It occurred to me that I may be, in fact, losing my mind.
Life seemed all too fast to slow down, but there was no one around who could understand.
Fearless.
It was once a word I used to describe myself.
Now, walking the same sidewalk on the same street I’d walked hundreds of times before, I felt fear.
I felt fear because things were too nice.
Besides myself, nothing seemed out of place.
I kept looking up from my phone, as if someone were going to be running towards me with a knife, or driving at 60 miles per hour off road at 5 PM.
I felt like I was going to die.
I was afraid I was going to die, but not afraid because I trusted I’d rest in Jesus’ arms.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the one thing that I feared more than anything.
Peaceful acceptance of the fact that I am in fact human, mortal, dying, not a God, and now dead, in the Son of God’s outstretched arms.
I feared for my daughter. But at the same time, the calm was so promising that I knew everything would be as it should.
I watched life move around me in slow motion. The cool air against my face contrasted the hot sun on the back of my neck.
I waited for a what felt like an unusual amount of time at an intersection. Then again, I told myself, everything happened to seem unusual.
Which was fucking weird, because everything was about as normal as it could be.
Is this was believing in Jesus feels like?
It was like walking around with someone to hold your hand, someone to guide you and someone to make you feel safe when you’re feeling all alone.
It felt like crying. Like relief.
Like oh-my-God-I’m-sorry-please-forgive-me tears.
At the same time, however, it seemed that this friend, Jesus, was not checking his watch, or any other method of telling time, even half as much as I did.
I had to decide whether I wanted to die at a bench by a pond or at a computer inside the library.
I chose the pond. I’d have rather used the computer, but a family blocked my path on the bridge, so I settled for the bench.
Was I supposed to relax?
Jesus was definitely relaxed. Or at least, I thought. Not to be blasphemous. The Guy could’ve had the best poker face for all I’d known, having all those years in heaven to perfect it and what not.
I wanted to ask God whether I was actually about to die or not but I refrained.
I wanted to see my daughter!
I wanted to hold my daughter!
I wanted to be there for her for her entire life!
The family stayed on the bridge for an awfully long time.
My guess is that I looked quite puzzled, sitting awkwardly on a bench looking like I was expectantly waiting for something.
Maybe God had other plans for me?
I had no fucking clue. Have you, reader, ever been so conflicted that you could not decide which way to take a path away from a simple bench because you wanted to do God’s will?
I remembered the fact that apparently when you die, you lose control of your bowels. For some reason I wasn’t so peaceful with dying at the current moment anymore.
On one hand, I felt eternal bliss. On the other, eternal chaos.
Fucking free will.
Yet I still couldn’t accept the fact that I had a choice or would inevitably be pulled in a direction that had been predetermined by God.
I felt like a vicious beast without prey.
God watched me think all the same thoughts and quirks that he’d watched me do since I was small.
Always believing I was something else.
Always longing to be whatever else I could.
Always wondering why I was here.
Always wondering why someone had been crying.
Always wondering how I would fix it.
Knowing sometimes you can’t fix things,
Like me.
God made you perfect and in His image.
I honestly wanted to cry.
It was true though, it's kind of like Souls have shapes, and they are always some form or another of that specific shape that is only their special shape apart of all the other shapes.
It's a secret. Some people know and can see it, but they won’t tell you.
I smiled. Yep, fucking crazy.
If God wanted to kill me then and there, I accepted it.
Also, if God was going to let me stick around to do some more stuff in His name, you know, then I’d be totally cool with that too.
I smiled awkwardly at a lady walking her dog. I think God wanted me to smile a little bit better at people, and to be nicer to dogs.
Doing the God’s peaceful thing, spreading peace rather than chaos was going to be difficult.
I was going to looked confused wherever I went… or would I?
That’s how I’d always been.
Now, maybe if I was changing, I’d be certain, and believing in God, and start to find myself.
I sat on the city’s bench in an entirely borrowed outfit and a phone I knew that would soon be losing service until I was paid again. More people passed me, not even looking at me. It felt like less pressure but that was okay.
Believing in something would definitely give a base to set up all the other values it took to be a person.
Here’s the scary part; I was making a person from a used person’s body, mind, memories, and life.
It was like picking up a game that someone had played halfway through and just rolling with it.
My decisions seemed to hold so much weight but none at all and so there I floated, on that bench.
Wow, that sounded crazy. I took the right direction.
Get it? Right? No, literally the family on the bridge had been to my left.
The day was so beautiful. So perfect to share with someone.
I was sharing it with God and with music.
Drawing connections where there are none. Schizophrenia.
The horror of what my life would’ve been like if I hadn’t been blessed with the awareness to catch myself in these moments… well, horrified me.
You don’t need any proof to believe. You know He’s there.
You just gotta start doing right.
Objective number one: stop being an idiot with money.
That objective was inspired by Manny’s jacket, which I was currently wearing, and the shoes on my feet that Emily had bought me, and the belt that held my pants up that my manager Derek gave me.
Then, remembering that I had a daughter (because I’d overlooked her since the last bench I passed walking around the pond), I decided my goal would to be stable enough to have her in my life again regularly.
Stable. I was about as stable as a grown man on a jungle gym.
Like, worrying about him falling wasn’t so much a concern as why the fuck he was still playing on a jungle gym.
I’d gone from feeling ‘dying swiftly’ to ‘pretty nifty’ in about forty-five minutes.
I wanted cigarettes. I was going to need to stop buying cigarettes.
Jesus doesn’t smoke.
Next
Life seemed all too fast to slow down, but there was no one around who could understand.
Fearless.
It was once a word I used to describe myself.
Now, walking the same sidewalk on the same street I’d walked hundreds of times before, I felt fear.
I felt fear because things were too nice.
Besides myself, nothing seemed out of place.
I kept looking up from my phone, as if someone were going to be running towards me with a knife, or driving at 60 miles per hour off road at 5 PM.
I felt like I was going to die.
I was afraid I was going to die, but not afraid because I trusted I’d rest in Jesus’ arms.
And that, ladies and gentlemen, is the one thing that I feared more than anything.
Peaceful acceptance of the fact that I am in fact human, mortal, dying, not a God, and now dead, in the Son of God’s outstretched arms.
I feared for my daughter. But at the same time, the calm was so promising that I knew everything would be as it should.
I watched life move around me in slow motion. The cool air against my face contrasted the hot sun on the back of my neck.
I waited for a what felt like an unusual amount of time at an intersection. Then again, I told myself, everything happened to seem unusual.
Which was fucking weird, because everything was about as normal as it could be.
Is this was believing in Jesus feels like?
It was like walking around with someone to hold your hand, someone to guide you and someone to make you feel safe when you’re feeling all alone.
It felt like crying. Like relief.
Like oh-my-God-I’m-sorry-please-forgive-me tears.
At the same time, however, it seemed that this friend, Jesus, was not checking his watch, or any other method of telling time, even half as much as I did.
I had to decide whether I wanted to die at a bench by a pond or at a computer inside the library.
I chose the pond. I’d have rather used the computer, but a family blocked my path on the bridge, so I settled for the bench.
Was I supposed to relax?
Jesus was definitely relaxed. Or at least, I thought. Not to be blasphemous. The Guy could’ve had the best poker face for all I’d known, having all those years in heaven to perfect it and what not.
I wanted to ask God whether I was actually about to die or not but I refrained.
I wanted to see my daughter!
I wanted to hold my daughter!
I wanted to be there for her for her entire life!
The family stayed on the bridge for an awfully long time.
My guess is that I looked quite puzzled, sitting awkwardly on a bench looking like I was expectantly waiting for something.
Maybe God had other plans for me?
I had no fucking clue. Have you, reader, ever been so conflicted that you could not decide which way to take a path away from a simple bench because you wanted to do God’s will?
I remembered the fact that apparently when you die, you lose control of your bowels. For some reason I wasn’t so peaceful with dying at the current moment anymore.
On one hand, I felt eternal bliss. On the other, eternal chaos.
Fucking free will.
Yet I still couldn’t accept the fact that I had a choice or would inevitably be pulled in a direction that had been predetermined by God.
I felt like a vicious beast without prey.
God watched me think all the same thoughts and quirks that he’d watched me do since I was small.
Always believing I was something else.
Always longing to be whatever else I could.
Always wondering why I was here.
Always wondering why someone had been crying.
Always wondering how I would fix it.
Knowing sometimes you can’t fix things,
Like me.
God made you perfect and in His image.
I honestly wanted to cry.
It was true though, it's kind of like Souls have shapes, and they are always some form or another of that specific shape that is only their special shape apart of all the other shapes.
It's a secret. Some people know and can see it, but they won’t tell you.
I smiled. Yep, fucking crazy.
If God wanted to kill me then and there, I accepted it.
Also, if God was going to let me stick around to do some more stuff in His name, you know, then I’d be totally cool with that too.
I smiled awkwardly at a lady walking her dog. I think God wanted me to smile a little bit better at people, and to be nicer to dogs.
Doing the God’s peaceful thing, spreading peace rather than chaos was going to be difficult.
I was going to looked confused wherever I went… or would I?
That’s how I’d always been.
Now, maybe if I was changing, I’d be certain, and believing in God, and start to find myself.
I sat on the city’s bench in an entirely borrowed outfit and a phone I knew that would soon be losing service until I was paid again. More people passed me, not even looking at me. It felt like less pressure but that was okay.
Believing in something would definitely give a base to set up all the other values it took to be a person.
Here’s the scary part; I was making a person from a used person’s body, mind, memories, and life.
It was like picking up a game that someone had played halfway through and just rolling with it.
My decisions seemed to hold so much weight but none at all and so there I floated, on that bench.
Wow, that sounded crazy. I took the right direction.
Get it? Right? No, literally the family on the bridge had been to my left.
The day was so beautiful. So perfect to share with someone.
I was sharing it with God and with music.
Drawing connections where there are none. Schizophrenia.
The horror of what my life would’ve been like if I hadn’t been blessed with the awareness to catch myself in these moments… well, horrified me.
You don’t need any proof to believe. You know He’s there.
You just gotta start doing right.
Objective number one: stop being an idiot with money.
That objective was inspired by Manny’s jacket, which I was currently wearing, and the shoes on my feet that Emily had bought me, and the belt that held my pants up that my manager Derek gave me.
Then, remembering that I had a daughter (because I’d overlooked her since the last bench I passed walking around the pond), I decided my goal would to be stable enough to have her in my life again regularly.
Stable. I was about as stable as a grown man on a jungle gym.
Like, worrying about him falling wasn’t so much a concern as why the fuck he was still playing on a jungle gym.
I’d gone from feeling ‘dying swiftly’ to ‘pretty nifty’ in about forty-five minutes.
I wanted cigarettes. I was going to need to stop buying cigarettes.
Jesus doesn’t smoke.
Next
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