Days I Haven't Died

It felt like I'd floated off of the planet for a few days. I was listening to Demi Lovato's newest album for no reason in particular. Whatever emotional connotations I'd been assigning to things seemed to have disappeared. After learning to 'let go and let God' on all of the emotional (bullshit) things I'd been concerning myself with, I started to helplessly look at everything objectively. Seriously. The only reason the word helpless made it into that last sentence is because I viewed writing that lacked emotional turmoil as   being devoid of interest. I didn't like writing boring things. However, it could be for the best. My stomach had been hurting every day again just like it always had. Public bathrooms had originally became my sanctuary for that reason. I couldn't go anywhere or do anything without getting a stomachache. That had also been a reason I'd hated eating so much in the past and even now, especially now; while my stomach burned...

Formerly named, "No, no, no, I hate poor people." Earlier Nope. Not convinced. Convinced everyone can be saved if they want to be? Yeah. Convinced that not heeding advise is foolish? Yeah. Convinced that the way desired by man leads to death? Yeah. Convinced I should go to rehab? Nope. Not convinced. Especially because it isn't rehab. It's a fucking homeless shelter. Also, convinced that to mock the poor is to insult their Maker? Yeah. I'm sinful. I'm wicked. I'm not going to go be around a bunch of homeless dudes in a shelter and have an ass-load of free time on my hands to do absolutely nothing with. Literally, as soon as I found out how much free time I would have, and that it wasn't actually a rehab I was dead set on not going. Fuck that. I might hate everyone around me, rejoice in the idea of an actual rehabilitation center but the fucking homeless?  Nope. Last night in Church the sermon was about praying to God out loud and being ...

Proverbs 3: 3-7  Let not steadfast love and faithfulness forsake you; bind them on the tablet of your heart. So you will find favor and good success in the sight of God and man. Trust in the Lord with all your heart, and do not lean on your own understanding. In all your ways acknowledge him, and he will make straight your paths. Be not wise in your own eyes; fear the Lord, and turn away from evil. I feel awful. Why am I all mixed up in this mess anyways? I didn't want to die. Why did I feel like death was so constantly inevitably close? I wanted to feel that warm everything-is-alright feeling, that everyone-is-here feeling. I didn't know if I'd ever really feel it. It was like a cup of coffee in the morning but better, and I felt so uncertain of things. I knew I kept sabotaging myself and I wanted so badly to stop. How does something fix itself? My friends were suggesting rehab. Amy Winehouse's song "Rehab" played in my head in the most distasteful ...

You crazy bitch. I, indeed, was a crazy bitch.  If you were to translate the Spanish word para into English, and the Idiot-capitalism word loko into as loca  Spanish, you would find that the beverage was literally labelled "For crazy women". This seemed to be quite true, as the beverage contained twenty-four ounces- trust me, I did the math here,  - of the cheapest alcohol available. Arithmetic aside, you essentially paid for three dollars for two and eighty-eight hundredths of the absolutely most disgusting alcohol one could ever consume. I made a mistake last night in Bible Study, sharing that I'd learned how to say, "Yo quieres la ellsas lavando mi pene con sus bocas." Those in the light of Christ, don't look. Unless you are a King, then, feel free and find humor, however, do not deem yourself a King, unless other's have done you so. Not funny in the light of Christ. Not funny. There had been an entire lexicon of terms I'd learned, ...

"The dose maketh the poison," - Paracelsus  Twenty?  Maybe seventeen?  Maybe artistic license because I’m an attention whore? Three to start the day.  Three to get through the rest of it. I fought with the idea of drinking after work all day.  A quick visit to my instagram photos revealing pictures of Amelia and I, joyful and playing, promptly made my decision for me. “Drinking it is,” I said aloud. Maybe it, no, it definitely was, counterintuitive,  Still, my decision was made. A couple kilometers later I was sitting at the bar having my oh so relished bloody mary. Couldn’t forget my Hennessy. Oh, how I loved my Hennessy.  Double shot. Praise God, right? Nope. I didn’t think I was drunk enough to consider it a sin. Besides, I hated beaten off, so I had done pretty well in the last 24 hours, right? Wrong. I was still justifying, therefore judging, my own actions. Being my own God. Before going to Bible Study. Did I mention I cr...

"Call me," had been the signal to shut my phone off. Sorry, Kristen. ~Carnivorous Cats~ My left forearm looked as if it'd been used as a shield to fight off a relentless onslaught of cats whose claws had never before seen clippers. There I was, that fateful night, out far past my bedtime, wandering in the woods. The moonlight played with the wind and trees to create monsters and mythical beasts in the corners of my eyes, but little did I know the real danger lurking all around me. I could hear the hoot of owls, the flutter of wings. Nothing out of the ordinary, I'd been here many times. If I'd listen carefully enough, I could hear the soft skittering of mice as they cautiously crawled beneath fallen leaves and logs to avoid becoming late-night snacks. The mice. It must've been the mice that had attracted them, the smell of their weak, tiny flesh that had led the bloodthirsty kittens to those woods. Tripping over a broken branch, I landed hard on ...