Who am I to think that I can do this?
Who am I to think that I am smart enough to handle being here?
Artemis had the right idea in rejecting me. I’m worthless.
If God makes no mistakes then why am I here? Surely, I am a mistake.
If I can’t be here, then I shouldn’t be HERE.
I can’t get up. I am afraid.
Take me back to the hospitals and the doctors. Take me back to when I believed people could save me.
Todays the first day of the rest of my life and I can’t get up.
I’m frozen in a thought pattern that I thought I outgrew. But it came back to remind me that I can’t do this.
God is not real. I don’t know where to go. If I get up then I am comitting to doing this.
God why is it all so dark?
Im not afraid of failing because that is inevitable. I am afraid of succeeding. Of being ok.
Who am I to have thought that I was worth more than the scraps Artemis gave me?
I’d do anything to get those scraps back. I can live off scraps, but I can’t live off nothing. Nothing, characterized by deep, dark unknown.
God how do I walk in You?
I know how to beg. I know how to be low, how to be shameful. God let me roll in my vomit. The smell has become home, it’s perfume is intoxicating, like I am laying my head in the bosom of disgust; disgust that I have invested all of me in.
God I can’t leave my mat behind. No not like this. I have already “invested” so much time in waiting by the fountain for someone to lift me and put me in. What do you mean, that YOU have made me whole and I can just get up. No, no. There must be a mistake. I need to wait for someone to pick me up.
IF, I get up, WHEN I fall, i’d be falling in new, cold, unchartered territory, alone. Without her.
God I am here. I promise to give you all the broken pieces if you don’t let go. I understand that I’m too old to be carried through everything now, but God please don’t let go of my hand. My legs are shaking, my knees are weak, I can’t walk alone, please don’t let me go.