Concerning a lot of different things. Not going to promote this blog. It’ll just be here.
I want to die so bad today. The indignation and the rage — I don’t have sufficient words. There is no human on this earth besides God himself that can give me an exegesis, psychologically and theologically, on why I should be alive. Six years going on seven of this torture.
I’m only interesting for what I can do, not who I am. Any kind of romance I find is utterly treacherous. I regret my capacity to love. I’d rather be hung than put my trust in a companion. Nobody is trustworthy in this age — an instant gratification, selfish, unsteady generation that I’m a part of.
There’s nothing anyone can do for me. Will I die, or will I not? I don’t know. Only time will tell.
I’m not going back to the mental hospital. Being in there was the reason I had free-floating anxiety attacks, night terrors, and sweats once I was discharged. If someone would forcibly try to put me there, or any kind of authority tried to intervene I would die before I go back to a mental hospital, especially a state one I swear upon my life. If God actually gives a damn, he’ll do something.
MS-ridden body. Sleeping all the time. Can barely work. Pinching pennies.
If I somehow did die, I reckon I would beg God beforehand that the memory of me could be erased as well. The only thing that stops me is the fear of damnation — what an absolute scandal and a joke. I regret being born. I wish I had never been conceived.
I’ve been thinking lately — maybe I should have just stayed in the world. Gone to hell. Rather than sign up for this mental crucifixion and utter treachery. And whenever God does answer a prayer, he rage-baits me. Turns it into another trial. So if I can’t even trust God, then who the hell can I trust? Because he clearly just screws with me all day long, like I’m his chest toy. Flicking me along like I’m nothing.
I’m not people’s experiment. And I’m not God’s experiment. I swear upon my life.
Too many people trying to be therapists. Too many trying to be doctors who don’t know what the hell they’re talking about. As it says in Job — if they could learn silence, it would be what’s best for them.
Every day, seeing the four horsemen coming closer. Like that’s supposed to do nothing to you mentally. These things make no sense to people.
But what I think is more utterly stupid than anything is this: people are living as if there’s no eternity. People right now, as I speak — this futility of mind playing war zone, bragging about body counts, going to sleep like NPCs, waking up and doing it all again. But if you talk about eternity, Christ, the church — God forbid, that be a freakish thing of nature.
The most maddening thing — the utter chaos and futility of mind and life — is living as if there’s no God. And those who proclaim he isn’t real have such hatred for a being they claim doesn’t exist. Then again, I have more respect for the cold than for the lukewarm. There’s more hope for those who are cold. The lukewarm — you can’t tell them anything.
And then the reality that most people are going to hell. Few there be that find it.
So here I am. I could take a hammer and smash my brain into bits and it still wouldn’t be sufficient for the sheer, repugnant rage I have at the core of who I am. I never asked for any of this. I was born by default under Adam’s sin and I’m being condemned as a sinner. How is that fair?
It’s not even that I can’t deconstruct, or that I won’t — it’s that I can’t. It’s impossible. And if I somehow turned to idolatry or whoredom God would utterly punish me. Because out of all the Christians in the world, he somehow has a special eye for whenever I slip up and do the smallest thing — utterly rebukes me, then vanishes back into smoke.
That’s the God I serve.
At least when I was in the world, the dumb dead idols I talked to were steadfast to an extent. Not a deceitful brook. Not someone who just plays with me.
My life wasn’t important to begin with, and it never will be — not for now, not for eternity, whether I spend it in heaven or hell. I don’t give a damn either way. I don’t even want heaven or hell. I’m too ashamed to look at God. And I don’t want the flames and outer darkness. So just put me somewhere alone.
I’ve made a fool of myself so many times for God. Trying to explain myself and coming off as a freak of nature. I could die ten times over from the embarrassment I’ve had because of Christ.
This entire blog post is a waste. But it’s always too late — and then people want to be sad. And then you die and people forget about you.
This life is utterly cruel. I regret being born. And I’ll regret when I die.
