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When people are dying, they try to keep it a secret. But kid, it's not that hard to figure out. Day by day, you pass the same wreck. You see the same symptoms, sometimes a new one. You see the shivers and shakes. But it doesn't hit you until the words come out. "I'm dying." And then, oh God, there is nothing you can do to hold on any longer. But it hurts. God, it hurts so bad. Summer 2008. Bloody fingers wrap around the chain of the swing set. I'm at the park, it's getting late, and no one wants me. I'm just a worthless body, with a sleeping soul. No spirit. "Why are you still here?" And I freeze and have a mini mental panic attack, because why are you here? But then again, it's you. It's you. "I don't know," is all I can muster, because I'm just that pathetic. I even throw in a half-shrug, as if you have no clue what "I don't know" means. You stand in front of me, and reach out, touching a hand-shaped bruise around my arm. I don't say anything, don't know what to say. Don't even flinch or back away. It's strange how there can be a million words in the English language, but I can't even formulate a single sentence. But you can, so you decide to ask why I'm bleeding. When I don't say anything, you sit down on the swing next to me, but you don't swing, just kick up the wood chips. Your eyes hold an intensity of sadness, yet passion, and something else I can't even begin to describe. "What happened?" you ask softly. Because you already know what's been going on. You probably don't even want to hear it. I know I don't. It'll hurt too much to hear. No, I can't do it. Silence again, and I bet we both feel absolutely ridiculous. A worthless high school student with a split lip and black eye, and a full grown man wearing skinny jeans and a tight purple v-neck, sitting on swings for elementary students. The kicking of the wood chips continue and all I hear for the next minute is the jingling of the dog tags hitting your chest. Your eyes stay on me, however. I try to look at you but all I can see are those broken eyes and that scar on your upper arm that's sharper at the ends and fades in the middle, oh God, that's all I can see. You rise up again and motion for me to do the same. "It's like. You were about to fall apart, and someone you thought you could trust just broke you in half and threw you in the gutter. Everyone passed you by, no matter how much you had done for them. They don't focus on that. They're not willing to fix anything that's broken, just ignore it. But. Can I just be your Good Samaritan?" "Please, just show me a world without pain," I tell you. I cringe. My voice is cracking like glass, and we both sound so so awkward. You look like you're going to say something, but you don't. No crinkling smiles, no twinkling eyes, no bouncy posture. Then you grab my arms with such a sadness that my heart aches. Maybe it even breaks a little bit. "But they need you. We need you. I need you," is what you say. As if you truly believe it. Like it'll mean something. It is almost disturbing, the way you're exploding in panic. So I don't. I don't do anything. I wait. For something, anything to happen. You wrap your arms around me. I still don't move. Because when was the last time someone held me? When was the last time someone loved me without asking me to have sex with them? When was the last time someone didn't show they cared by punching me in the face? Your words just choke out with fire. "You have the power to change the world. There are no limits. You're worth so much, so much that God sent his one and only son to be nailed to a cross, broken for you, betrayed, mocked, scorned. Something of value." You're sobbing hard, and. Oh God. I made you cry. You're shaking. I just want everything to stop. This love is love that can not be measured. It is unbearable to see this kind of pain in a human being. "Okay. Okay. It's okay." That's all I can say. I am not suave with words. You're grimacing tear streaks, and teeth sinking into your lip. "Hey. Are you okay?" I ask. The world is crashing onto the floor of the solar system and it's drowning in its own pain. You're a car crash. I can't just turn away. I just can't turn away. "There are some days I want to quit," you reveal. But this city would be nowhere without you. I break, you break. We promise to never quit, no matter what. Sobbing all over someone and getting snot all over them, and vice verse, is a very promising thing, especially with a pink promise. August 6th, 2008. I use to be fearful, but God showed me who I am, and now I am free. I found myself playing that day over and over in my head as all of my friends walked away from me. Wednesday night, my "best friend" told me she was going to be there at pre-prayer. Because for the last few months, she has not been there for me. And the Wednesday night before this, I laid things down and told her how it was. I told her I will not let her use me or the people I love. You don't tell your supposed bestie that you're going to be somewhere, and leave them waiting. You're not suppose to sign up for a job, never show up, and have your "bestie" do both jobs. You're not suppose to bail when it's already too late. You're not suppose to keep me around until you find something better. You're not suppose to hang out with someone who tried to make sexual advances on me that I didn't want, or the kid who tried to mess up my family, or a guy who says the next time he sees me he's going to punch me in the face because of something you did. A few months ago, I was so lonely. But now it's just. I don't really care. I only have a week left of school, and then I have other events to pursue. (next week, look for the post about how one day i'm going to fast until I die or something, hahaha) it was right after pre-prayer when God answered my prayer. And I cried, thanked Jesus, and I got back up and did my job. Pastor Joel Hunter ripped it up man, he gave an amazing sermon with an anecdote that seriously reassured me I've made the right decision. The next day I got cussed out and glared at by almost all of my "friends". Then I got sent harassing text messages. And honestly. I don't care. I don't have to explain myself to anyone. They don't own me. I'm not playing the victim, and I'm standing strong in obedience to God to sharpen his voice in my life. I'd rather have God over friends any day of the week. He is my everything. And I know of a handful of people that still love me, despite everyone else attacking me. Just because they can't show up at my campus every day, doesn't mean they're not there, and just because they aren't there, doesn't mean I'm about to blow my brains out. I think I'd be happier reading my Bible than have fake friends with plastic love. I'd rather have nothing, than to have fake love. In approximately a week. I am going to begin re-evaluating life. By the end, I will vanish. So maybe I'll live. Maybe I'll die. I will need about 2 months for full recovery, but midway I'm going to mess myself up even more. drag myself to ammunition. Because I am ammunition. If I die, I die. If I don't, maybe for once I will be happy with myself. But for now, all I can do is sing my puking heart out on Sunday morning. We are playing at 8:30am and 10:30am. This is my set list: Bless the Lord, I Am Forgiven, My Deliverer. Awesome God, You Are Good, I'm Not Ashamed, Let Us Adore, Lift Up Your Eyes. Come and see me, but please don't. I can't wait till this wreck is just done for. and then it'll be the week. where i begin to disappear. Post a comment in response: |
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