Dear God, I pray you listen to me,
'Cause I fear my soul's astray. I've lost your shepherd and the flock. I'm hoping you can find me, For I fear I've lost myself as well.
Can you see what sin has made me? I feel no life inside me. I can't believe I'm breathing, how could you believe in me?
I'm terrified of what's to come. Do you know Your Word will save me?
I know that I believe that there's no real faith in me.
I'm barely human but a corpse.
I don't believe in myself, there's nothing left in me.
My weary eyes look to You. I fear they've lost their focus. On my own spit I'm choking, Dear God I fear I'm hopeless.
Please tell me if I'm lost that I'm not alone.
No hospital could save me, and so I look to You.
Save my sorry soul from the Hell that haunts me in my sleep. I hate closing my eyes for fear of seeing what I believe waits for me.
God, save me, I'm begging on my knees.
God, please tell me there's still Heaven there for me.
God, please save me, I'm begging on my hands and knees.
I'm crying out to no one, I'm crying in my sleep.
No one can hear me, no one knows my woes,
I've been told You can save my soul.
Is there any way You could let me know?
I don't know what I'm asking, I don't deserve any more chances.
I'm begging on my hands and knees.
Pray for me!
No chance I could do this on my own.
Pray for me! 'Cause my soul's already sold.
Pray for me! 'Cause Hell is real, trust me I know.
I've never felt so cold, please pray for my Soul.
~~~
I'm left with another sleepless night.
If words are the blood of consciousness then I'm cursed with a cancer of the soul.
Thousands of words pour by my ears but I can't comprehend them anymore.
I'm caught in a cycle, a spiraling staircase, leading me down below the earth.
Friends become enemies in my head, I know it don't make sense at all, but that's how it works.
In sweet serenity I close my eyes and feel the flames around my heart.
I could tell you what I'm dreaming of but I'll never find where I should start.
I don't want you to see it and I don't want you to know.
I'll lock them all away in my heart somewhere dark and cold.
I raise my hands to build these walls around me to keep you safe.
I'm sorry if you understand or don't-
My therapist's first comment upon seeing me for our weekly appointment was how she noticed an entirely different energy coming from me.
If I went on to say I had absolutely no idea what she meant I'd be a rotten liar. To the contrary, I'd be lying equally as much if I said I knew exactly what she meant.
All I know is last night I saw a friend and for some reason I could not convince myself to speak to her simply to say a friendly greeting or even fully set my eyes upon her.
I spent all night wide awake nurturing inner conflict and self analysis trying to really understand why I had behaved so strangely.
Finally, earlier this afternoon, the river of my subconscious thought drifted in this remarkable anecdote:
Less than three days before you last tried to kill yourself that girl looked at you and spoke nothing honest and good truth in the nicest of ways no one could ever fathom as being described as mean.
You were being a belligerent asshole, again, to everyone around you and you deserved it. It broke you, and you burst into tears the last time you really looked her in the eye.
Those tears were no more than revolting self pity in woe of malicious self hate, save being honest tears that said you felt not only helpless but hopeless as well. Disgusting all the same.
Meanwhile, in the present...
My obsessive psychotic mind had craved another chance to hear her sing for absolutely no reason and talk about innocent things after the night I'd begrudgingly ended she and I's phone call and I decided I'd have no more of the previous roommate of mine.
It was that night that my 'true colors' shone bright once again. My true colors of pale, cold winter white and ash grey of the remnants from an all-consuming fire.
The night before last I'd managed to make a great fool of myself and even disturb and shock the poor girl. I remember I quickly covered up with my usual 'facade of being unable to feel anything because I'm such a deranged asshole'. Unfortunately, I'm still unable to describe what that facade is hiding. After said dialogue I proceeded to make an even bigger ass of myself and continued to sin myself into unconscious oblivion.
I woke up ashamed and naked. Luckily, the night was mutually unremembered among the wicked. Unfortunately for my repenting soul, however, my actions had not been forgotten. If not in her, most devastatingly in me.
I spent the whole night writing in my journal, where unlike me I had seen my friend had written thanks to the Lord Christ for his wonderful marriage, I wrote a monologue in begging forgiveness of sin to God.
Want to know the one biggest thing I've learned from going to this church and studying The Bible with these kind people once? It's that I'm wicked. I'm a sinner of all kinds in wicked thoughts. I'm a habitual sinner, and this path to righteousness is going to be one hell of a journey.
Chills shoot down my aching spine weakly. The masochist in me trembles at the thought of such delight found in suffering for a greater good. The passage we studied last night, Galatians 5:13-26, seemed to be all about how it was sin to give into pleasures of the flesh. Or, I suppose since the word 'sin' hadn't been explicitly stated in that passage, those who do that will not inherit the kingdom of Heaven.
Great, I thought to myself, I'm really not going to have a shot at this thing. After expressing my concern to several friends and having my worries returned by a reassuring fact that, "Those who are in the light of the Lord Christ will have forgiveness from these sins," I only began to feel more guilty, undeserving, and out of touch with anything good.
Bring Me the Horizon's lyrics from "Crucify Me" rang out in my head on repeat:
"There is nothing above, there is nothing below. Heaven and Hell lives in all of us. [...] You say that you can save me, Don't hope to ever find me. [...] For I fear I'm far too gone."
Then people's polite questions came to me once again like they had the Saturday earlier in the week.
"What do you do for fun?" The question hit me like a bus days before, but at least at that time I was able to recover. At least that time I hadn't been on my 'tune-out-distractions-&-remain-hyper-vigilant' pills.
This time was not at all so easy. I was writhing in my own skin guilty of, like, twenty different sins in the last forty-eight hours. Lo and behold, I had enjoyed myself in my own scum, my wicked kindred. That all felt awful now. It re-shattered my idyllic hopes of being born again as a 'good Christian'. As a respectable man, or at least someone who had morals and virtues. If I opened my mouth and told the whole, fresh truth, I'd have looked like a blasphemer. I would have probably taken the Lord's name in vain several times in the storytelling, cursing at least twice as much.
Now, let me clarify this one here: that feeling in that room with all these good people was nothing compared to what it feels like trapped in your own hell. That moment in that room was humility that seeped into my veins and made my mind run slower than molasses.
So of course I did not tell them. I told one. That was enough for me at the time. Instead, I regurgitated facts about what the old me used to love doing. The Eric that wasn't less than a quarter of what he used to be.
I imagine the look they all must've seen in my eyes: like I was some skater on a lake of ice, coldly and methodically gliding across it's frozen surface in a trance-like dance, hiding from whatever secrets that dark water that was the doorway to my soul held.
I can't tell you what they would've said they saw, but I can tell you the looks on their faces I saw, and I wasn't even amused. I felt terrible. I felt like a double-crosser, and I hadn't even meant to.
I wanted to blame the pills. I wanted to tell myself that they were the entire reason for my downfall. I sought high and low in the demented mazes of hyper-rationality for any scapegoat I could agree with fully and couldn't.
Part of me wondered if that was because all the while I sought out this scapegoat I remained focused and effortlessly vigilant while my flight-or-fight neurotransmitters made a makeshift mosh-pit to the melancholy-laden echoes of "It Never Ends" in my head.
I set growing evermore lonely by the moment. I had prayers recommended I should pray, yet I had already prayed them. I sat, staring off into the void. I wanted nothing. I needed nothing. I simply remained restless, idly wishing things could be different. Wishing, but not praying, that I could have the courage to change things. Dear God, please give me the courage to change.
That's as far as I got. Dear God, please give me the courage to not continue letting my soul grow weak in relying on medicine.
It sounded like a shot in the dark. I couldn't even tell if I was serious. I mean, I was. I was under a stupor of disbelief. For all I knew, if I was right, the reason I may have been having such a hard time appearing less than cold was because my soul had officially been given the day off because it's duties would be fulfilled by other means to an end.
Like I said before, I had thought that since misery loves company but Merry loves Jesus I was going to have a lot more luck being merry by seeking out Jesus rather than remaining miserable seeking out company. My medicine threw in a whole new wild card. I no longer felt miserable but I also no longer sought anyone's company. I didn't care so much to be merry although I knew that just beyond my blindspot Christ and his followers enjoyed the fruits of the Holy Spirit. I knew this, but I felt unmoved.
There was no 'fortunately' or 'unfortunately'. It was simply fact: suddenly, I didn't feel anything at all.
Next
'Cause I fear my soul's astray. I've lost your shepherd and the flock. I'm hoping you can find me, For I fear I've lost myself as well.
Can you see what sin has made me? I feel no life inside me. I can't believe I'm breathing, how could you believe in me?
I'm terrified of what's to come. Do you know Your Word will save me?
I know that I believe that there's no real faith in me.
I'm barely human but a corpse.
I don't believe in myself, there's nothing left in me.
My weary eyes look to You. I fear they've lost their focus. On my own spit I'm choking, Dear God I fear I'm hopeless.
Please tell me if I'm lost that I'm not alone.
No hospital could save me, and so I look to You.
Save my sorry soul from the Hell that haunts me in my sleep. I hate closing my eyes for fear of seeing what I believe waits for me.
God, save me, I'm begging on my knees.
God, please tell me there's still Heaven there for me.
God, please save me, I'm begging on my hands and knees.
I'm crying out to no one, I'm crying in my sleep.
No one can hear me, no one knows my woes,
I've been told You can save my soul.
Is there any way You could let me know?
I don't know what I'm asking, I don't deserve any more chances.
I'm begging on my hands and knees.
Pray for me!
No chance I could do this on my own.
Pray for me! 'Cause my soul's already sold.
Pray for me! 'Cause Hell is real, trust me I know.
I've never felt so cold, please pray for my Soul.
~~~
I'm left with another sleepless night.
If words are the blood of consciousness then I'm cursed with a cancer of the soul.
Thousands of words pour by my ears but I can't comprehend them anymore.
I'm caught in a cycle, a spiraling staircase, leading me down below the earth.
Friends become enemies in my head, I know it don't make sense at all, but that's how it works.
In sweet serenity I close my eyes and feel the flames around my heart.
I could tell you what I'm dreaming of but I'll never find where I should start.
I don't want you to see it and I don't want you to know.
I'll lock them all away in my heart somewhere dark and cold.
I raise my hands to build these walls around me to keep you safe.
I'm sorry if you understand or don't-
My therapist's first comment upon seeing me for our weekly appointment was how she noticed an entirely different energy coming from me.
If I went on to say I had absolutely no idea what she meant I'd be a rotten liar. To the contrary, I'd be lying equally as much if I said I knew exactly what she meant.
All I know is last night I saw a friend and for some reason I could not convince myself to speak to her simply to say a friendly greeting or even fully set my eyes upon her.
I spent all night wide awake nurturing inner conflict and self analysis trying to really understand why I had behaved so strangely.
Finally, earlier this afternoon, the river of my subconscious thought drifted in this remarkable anecdote:
Less than three days before you last tried to kill yourself that girl looked at you and spoke nothing honest and good truth in the nicest of ways no one could ever fathom as being described as mean.
You were being a belligerent asshole, again, to everyone around you and you deserved it. It broke you, and you burst into tears the last time you really looked her in the eye.
Those tears were no more than revolting self pity in woe of malicious self hate, save being honest tears that said you felt not only helpless but hopeless as well. Disgusting all the same.
Meanwhile, in the present...
My obsessive psychotic mind had craved another chance to hear her sing for absolutely no reason and talk about innocent things after the night I'd begrudgingly ended she and I's phone call and I decided I'd have no more of the previous roommate of mine.
It was that night that my 'true colors' shone bright once again. My true colors of pale, cold winter white and ash grey of the remnants from an all-consuming fire.
The night before last I'd managed to make a great fool of myself and even disturb and shock the poor girl. I remember I quickly covered up with my usual 'facade of being unable to feel anything because I'm such a deranged asshole'. Unfortunately, I'm still unable to describe what that facade is hiding. After said dialogue I proceeded to make an even bigger ass of myself and continued to sin myself into unconscious oblivion.
I woke up ashamed and naked. Luckily, the night was mutually unremembered among the wicked. Unfortunately for my repenting soul, however, my actions had not been forgotten. If not in her, most devastatingly in me.
I spent the whole night writing in my journal, where unlike me I had seen my friend had written thanks to the Lord Christ for his wonderful marriage, I wrote a monologue in begging forgiveness of sin to God.
Want to know the one biggest thing I've learned from going to this church and studying The Bible with these kind people once? It's that I'm wicked. I'm a sinner of all kinds in wicked thoughts. I'm a habitual sinner, and this path to righteousness is going to be one hell of a journey.
Chills shoot down my aching spine weakly. The masochist in me trembles at the thought of such delight found in suffering for a greater good. The passage we studied last night, Galatians 5:13-26, seemed to be all about how it was sin to give into pleasures of the flesh. Or, I suppose since the word 'sin' hadn't been explicitly stated in that passage, those who do that will not inherit the kingdom of Heaven.
Great, I thought to myself, I'm really not going to have a shot at this thing. After expressing my concern to several friends and having my worries returned by a reassuring fact that, "Those who are in the light of the Lord Christ will have forgiveness from these sins," I only began to feel more guilty, undeserving, and out of touch with anything good.
Bring Me the Horizon's lyrics from "Crucify Me" rang out in my head on repeat:
"There is nothing above, there is nothing below. Heaven and Hell lives in all of us. [...] You say that you can save me, Don't hope to ever find me. [...] For I fear I'm far too gone."
Then people's polite questions came to me once again like they had the Saturday earlier in the week.
"What do you do for fun?" The question hit me like a bus days before, but at least at that time I was able to recover. At least that time I hadn't been on my 'tune-out-distractions-&-remain-hyper-vigilant' pills.
This time was not at all so easy. I was writhing in my own skin guilty of, like, twenty different sins in the last forty-eight hours. Lo and behold, I had enjoyed myself in my own scum, my wicked kindred. That all felt awful now. It re-shattered my idyllic hopes of being born again as a 'good Christian'. As a respectable man, or at least someone who had morals and virtues. If I opened my mouth and told the whole, fresh truth, I'd have looked like a blasphemer. I would have probably taken the Lord's name in vain several times in the storytelling, cursing at least twice as much.
Now, let me clarify this one here: that feeling in that room with all these good people was nothing compared to what it feels like trapped in your own hell. That moment in that room was humility that seeped into my veins and made my mind run slower than molasses.
So of course I did not tell them. I told one. That was enough for me at the time. Instead, I regurgitated facts about what the old me used to love doing. The Eric that wasn't less than a quarter of what he used to be.
I imagine the look they all must've seen in my eyes: like I was some skater on a lake of ice, coldly and methodically gliding across it's frozen surface in a trance-like dance, hiding from whatever secrets that dark water that was the doorway to my soul held.
I can't tell you what they would've said they saw, but I can tell you the looks on their faces I saw, and I wasn't even amused. I felt terrible. I felt like a double-crosser, and I hadn't even meant to.
I wanted to blame the pills. I wanted to tell myself that they were the entire reason for my downfall. I sought high and low in the demented mazes of hyper-rationality for any scapegoat I could agree with fully and couldn't.
Part of me wondered if that was because all the while I sought out this scapegoat I remained focused and effortlessly vigilant while my flight-or-fight neurotransmitters made a makeshift mosh-pit to the melancholy-laden echoes of "It Never Ends" in my head.
I set growing evermore lonely by the moment. I had prayers recommended I should pray, yet I had already prayed them. I sat, staring off into the void. I wanted nothing. I needed nothing. I simply remained restless, idly wishing things could be different. Wishing, but not praying, that I could have the courage to change things. Dear God, please give me the courage to change.
That's as far as I got. Dear God, please give me the courage to not continue letting my soul grow weak in relying on medicine.
It sounded like a shot in the dark. I couldn't even tell if I was serious. I mean, I was. I was under a stupor of disbelief. For all I knew, if I was right, the reason I may have been having such a hard time appearing less than cold was because my soul had officially been given the day off because it's duties would be fulfilled by other means to an end.
Like I said before, I had thought that since misery loves company but Merry loves Jesus I was going to have a lot more luck being merry by seeking out Jesus rather than remaining miserable seeking out company. My medicine threw in a whole new wild card. I no longer felt miserable but I also no longer sought anyone's company. I didn't care so much to be merry although I knew that just beyond my blindspot Christ and his followers enjoyed the fruits of the Holy Spirit. I knew this, but I felt unmoved.
There was no 'fortunately' or 'unfortunately'. It was simply fact: suddenly, I didn't feel anything at all.
Next
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