resuscitating identity.

( this journal entry was written in the middle of dealing with a plethora of trials all at once; please bare with any melo-drama and read it for what it's worth. thanks.)

Throughout these last few weeks of unending uncertainty i've undergone a series of significantly painful, yet necessary character-operations. I've been under the knife being filleted by the actions that have led me to the awkward, uncomfortable, unstable place I'm at today.

Emotionally I feel like I'm just climbing out of a blender where I was mixed viciously with heartache, tragedy, and disappointment. This scene in my life feels like I'm locked in a dim-lit concrete-fortress being questioned and tested on my true being. It mimics an interrogation; the tyrannical torture is methodologically congruent with that of the ancient Chinese Brut's. My faith is being pulled apart like my integrity is on a mid-evil stretch-rack. All I know and trust is being tossed too and fro as I struggle vigorously to stay afloat while dam walls break engulfing me in waters of confusion.




I'm not good at recovering. This is a character flaw that I've recently discovered about myself. the immensely deep hurt and pain that's left its claw marks on my heart has yet to exit the body to give my soul some much needed rest. Instead, the bone-level trauma, the sorrow endured that's sawed through the very bone and marrow is not healing at all. Doubt has crept in like a thief in the night and has militantly infected my heart with thoughts of tossing in the towel on this whole God concept. The desire to spit on the precepts that suppose a personal God is actually on my side amidst this tragic-chaos. I am hard-pressed and pressured internally, mentally, to quit foolhardily attempting to fight my way through to God, who's rest and presence lies dormant on the polar opposite side of where I stand now in the valley, divided by miles upon miles of razor sharp thorn like challenges awaiting me.



So far, the only anesthetic that's kept my scarred heart from surrendering to the world is the Word of Life. As the foundations of my minds framework falls like the Twin Towers concrete-rain the word operates strategically as a shield of refuge amidst the torrential tempest. Though I remain unscathed, the hurt still abides in the deepest of deepest. Genuinely unable to shake myself from the enticing instant gratification of apathy i've noticed it's impossible to do this alone. The poisonous complex of inevitable aloneness has left me plagued with thoughts and worries of doing this solo; but the Word speaks of a helper, a savior, a knight in bright-white armor. As I reach my hand through the feet upon feet of thick life suffocating clay, and pray for the stern nail-pierced hand of Christ to meet me in that place, and pull me out to higher heights in Him, and in life I trust in the Word that "He will never leave me, nor forsake me."