- Sunday, April 15, 2007

If I Could Describe Hurt

As I journey this path of life, carelessly I've intentionally let others stab me again and again. I constantly tell myself that it's okay, because I loved them, and let them kill my heart. Somehow I now realized that soon, I'm going to die. I can't understand why stresses of life could be so depressing, soaking me in despondency.

Oh how stupid I am.

Sometimes I wish that I could have the whole world of stars, especially the blue ones, beside me with their heat continually caressing my wounded heart, so that somehow, somehow, oh somehow, I could melt in their heat, and evaporate into space and never condense again.

Oh how stupid I am.

I can't find a reason to tell this to the person whom I love the most, because I realized that even if I could love this person so much, it doesn't mean my affection would be returned. Perhaps, I thought, I'm not good enough, not effective enough, not a good friend enough, not a memorable individual. I tried, so hard, to be like this person's best friend through observation of this person's friends, but then I broke down, not in tears, but in effort. I can't stand. My arms struggled to push my body off the ground, to beat gravity's evil desire for me, but I couldn't. I sank down, deep deep down.

Oh how stupid I am.

If there was a chance to tell this person how I admire, how I adore, how I desire this special individual, I would, without a stop, then regret because every time I show my inner need of protection and friendship, people will run frantically away, as if they've seen a monstrous being.

Perhaps I am a creature, a being, a monster.

All these, added together, form a reason why I can't understand the simplest love found in humanity. Was it love or sympathy? One can care for another, give time for another, shower another with gifts and so on, but out of what? Sympathy, a mere insulting device used to disparage another weaker individual with a self-exalting tone? Or a guilt of responsibility that ought to be fulfilled just to quench its shrieks of condemnation?

Oh how stupid I am. To believe that you'll always be there for me.

Christians often think that with the Bible, the course of life would be easy. Life's road would be polished glitteringly and instantly, when a person comes to Christ. Difficulties that once appeared will flee insanely once one says 'I am a Child of God'. Walking the Christian path would seemingly be like floating in cloud nine. If this is not the case, why do Christians idolize the hobby (or ritual) known as Bible-bash? Why do Christians immediately use the Word of God when a friend comes to them with his or her troubles? "Oh! The Bible says.." "Oh! Jesus said..." "Oh! Bless you with the Word of God!" "Oh! Hallelujah!"

Sometimes people with sorrow and despair come to Christians with the need of knowing that at least somebody, somebody on earth cared, not somebody with the awesome knowledge of the Word of God had the ability to judge a situation based on mere descriptions and preach frantically saying God is your strength. He is your guide. All empty words that fell the ground, further breaking a shattered heart.

Such taunting, such criticizing, such belittling, such insanity. Now, such agitation. Such. Anger. S.u.c.h. F.r.u.s.t.r.a.t.i.o.n.

Oh how stupid I am. To believe in times of need of company and understanding, Christian friends, whom I first thought were friends (instead are foes), come announcing that God is good and He will heal you and He will be your guide and this and that... tada tada tada... nada nada nada... Like hell do I know these facts. I could memorize them out and write them out on a blank piece of paper and start preaching. Like hell I could do those. But all I need is a friend. Perhaps in this world, 'a friend in need is a friend indeed' is extinct. Friends who call themselves friends are foes in disguise, waiting to devour the innocent you (or me, in actual sense). Spit them.

If ever I had expectation, of anything or anywho, boiled down it has. It will, continually, boil down. Down. And down.

Or perhaps I am just such a creature that people treat me like that. Or perhaps I should be the one I'm blaming.

Oh. How. Stupid. I. Am.

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