I am a monsoon. One moment I am sunny and bright and the next I am a torrential downpour. I don’t know how to stand up for myself; I only know how to fight for other people. My heart is on the chopping block and my neck is in the noose. My happiness is no longer my focus but rather the smile on your face is the reason I disrupt my dreams. Oh dreams, the beautiful imagery that we conjure up in order to make our dark sky a little brighter. Recently my grandmother has told me, “Life would be a dream if it weren’t such a nightmare.” I relate because we relate. She is the 74 year old female version of me and I wouldn’t want it any other way.
Thankful is how my heart responds when I compare the man in the mirror and the man in pictures. God has changed me and turned me from a manipulative, self serving piece of shit into a man who would stop living if it meant healing and happiness for another. Please do not call me arrogant, I am not, but I am confident in what the Lord has done to me.
Suppression is not something that I often practice, recently I have had to and the pain that wells up until it bursts forth from my eyes scares me to death. I don’t remember the last time I tried to turn my heart off, but now I remember why; this is miserable and depressing. I want to be honest, but I can’t. I want to be free, but I’m not. I want to fix everything, but I am not capable.
As a little boy, I didn’t dream of my life looking the way it does. Forget my dreams of being a point guard in the NBA, I’m talking about who I have and who I’ve lost, the place that I throw 9 hours away Monday through Friday just for the measly paycheck that they offer me and how little I’ve accomplished. I’ve lost my mom and dad, failed at relational leadership, I hate my job, and my optimism seems bleak. My manliness feels questioned, especially times like this when I am sitting at work, fighting the flood of tears and finally being a little bit honest [or negative, pessimistic and whiney].
God, please don’t give up on me.