Unworthy

I am unworthy. Unworthy of love, or life, or happiness. What could make me worthy? Will the blood of Christ remove the stain on my soul? When it has been there for so long?

Why do I feel so unworthy? It is not something that I have been told. Rather, it is something I know at the very depths of my being, in the bottom of my heart. I know, as surely as night devours day, that a normal life, and all the joy and happiness that entails, is not meant for me. Indeed, I would not know what to do with those things. I do not know why I know this, only that I do. I am outcast, separate, alone. Sometimes I wonder why this is so. Sometimes I rage against it, but it like a stone wall - unmovable, inviolate. Truth?

I know those who would disagree. They would fling their truths, those of love, faith, Scripture, hope, against the stone wall, but those truths shatter and fall, while the wall holds. It holds, and while it does, certainty holds as well. But those who would disagree, they don't...because I do not tell them. And aside from my lover, they no longer ask. As for him...well, he would try to fling truths of love, and they would only shatter with the rest.

What can be done? Why is life this way? Will it ever change? After so long (How long? I know not.), I have no hope of changing, no hope that the core of who I am can, or should, be altered. Because this is who I am. Unworthy.

Remembrance

A year ago...it is hard to believe that so much can have happened in just one year. As my lover, said, much has gotten better...but to be honest, much has remained the same. For a while, things got much worse...thankfully it has not remained that way.

But a year ago...I could have died. I would have died, if not for basically two people...Bradley Menne, who was not afraid to call 911 on me, and Officer Mike Hoyt, who made the tough decision to send me to a mental hospital. Because of them, I live. And I am thankful for that. But...

You knew that was coming, didn't you. Is there not always a "but"? I attempted suicide! Where was God in that time? I found him quickly enough afterwards, or at least so my journal indicates. And I grew quickly...or did I? It was like a weed that shoots up quickly...and whithers just as fast. Look at where I was just over a month later! If you can't recall, it involved lots of blood...and pictures, and the beginning of the end with the deans. Only a month later, so much more pain...where was God then? A month after that, such a bitter fall...and another month, and I so badly wanted to try again. But then you finally spoke, Father, you called me, and I gladly followed. Even then, Satan got in a last blow, but we all know where that led. But ever since then, I have tried to follow you. I have not turned away. Sometimes I have been more serious, sometimes less, but the direction has been consistent. But where were you a year ago?

Now I begin to write something that I don't quite believe, although I think that it is true. Where was God? He was there in the church service when the thought first occurred to me, "tugging at my heartstrings," remember? He was there in the car ride home when the thought began to become an option. He was there that night as I lied to my lover and broke promises to him and to my father. He was there when I told Bradley of my struggle (or else why did I do that?), and he was there in the words he said. Where was God? He was there when I picked up a knife and sliced my wrists, not just once, but several times. He was there at the hospital, in the back of squad car 600, and at Mendota. He never left. He was always there.

The clouds do not eliminate the sun's rays, only our ability to see them.