I stopped running

I wrote once about how I always felt the darkness closing in on me, chasing me with every step. Now I don't think it was darkness. It was God, pursuing me relentlessly with his love. But at the time I was terrified of that God, seeing him as a judge rather than a loving Father whose passion to love me is more fierce than any power in the universe. Once I realized that God loves me, once I learned to accept myself, once I started to trust him - even in the slightest - I stopped running. And I was violently overtaken by my pursuer. But He did not bring death as I'd imagined. Rather He brought an overpowering sense of life, allowing me to see the truth of who I am and be at peace with that. He brought a holy reckoning on my soul, but instead of being full of condemnation it overflowed with complete and unconditional love and acceptance.

When I arrive

Someday I’ll look you in the eyes and ask, “Do you know what I went through to get here?”
And I’ll watch the tears come to your eyes. And I’ll know you know.

Although

Although you threw away my name from your mind...I have to try...sometimes.

Although you hit me hard, I come back.

Because in the times that matter, you are the one in my mind.
Because it seems like the most unlikely path.
Because I can see you knowing me more than anyone ever has.

Although you hit me hard, I come back.

Bones

This loneliness is gangrene eating away the flesh of the prime of my life - which cannot be recovered or repaired. Every night more rots away as it works its way through muscle and sinew. And when I finally find her, I may be nothing left but bones.

The Good Night

Have a shot of Beam and get a little drunk on Keystone Light with some friends at dollar taco night, buy a sixer of Coors Light and some Turkish Silvers on the way home, smoke one of those Turkish Silvers, crack open one of those Coors Lights, and still catch half of Conan. Now that’s a good night.

At the seams

I want to pull myself apart at the seams. Because it’s gonna happen anyway. Now it’s just a matter of whether it will be accidental or intentional.

Just me

I’m leaving behind the notion that any of the people I’ve turned to for refuge or comfort or hope could ever be that. I’m leaving behind any notions that there was ever anything there meaningful or honest. I’m looking truth in the face and hearing what is not being said rather than what is. Now I’m being practical. Now I’m being realistic. Now I’m recognizing this for what it is, or rather, isn’t. And it’s cold. And it’s lonely. But it’s the truth.

Somehow that is comforting. It’s just me on this road. And either I’ll make it or I won’t.

Look yourself in the eye

Have you ever done it? Just stand in front of the mirror for a second and look yourself directly in the eye? Allow yourself to see into what they say? I have. And it’s terrifying. And it’s beautiful. Because I see what I long for and how that is good. But I see the indifference of how I get that, shaped by years of hurt and failure and the frustration of the present: having it right in front of me with no way to attain it. Ever. So I look away. Focus on everything else that is there other than the desperate truth staring right back at me with disdain, malice, and determination. And I plead that it doesn’t have to be. But they stare straight through me and say that it is. It has to be.

[drunk] confession

I have the most potential and the least prospects. The greatest promise and the utmost failure. And I’m coming apart at the seams. Dying to live more than this and dying by the day. I’m one step closer to the grave and the unknown that I hope might be heaven. But I don’t even know anymore. Hope is the hardest thing to embrace cause it cuts me like razor blades when it turns away.

Motivation (the lack thereof)

I’m starting to think this is unsustainable. Doing this all on my own. Making my way in this world alone.

The Story

The best thing about my life is that I am the protagonist. The worst thing about my life is that I am the protagonist. When the story takes an unpleasant turn or when Protagonist isn’t being all he should, I am unable to distract myself with other subplots or tangential stories featuring other main characters. I’m pretty much stuck with the same guy. And the even more frustrating part of the story is that the bad things, the parts I wish I could edit out, get so intertwined with the good parts that the good parts can’t ever seem to become great parts. And then there are the recurring villains who cannot be dispatched. When I think Protagonist defeated villain X in Chapter 3, villain X shows up again in Chapter 12—which complicates things because Protagonist is currently battling villain Y. How can he take on both of them at the same time? And, in the midst of all that, how can he be what he’s supposed to be for the emerging heroine of the story? I just hope there’s a surprise plot twist coming soon, cause it’s not looking good.

A song is key

I wish I had a guitar here so I could sing this darkness out of me. It seems to build when I don’t have that. And I’m starting to see that a song is key for me to sing out what is poison otherwise. The way a minor tone brings a shift inside of me is something beyond what words can say. And I know I need it, to sing it, to feel it. But tonight words must suffice to carry the weight of hurt that you’ll never see, except when I sing it.

Hannahgrace

Today, my six year-old niece did two things that utterly and completely charmed me all over again.

When I got to my sister’s house, I was wearing my glasses. I said that I was going to put my contacts in, and Hannagrace exclaimed, “You wear contacts?” as if she were surprised or if this was a new revelation to her. Then after a short pause she said, “What are contacts?”

Then we were at a pizza buffet-type place and she was sitting eating noodles with nothing on them. My mom (Nana to her) asked Hannagrace if that’s how she likes to eat them. Hannahgrace said, “No, I just could not reach the sauce.”

If there has ever been a reason for me to come to Texas more, I’m pretty sure I’ve found it.

But honesty is not always eloquent

I sleep through most of every day. Because I stay up most of the night and morning trying to drink it away. But I’m not even sure what it is...loneliness? unhappiness? fear? the sickness I have that no doctor can diagnose?

Tonight I realized it’s fucking bullshit. I would rather soberly face everything...my insecurities, my fears, the realization of my utter failure in the face of so much potential...than have one more drink. That’s it. I’m done. At least until I can handle it. And I can’t right now. Escape is a disease that has become the norm. And I don’t ever want to be normal. I would rather writhe on the floor in pain and sorrow and suffering. And if that’s what it takes, that’s what I’ll do. Until any of this makes sense. Until I see the promise instead of the fallen. Until I see redemption instead of death.

I want to be free of all this. I want so desperately to be free.

Waking reality

Typically when morning comes and I roll over to my alarm clock going off, I’m pleased if I made it through the night without nightmares of someone with a chainsaw cutting up from underneath my bed or the angel of death standing at the foot of my bed or a dead woman dressed in 19th Century clothing who has hung herself from my ceiling.

But this morning was different. I had a really good dream for the first time I can remember in a long time, and I awoke to the sad realization that it was only a dream. What I dreamed of was something that could never happen in reality because it might be too perfect. It could be the missing piece. But since the realities of reality are much harsher and can’t be controlled simply by the firing of my synapses in a REM cycle, I guess I’ll just revel in that moment before I woke up until it also fades out of memory, as dreams will.

Neglect

I feel bad that I haven't updated this blog in so long. Most of my writing as of late has been poured into lyrics for new songs. Also, I've been a bit busy recording a full-length album with my band Plan for Landing and writing and recording an EP of solo material as well as playing bass in another band and playing music at church.

Maybe I'll get around to writing some more entries soon. Until then, feel free to check out my band web pages (which will have lots of new songs uploaded in the near future).

Follow

[lyrics from the latest song I've written]

hold it inside just to get through this night
hold it inside don’t give up, you don’t have to fight now
no, not now

just keep it together, this composure feels like murder
bottled, held back
but I wonder what I’m keeping in

just give me a sign and I’ll follow you home
past the city lights and all I’ve known
just give me a sign and I’ll head back home
leave these city lights and then we’ll know

it’s simply too much
this beauty, but it’s fallen down
it’s broken now

And I’ll hold them inside all the pieces of broken lives
that I’ve seen

just give me a sign and I’ll follow you home
past the city lights and all I’ve known
just give me a sign and I’ll head back home
leave these city lights and then we’ll know
yeah, then we'll know

Clothed in white

This morning, as the clouds draped the tops of the mountains in a soft and ethereal white, I drove up into the foothills on a wet road through the rain and mist. I went up that road wearing a hideous monster, and I came down wearing something quite different.

Then one of the elders asked me, “These in white robes—who are they, and where did they come from?”
I answered, “Sir, you know.”
And he said, “These are they who have come out of the great tribulation; they have washed their robes and made them white in the blood of the Lamb. Therefore,
‘they are before the throne of God
and serve him day and night in his temple;
and he who sits on the throne will spread his tent over them.
Never again will they hunger; never again will they thirst.
The sun will not beat upon them, nor any scorching heat.
For the Lamb at the center of the throne will be their shepherd;
he will lead them to springs of living water.
And God will wipe away every tear from their eyes.’

Holding it together

I’ve reasoned the emotion out of it and can just speak plainly and unaffected. I can state my feelings as responses on a psychological level and talk about them objectively. I can watch you cry and stare off into space with indifference.

At least, that’s what you see. Inside, I’m barely holding it together, ripped apart by every word we’re having to say and decimated by every tear that rolls down your face. I’m so disturbed and distraught by the fact that I really tried this time for something real and failed that all I can do...is hold it in. The only way I can seem to express this chaos is through utter composure.

Too much

More and more I’m starting to feel that this world is simply too much for me. From injustice to beauty, duty to rebellion, hearing the perfect song, unrealized potential, what I have, what I’ve lost, what I’ll never have — all these things assail me with an unreckonable force. I am an autistic child standing in the drum line of a marching band. It’s too much. I see the things most people choose to ignore and I feel what most people choose to bury. And I have to. Because callousness to those things is more horrific to me than the pain they bring could ever be.