and orchestrative beauty that I’m speechless at even the shadow of who He truly is. 

It’s true that God is patient, and compassionate to those who cry out to Him from even the lowest places, where I was so sure He couldn’t hear me. 

            The hurricane of my life continues to rage as it has now for a while, the circumstances appear to only worsen on every side, but I keep hearing to wait.

I have no idea what I’m waiting for.

I hate where I’m at in life, the way I feel every day, I still want to be dead, and there’s absolutely no evidence that things can be remedied. Yet faith is being sure of what is unseen, and I keep hearing God specializes in those. 

So I suppose I’m waiting for a miracle? 

           Sounds cliche, but there’s no real answer to all the questions coming my way. Besides, time isn’t linear and it’s all already played out. I’m sure the details ironed themselves out somewhere on the other side of this blink that is mortality. As for all those questions about what I’m doing with my life-

I’m just here, enduring.


January 4th thoughts

        I briefly had this incredibly strange feeling, as the type of knowing sadness when you’re just a few pages away from the end of a long, yet captivating book. The type of book that allows you to escape away from every thing, everyone, and every thought- save for the newly unspoken investment in these characters’ stories, which are now unfolding in all their twists and mystery. It’s that grey silence in your head when you turn over the last page, see blank space, and feel that you could almost miss those characters- only that they never truly existed.

         I consider myself one of those characters, as I just reached the end of this 23-year long book- and then proceeded to burn it. I watched it be consumed and crumble into ashes with a remarkably cold indifference. Now around this fire, my perspective is that of a stranger- as is every person around me. No face is familiar. The past is no longer of any consequence or significance, and if one were to recount the details of that book to me, I wouldn’t believe them. Every principle, moral, courtesy, belief, and faith I thought myself to know or hold had grown legalistic or  obligatory- so it had been replaced or disintegrated out of relevance entirely.

           In attempting to take inventory of what is relevant anymore, the most prominent and undeniable lesson I learned in this past year (and being stubborn, in of course all of the hardest ways) is that the very thing- actually, the very one (God)- I ran from in anger, is the only one with whom my spirit reaches any closer to being home-/or at least not feeling so abysmally alone. The final sign was as clear as being written in the sky, for my stubborn self.

The prodigal son.
The 99 sheep.
One step away.
My first love.
My last hope.

          While I’ve always known these truths in the recesses of my mind, I thought I’d try out mortality’s bind for myself anyways, out of the lack of ability to apply anything else in my essentially drunken, altered state.
       Yet even confirming this, with increasing frequency, I’ve frustratingly enough found found my own spiritually apathetic stupor impeding myself from whole- heartedly participating in this most vital reconciliation. I’ve spent the year denying and running from God, in false hopes to regain some appropriately carnal desire or perspective on what I should be doing with my time, thought, and energy- as if I would find anything. Ha.

      This past year has undoubtedly been the darkest, lowest, and most discouraging of my life thus far. While this is attributable to many things beside my walking away from all faith, all of these hardest lessons can ultimately be summarized by the one:
that Life is to know God and to be acquainted in His spirit.
          I know now that there is no other true salve or satisfaction. No other identity, or company will ever perceive or embrace my soul. Yet I’ve also experienced first hand how oftentimes God will allow (or even orchestrate) the complete shattering of our life, hopes, and hiding places just to bring us to our absolute, desperate end- where we will seek Him alone. Now I only pray for the faith to believe that He will ever put this person back together, or more accurately- that He can still rewrite this completely new, most unfamiliarly unsettling character I am becoming.

Conflicting Accounts

I ask God, “teach me who You really are,”
But who is truly the one sending these potentially deluded people so far
As to claim to know the answers for sure?
Saying one thing, doing another-
Not even repentant for discouraging others

But then with a useless pat on the back,
Turning face and saying,
“It’ll be okay, regardless where you end up at.

The universe is out to crush you after all
But stop resisting- don’t fret
for God is in control of this all.”
But if it’s not really even my choice
Why should I be held accountable?

We can speak of what we feel,
But please stop pretending
To know what’s going to be and what’s real.
It’s far too convenient to speak idly
Of a situation not even involving me.
So why not spit out some rash hope and then be contradictory?

You tell me a father doesn’t give his child a snake-
But God is still up there,
Searching and seeking whom he can break!

Call me a heretic,
Or say that I ought to feel convicted-

But how can you wish me well,
Say God is more loving than yourself,
But working to bring a cleansing purgatory like hell?

How can it be both?

Please stop pretending to know.
I don’t want to know.
All your speculations do is cause to solidify and grow
The little I’ve deluded myself to even “know.”

Still Small Voice


I’ll never give up on you
Even if you want to
Even if you end up not healing from your wounds
And long after your battered visod starts to wear through
I won’t give up on you
Even if you want me to                                                                                                                                                              Push away all that you shall
Its simply not something that I can do
For they say that love covers over a multitude of wounds

I cannot give up on you
Because from the start I called and knit you together in the womb
I saw you, I knew you
Before you knew me
And I wish I could comfort you and help you to see
That I haven’t given up on you like you think that I have
If you could just believe
That I’m with you, exactly where you are at
I will not give up on you
I will not forsake
But oftentimes, my child,
You just have to wait.
And this wait is often much longer than you can bear,
But I have and I swear
That of your tears, I’m aware

Sitting In The Dark

If I were to sit down and try to pray
I can’t really think of anything to say
No mistake, my mind is fraught with a million problems and thoughts
But I try to forget them, deny, and move on
But with them they take the most of my cares
I’m left empty hearted, a tireless subconscious characterized by despair
I keep this all quiet for the most part
Cuz complaining never changes the pain in my heart
I’m sick of hearing it
And I’m sure God is too
We both know it’s not gonna change
But we both know it’s not gonna go away
I can go down my list
Of trying to praise and ask for forgiveness
Thank God for hope after death
Lift up for others their vital requests
What a foolish child was I
I thought that prayers could really change a tide
And I know I ought to pray for a better attitude
But I really don’t fucking care, in an angry mood
And I’d so much rather fall into my angry tunes deep
And keep screaming in my violent soul ’til I fall asleep
I don’t feel like there’s any light left in me, like as a Christian- there ought to be
I can’t bring myself to pray what’s right or say “not my will, but Your will be done,” today
It just doesn’t compute with me, doesn’t get much past my ears
The concept of trusting God and giving Him my fears
There’s nothing I really want to say
But if I’m a Christian, aren’t I supposed to pray?
I just end up crying by myself
With no pity from me, or anyone else
And surely not God!
For how carnal is this
Relief that I desire
Fore Death’s final kiss