Tim stood me up.
My life, has been a cycle of frustration, resentment, and heartache, and I am struggling, badly, to break those cycles which have laid root in my life. It is two days until I start classes again, for what I hope is the last time, and I—my life—is threatening to fall apart all over again, as it did last year over Tim. As it has done, two spring semesters ago, over Brandon. I am sitting up here, in a new home, but stuck somehow, in the same place, mocked and kept up by insomnia, doubt, depression. Robin Williams’ death has been triggering. But depression/suicide, are constant fights I will have, they aren’t going to go away.
I think about all the people who prayed for me before I left home to come back to school, and I wonder if it ever even worked. I wonder if the sole fact of just knowing that they did pray for me, is what is what is keeping me alive, not the actual manifestation of the act itself, because I am speaking to God, and I have been for weeks now, and he is silent. He has been silent. And I am wondering what there is left for me him to test me on. And how, whatever it possibly could be, that I’m not ready for it. I have walked, tirelessly, through deserts and valleys. I have choked on my own believings, stumbled upon the tendrils of my own faith, and rung my neck with my own petitioning hands. I have scars and battle wounds. I have traumas that keep me up at night, and I am trying to remember what I am walking for, and why. My promised land has no tangible picture for me to cling to. I am wondering if I should just start dating other people, if that will help. I know the answer is no, however. It won’t. It is neither what I truly want, or what I truly need. But then again, I thought Brandon was my soulmate, only to have it later eventually revealed that as far as soulmates go, he was the worst, and pointed out more of my flaws and hesitations and fears, than anything else. And, despite any visions, or fascinations I may have with Tim, any thoughts of grandeur, of future, of family, of love, could be just as easily misconceived as every other, “love” that I have had.
I wish I had the words to say that, I’m done, but I want an explanation instead first. I want football games and drinks and leisures on the couch. I want handholds, and outings on the beach. I want wading into the water, and being dunked in salt water and even saltier kisses. I want runs with dogs. I want walks through parks. I want fishing and beer, and late night revivals of life and love, and childhood traumas. But I can’t have that. I want the lovely things. But they are so far away from me. At this point, survival, is hard enough. And that is an aching, horrible, inaccurate, truth.