What am I playing at?
Why am I even here?
I thought going to church again and being in God’s “presence” would bring me relief or at least break the dam so I could express this intense sadness by crying like it used to…
Nothing.
What’s the point if I can’t even get comfort from God anymore?
What’s left to fight for, to hope for?
I felt drawn to visit the river. Maybe it’d be a good place to cry… But now it just feels like I’m dancing with the devil.
The thought of jumping in and letting the cold water carry me away seems so **** tempting.
And it scares me so much.
I should get up and walk back up the hill, but my limbs feel both powerless and not mine.
**** depression.
**** sadness and pain.
**** the tears that won’t fall.
**** death and **** living.
I shouldn’t have come.
I shouldn’t be here.
Oct 7, 2017
Oct 7, 2017 at 8:04 PM UTC
What am I playing at?
Why am I even here?
I thought going to church again and being in God’s “presence” would bring me relief or at least break the dam so I could express this intense sadness by crying like it used to…
Nothing.
What’s the point if I can’t even get comfort from God anymore?
What’s left to fight for, to hope for?
I felt drawn to visit the river. Maybe it’d be a good place to cry… But now it just feels like I’m dancing with the devil.
The thought of jumping in and letting the cold water carry me away seems so **** tempting.
And it scares me so much.
I should get up and walk back up the hill, but my limbs feel both powerless and not mine.
**** depression.
**** sadness and pain.
**** the tears that won’t fall.
**** death and **** living.
I shouldn’t have come.
I shouldn’t be here.
A flash piece I wrote for my creative writing class last month that felt more like a prose poetry type thing.
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