Prayer helped me more than anything today.
Otherwise I would've lost my nerve.
Imagine seeing this, this little girl, the only thing you felt you could truly cherish, and then being told you’d never speak to her again, be it out of exaggeratory spite or not.
Or being told you’d been unfaithful when you’d bottled so many reasons to disagree. Knowing so many accounts of the contrary.
Dear God, thank you, please. Help.
Thou shall not judge. I wanted so badly to judge.
Staying free of hate had to have been the hardest thing I'd done all week.
Amelia looked so much happier with her mom.
Gabe looked so much happier with Jackson, with Halley, or without me.
My parents looked so much happier without me.
Stefany looked so much happier without me.
Everyone looked so much happier without me.
And I felt pitiful every day without even seeing it for myself.
Prayer was helping me now, too, because God didn't look any way with or without me, and I knew he didn't want me to die, even though it was what I really, really wanted.
It was a desire of the flesh, and therefore it would only lead to wickedness, no matter how much I believed otherwise, only God was right, and I was always wrong.
I longed for death like some thirst for sex.
1 Thessalonians 4:1-4, 6-12
It's a read but relative to this bullshit.
One. Vaguely tired, aloof.
Two. Dear God, thank you for showing me that killing myself is a desire of the flesh, and would only lead to wickedness and not inheriting the kingdom of Heaven.
Three. Hello there, ladies.
Four. I feel free!
Why was three the most it had supposed to have been?
I wanted more.
Seeing the video of Amelia and Stefany last night felt like heartbreak. Yeah, even though loving wasn't something I could ever do, heartache, that crushing feeling in your chest, that numbness in your arms, the feeling of breathlessness; on behalf of all of us cold, stupid, douchebags out there, I’ll have you know-
We know the feeling.
I felt fucking helpless. Zero had brought me back to semi-natural. More than anything I felt boundless rage that I strangled throughout the day with everything I’d remembered from the Bible so far.
Dada. Like, da-da. Supposedly Amelia was calling her mom that.
What would a good father, a good Christian father with mental stability feel at those words.
Supposedly, Amelia had been attempting to Facetime me. One year old- Impressive, right?
A good Christian sane father would not be thinking any o what I was silencing in the back of my head.
I missed Gabe. Gabe inspired me to be a good dad because he hadn't had a dad. Yeah, Jim was a great male role model and provider and who-ever-the-fuck-else’s name I’d forgotten was too, but only in your real genetic father can you see your real predetermined worst.
Gabe's whole fucking world from his dad’s death to his own had been shaped around that.
That’s not why I missed him though.
I missed him because he was the only other person I knew who had felt he had to escape situations that only he knew why he had to escape.
I genuinely missed him, that is, from when I was whole and could remember.
I genuinely adored Amelia. I genuinely cared for Stefany. In both of them I held precious memories that I could trace in my mind like a finger along a feather and be taken back to return in bittersweet tears.
Like waking up at 4:35 AM,
(Tears well in my eyes, okay? Feel this.)
To go work at 5:00 AM, and holding your hand over the woman’s belly whom you’d loved and gave everything to, who held your child in her womb,
And felt beneath your fingertips a sensation so pure,
So full of meaning and promise;
Like the fluttering of tiny butterflies’ wings brushing up against your fingertips,
A feeling that nothing could ever replicate or compare to.
Tiny wings that played with the soft, careful drum of your fingers,
So precious that you spent every last moment you could and even more that you were late to work because you would've never let that moment go if it’d been so as God might've let that small piece of Heaven be yours forever.
And then, in less than a month it had been gone.
That girl, whose sweet,
“Hello,” over the phone had been the only music you’d ever wanted to hear again,
Had fled you, in her words,
Because of your family.
And you woke up, dreaming it had all never happend, and all was right, and she was next to you,
But it wasn’t so.
That might've not been Hell, but I’d have taken Hell and damnation over that morning. I’d have taken it all and more. That morning, I took an entire bottle of Hydrocodone, half a bottle of my dying dog’s Tramadol, and only found the strength to bike for twenty miles and go home and sleep.
The next morning I woke up and vomited for hours and hours. And you know how it felt? Absolutely fucking wonderful. Every, shuddering, dehydrated, incoherent heave and sickening convulsion of my body. It was ECSTASY compared to waking up from that dream.
“I know a place where we can get away from all of this.”*
Knowing why these things weren't part of my life, why I led a life so devoid of the sweet, simple things, is what brought me to my vices, and from my vices to addictions, and from those addictions to my knees.
Though from my knees I had not turned to God, my daughter, or friends, or anything true or good at all.
I fell.
I prayed,
“I don’t care who, or what you want, but I swear upon anything and everything I have to give, I pray to you, whoever or whatever is listening, you can have it if you give me the strength through this.”
I never knew how important it was to address your prayers, or how important it was to not pray without an address.
*”Visions” by Bring Me the Horizon.
Otherwise I would've lost my nerve.
Imagine seeing this, this little girl, the only thing you felt you could truly cherish, and then being told you’d never speak to her again, be it out of exaggeratory spite or not.
Or being told you’d been unfaithful when you’d bottled so many reasons to disagree. Knowing so many accounts of the contrary.
Dear God, thank you, please. Help.
Thou shall not judge. I wanted so badly to judge.
Staying free of hate had to have been the hardest thing I'd done all week.
Amelia looked so much happier with her mom.
Gabe looked so much happier with Jackson, with Halley, or without me.
My parents looked so much happier without me.
Stefany looked so much happier without me.
Everyone looked so much happier without me.
And I felt pitiful every day without even seeing it for myself.
Prayer was helping me now, too, because God didn't look any way with or without me, and I knew he didn't want me to die, even though it was what I really, really wanted.
It was a desire of the flesh, and therefore it would only lead to wickedness, no matter how much I believed otherwise, only God was right, and I was always wrong.
I longed for death like some thirst for sex.
1 Thessalonians 4:1-4, 6-12
It's a read but relative to this bullshit.
One. Vaguely tired, aloof.
Two. Dear God, thank you for showing me that killing myself is a desire of the flesh, and would only lead to wickedness and not inheriting the kingdom of Heaven.
Three. Hello there, ladies.
Four. I feel free!
Why was three the most it had supposed to have been?
I wanted more.
Seeing the video of Amelia and Stefany last night felt like heartbreak. Yeah, even though loving wasn't something I could ever do, heartache, that crushing feeling in your chest, that numbness in your arms, the feeling of breathlessness; on behalf of all of us cold, stupid, douchebags out there, I’ll have you know-
We know the feeling.
I felt fucking helpless. Zero had brought me back to semi-natural. More than anything I felt boundless rage that I strangled throughout the day with everything I’d remembered from the Bible so far.
Dada. Like, da-da. Supposedly Amelia was calling her mom that.
What would a good father, a good Christian father with mental stability feel at those words.
Supposedly, Amelia had been attempting to Facetime me. One year old- Impressive, right?
A good Christian sane father would not be thinking any o what I was silencing in the back of my head.
I missed Gabe. Gabe inspired me to be a good dad because he hadn't had a dad. Yeah, Jim was a great male role model and provider and who-ever-the-fuck-else’s name I’d forgotten was too, but only in your real genetic father can you see your real predetermined worst.
Gabe's whole fucking world from his dad’s death to his own had been shaped around that.
That’s not why I missed him though.
I missed him because he was the only other person I knew who had felt he had to escape situations that only he knew why he had to escape.
I genuinely missed him, that is, from when I was whole and could remember.
I genuinely adored Amelia. I genuinely cared for Stefany. In both of them I held precious memories that I could trace in my mind like a finger along a feather and be taken back to return in bittersweet tears.
Like waking up at 4:35 AM,
(Tears well in my eyes, okay? Feel this.)
To go work at 5:00 AM, and holding your hand over the woman’s belly whom you’d loved and gave everything to, who held your child in her womb,
And felt beneath your fingertips a sensation so pure,
So full of meaning and promise;
Like the fluttering of tiny butterflies’ wings brushing up against your fingertips,
A feeling that nothing could ever replicate or compare to.
Tiny wings that played with the soft, careful drum of your fingers,
So precious that you spent every last moment you could and even more that you were late to work because you would've never let that moment go if it’d been so as God might've let that small piece of Heaven be yours forever.
And then, in less than a month it had been gone.
That girl, whose sweet,
“Hello,” over the phone had been the only music you’d ever wanted to hear again,
Had fled you, in her words,
Because of your family.
And you woke up, dreaming it had all never happend, and all was right, and she was next to you,
But it wasn’t so.
That might've not been Hell, but I’d have taken Hell and damnation over that morning. I’d have taken it all and more. That morning, I took an entire bottle of Hydrocodone, half a bottle of my dying dog’s Tramadol, and only found the strength to bike for twenty miles and go home and sleep.
The next morning I woke up and vomited for hours and hours. And you know how it felt? Absolutely fucking wonderful. Every, shuddering, dehydrated, incoherent heave and sickening convulsion of my body. It was ECSTASY compared to waking up from that dream.
“I know a place where we can get away from all of this.”*
Knowing why these things weren't part of my life, why I led a life so devoid of the sweet, simple things, is what brought me to my vices, and from my vices to addictions, and from those addictions to my knees.
Though from my knees I had not turned to God, my daughter, or friends, or anything true or good at all.
I fell.
I prayed,
“I don’t care who, or what you want, but I swear upon anything and everything I have to give, I pray to you, whoever or whatever is listening, you can have it if you give me the strength through this.”
I never knew how important it was to address your prayers, or how important it was to not pray without an address.
*”Visions” by Bring Me the Horizon.
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