when bad things happen.

November 29, 2012

hi. I’m dying. can you hear me?

I don’t think you care. which is okay. people like me, it seems like every second day we’re in crisis, telling the world, shouting it from the rooftops. it stops being serious. every second thing is a crisis and you know what, that shit gets boring after a while. the wolf isn’t everywhere, dear; you can stop crying. when it comes down to it, all of this is pretty much a huge game of desperate attention-seeking, and everyone knows you should ignore attention-seekers. it only encourages them.

which is funny. because when people like me die, everyone’s all- we didn’t see that coming! and s/he was such a bright, bubbly kind of person! and I didn’t know s/he was depressed!

No. You didn’t want to see. You didn’t see it coming because you didn’t want to see. Which is okay too, because we only have two eyes and there are so many things in this world to see, things that are bruised and bleeding as well as things that are firebright and burning and beautiful, and most of those things are inside ourselves too so it’s hard to see beyond them and we get tired, you know? We’re only human. We get tired. We put on blinkers because we can’t take in the entire world and its sorrow. Because sometimes it feels like the entire world is sorrow. And so we don’t look because that is the way to drown.

(when it comes to injustice and evil, perhaps there are two alternatives: you fight or you hide. and eventually every fighter hides. it’s called choosing your battles, yeah. but it’s also called hiding.

it’s okay to hide.)

what’s also funny is the flipside; when people become really, really careful about what they say around us. everything becomes so encouraging our teeth ache with it. everything is said as if even the slightest breath could blow us over the edge. which could be true. but you’d be surprised. the edge is a pretty wide ledge, truth be told properly. there’s a lot of space on either side to keep standing, to keep considering your options, to wonder and rethink and doublethink and doubt. the razor edge of wanting to die is, actually, one we cross quite often during the course of a day. during the course of a lifetime. and we’re still here, so far.

we prefer the truth. if you think you’ll kill us by telling us, tell us that too.

it’s funny, how we manage to live in a world so riddled with rot and disease and fallen-apart with the dark. the word ‘broken’ doesn’t really seem to encompass it at all, although it holds everything inside itself. broken, yes, but the word ‘broken’ feels like a clean break; I took a plate and cracked it in half with my hands and it was broken, split in two. I broke bread; it was in two pieces. It has parted in twain. This world hasn’t split in half; this world has shattered beyond imagining into so many small pieces that each piece cuts itself into ribbons, shreds of atoms, rot to the core. Every single thing we have is rotten to the core of itself, unholy all the way through. Broken.

I think the problem happens when you see this, and see that it is unfixable, and realise that what you see includes yourself, and you are unfixable too. And it is not something you can just laugh at and live with and hold it up to the sunlight and be all, this is beautiful in a flawed way, my flaws are my beauty too. It is irreparably wrong and it hurts. And perhaps the worst thing is knowing when it hurts that it will keep hurting and that this, too, cannot be fixed. We cannot be healed from this, no matter how much we pray.

I know I am disillusioned because I cannot see answers, because God holds no easy remedies out. Because God does not answer prayer. And I know there are many things people say to excuse or explain away this, to excuse God, and also to blame me. I know. I’ve said them to myself. I’ve said them to you. I’ve said them. But God does not answer prayer, and he does not take away pain, and he does not heal.

And I tried very hard to understand why, and then I stopped. And I walked away, because I am so very tired of bruising myself against these things, of trying to fight when I have no strength or courage or anything to fight for. I do not want to run this race. I do not want to run at all.

I tried waiting for God, and then I ran out of patience and trust and whatever reserves of anything I had and stopped waiting too. God does not come, he does not answer, he does not change things. I do not know if this means he does not listen or if he does not care, but mostly in my head it leans towards the latter. I’m well aware he listens to other people. I have no faith left for this. I have no faith left for anything. I chose to stop waiting to be helped and chose instead to fight my own damn battles. I chose to not be saved. And at the same time I am well aware that what keeps me alive, still, is hoping that God might do something. Hoping very, very hard that I might not be abandoned after all, that I’ll find out it was some giant overwhelming reason I couldn’t see. Deux ex machina and all of a sudden everything is solved. Everything is fixed.

It doesn’t work that way. I know.

I’m really, really tired. Do you understand? I’m not the only person here, at this wall of silence and non-existence. It feels like everyone has come here. People throughout history have battered themselves to death against an invisible God. And nothing is as simple as everything I’ve just said, but that’s the core of it, that’s the single thread that runs through it all, all the different complications of belief and disbelief, questions and cautious philosophising. I am here again because I cannot find a reason to live, because I want God to talk to me. to prove he cares. it’s that ridiculous. it’s that absolutely and completely ridiculous.

and it’d probably solve nothing.

but the problem of suffering and the problem of evil is the biggest thing in my universe, and it has always been. ever since I was little, ever since I first started breaking. I’m well aware I have abandonment issues. even through the glory days of belief and blind naivete, there was always the buried undercurrent of this: why didn’t you help me when I was crying? did you not care?

I don’t have the space for reassurances. I want very much to be Thomas: show me. I want very much to be shown. And I want very much not to want this because I am going to be broken again and again and again on the wheel of my stupidity until I learn that this God does not listen to me, and will not speak to me, and will not hear me when I cry.

Hope kills you. do you understand that? hope kills you.

I have tried so hard to run away from this and the only other way out I won’t let myself touch. Because it’s not an answer. And I still believe, no matter how much I try not to. I don’t know why.

so I’m stuck. here. treading water until I drown. that’s the sum of it. and I’ve dug my way here; blogposts like these are a voyage of discovery and I didn’t know I’d get here at the beginning of this. I’ve been avoiding it for a while now, coming to this conclusion, but the conclusion’s made and I am back exactly where I began, which is entirely unsurprising. cursed and stuck and hoping for miracles. poor, stupid fool.

cannot believe I am still alive.

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One Response to “when bad things happen.”

  1. qwandor Says:

    I share your frustration at God not answering prayer, though perhaps for slightly different reasons. And it takes me to different places, more a combination of numbness and a sort of tame hedonism. But yeah, frustrated at God, or lack of God.


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