Hard times

Everyone has hard times. Duh, right? Some people have harder times than others. Some still, have hard times that last so long that they start to think that it will never end. People in these situations are often added to suicide statistics. Selfish people...

How could I possibly say that about someone who was driven to take their own life? How could I say that about someone who was so desperate that they thought death was the only escape? Simple...

One thing that has always been clear to me is that suicide is never an option. The effect of this on the people left behind is too terrible for me to even consider. Even with my current state of mind, where I cannot seem to accept that anyone truly cares for my well being, I still realize that this would, if not ruin, permanently scar some of the peoples lives that are close to my own.

What about those people that all the suicidal teens had left behind. What about all the best friends that they abandoned. The best friends that were going through the same things. The best friends that needed someone to run to, but have been left with no one, because that someone gave up on life.

Tragic for the dead, yes, but more tragic for those that he/she left behind. Life is always hard, and I know that it is EXTREMELY hard for some. Taking your life only makes it harder for the ones that you leave behind. Before even considering suicide, you should look at the lives you effect, and REALLY think. "How are they going to be effected by my death," If just for a small moment, forget the idea that the world would be better off without you (which is NOT true), and try realizing that some one you know, may need you, may look up to you, may love you.

-GILT-

Wednesdays

For the last 2 Wednesdays I have walked out of my youth group feeling refreshed and renewed, mentally and spiritually. It seems that I have finally begun to change. My choices had caught up to me, and my guilt has driven me to repent. What I had become, sickened me. What I had done, hurt others and myself. I once believed, and still do, that I have no right to be forgiven. My sins are terrible, and the pain I have caused will never fully heal, but God has shown me unimaginable mercy in his forgiveness. How can I ever repay the debt I owe? Money cannot buy eternity, nor can a thousand lifetimes of servitude. So then, what can I do? All I have is my body, my words, my works, and my love. I give them all to him. He deserves so much more, but it is all I have. I can only hope, and trust that it is enough for him. That God will take all I can give, and use it to do what he wishes. Tonight, I have decided to step out of the boat, to let God take me where he needs me to go. Even if this means leaving my comfort zone.

love

Written September 8th, I just didn't have internet access =b

To know what true love is, and to be incapable of experiencing it is more than torture. For what ever reason, God has blessed me with an unexplainable understanding of love. With this, comes the pain of watching something so beautiful, be torn apart by society. With it comes the pain of watching my family and friends abuse this amazing gift, and being unable to do anything about it. My understanding seems useless in the end. What can I do to stop what is so widely accepted as love? How can I end this tradition of fake connections, and counterfeit oneness? All of my attempts at explaining what I know have been passed off as “a lack of understanding”. I have a passion. A passion that has been bashed and doubted constantly since the day I attempted to stand up for it. Why is t so hard for others to understand what love once was? My generation cannot imagine a world where divorce is rare, and family comes first. I weep for those who have accepted the lies. I pray for those who cannot see what has been done to our world.

Why is trust so hard?

Again and again I am blessed. Yet, again and again i question God's interest in me, or my life. Have I allowed myself to be deceived by the world to the degree that i question the one truth that gives me life? It is my fault. My unwillingness to see that which is directly in front of me. It remains a mystery to even myself why i reject all that comforts me. I want to be loved, yet reject any passion towards me. I want to be respected, yet deny myself the privilege. I want to believe, yet constantly question that which I once trusted. What have I made myself? Why do i feel so undeserving of that which is freely given? I have taken being humble dangerously far. What used to be healthy has become the seed of my self hate. If there is any hope of rescue from this dark place, it lies in the trust of the one who brought light to the world so long ago.

Happy Places are Where Smiles can Make You Cry

I walk with a slow and grueling pace. The air is humid and the sky is simply minuscule splotches in the canopy of this dense jungle. I breathe in the hot air and can taste the salt of the nearby sea. I close my eyes and imagine that this is all but a dream.
For in these moments that seem so hopeless I can see through the haze of pain and discouraging thoughts. I escape into my own idea of peace. My own small release from the chaos that is filling this war ravaged jungle.

Everything is quiet. For this minute moment I can breathe in deeply. I can sigh without the fear of being heard. I can laugh and I can speak with a clear and unhindered tone. No more whispering. No more need to stay alert. I am free. It is bright. The light is shining through the windows of the still unfamiliar house. I am not alone. I am surrounded by smiles. Smiles untainted by the thoughts of war. Smiles uncontaminated by the nightmares of a tortured soul. They do not see the corpses that lay on the fields of a foreign land. These smiles do not see the bodies of men that have fallen at my hand.
These smiles only see me. They see the hero, the soldier, and the survivor. They see the surface of a man that lived through this terrible war. They do not see the dying soul of a war-battered man. These smiles see nothing but what they wish to. In this place the war is
a memory. Life is as it should be.

Such a paradise cannot last. This is the thought that runs through my head as I stumble to catch my balance. I look back to see my captor. I am a prisoner. I will die. I will be written down as a K.I.A. and lost to the memories of the soldiers I had once marched with. I will never see those smiles. I should hate this man. This foreign soldier that stalks my every step. Pushes me. Pokes me with the only thing that gives him any power to control me. In a way he is my grim reaper. But I see him as my savior. Through him I will finally escape this hell that is called war. I look into his eyes and see his fear.
He knows that I have accepted my fate.

It is time.

Perfect Place

Time has stopped and life has ceased
The world around me stands
Still as the night
My breath leaves a fog in the air
Our hearts our the only sound
Beating with the joy and passion
That comes with true love
Unpolluted by things like sex and drugs
This love is pure
This night is perfect
This life is perfect
She is perfect
I in her arms
She in mine
Our hearts entwined
Watching the stars
And talking to God
Hoping for a reply

I have yet to experience any thing like this, but I firmly believe that that is what love should be. Pure, untainted by stupid things the world pushes on us, or tells us we are "supposed" to do.

Pathetic as I am

Lately in life, a lot seems to be out of wack. With my knowledge of how the world works, and how the people around me think and act, I come to see that the world will never be as perfect as I believed it to be as a child. The time when getting the new Power Ranger action figure brought bliss. Now, holding onto something so material just seems to bring sorrow.

How could I have ever been so controlled, and obsessed over something so miniscule and useless? It is not much different than my current pathetic obsession with video games. How can i make myself more useless to the world than by sitting in a chair, or on a couch, and simply moving my thumbs as i use up energy and time that could be used to further someone elses joy and comfort? Am i truely that selfish? The answer is yes. And along with me, are millions who are just the same.

When did it become all about us? Why is it so hard to give up our own comfort, our own time, for some one else? There was a time when we cared about our neighbors. The time when our friends distress took presidence over our own. A time where "After you" was a common phrase to hear. A time where gentlemen were gentle and where women were protected, and love was not a game.

It makes me sick to think of what we have become, yet I cannot drive myself to change. Why is it so hard to push myself towards what I know is right? Why can I not relinquish my self obsession? I hate what I am, yet I cannot become what I wish I was. -GILT-