Thousands of years later, many cultures throughout the world carry on a tradition of making resolutions for the new year. Of course, making resolutions is easy—keeping them is a different thing altogether.
Another year begins and I am trying to leave.
Leaving, a verb meaning go way from. A deed that human's find difficult and not pleasant. To me it would mean turning a new leave or another meaning of put forth leaves.
Letting go is one of the hardest things I do. I try but I always seem to come back to the same situation and crying the same tears dried up somewhere in this very same bed.
Most say leaving or letting go is redeeming, helps a person start over and let loose of the past burdens but can I.
Can I move on? Can I live a life that is new that does not look back and crumble up in the same starting line? Can this transition be smooth, painless and not killing? Because I can stand to be dead in the arms of this emotional torment.
Can love hunt me down? Wrap me in all banners of happiness that is immovable the one that exists in sob romance novels and feed me to the numbing touch of redemption so that I can feel something. Give me touch, cause I have been missing me. Because all I see are strangers laughing at me in the corners of my dark dreams. I feel nothing. I need to feel something.
Can I do this? Can the Lord of David save me from my endless burdens. Can I be filled with joy just like the people and help save my longing soul. I never in my life understood what it meant to love God more than anyone upon this earth including my family and me.
My problem was that I set myself to much in pride, thought I was invisible, that I was great and I can never ever in this life fall. Yes, I didn't fall not because of my efforts but grace was sufficient enough to save a wretch soul like mine.
I thought perfection was somehow a redeeming project, that it could empty me of all my worries and concerns, my failures and disappointments. It work to be honest, in that moment of indulgence I was free and felt something that I wanted to last. That's why I would do it again, again and again just to feel that ten seconds lasting satisfaction.
I loved pleasure. It blinded me, I would be intimately involved with a relative and numb away the relevance of my exact existence. The feelings of freedom far overcame me, it rooted this drug, this addiction pulling my judgement to the dungeons of hell. How can a devil smile like an angel? Speak like an oracle? Touch as a supreme being?
I had let pride whip all sense of self-respect, love and dedication to my covenants. I blamed God, blamed the people around me for everything - literally everything.
It gets so hard sometimes. The thoughts just come as a storm flooding your very mind with what you being ignoring.
I have been having this desires for years now. I cannot stop them, I can't even tell the people close to me about this disease killing every decent thing in my entire existence.
The things that I enjoyed are dull and without purpose. I leave to see another mistake, to lay on my bed and just watch over and over again.
The same people doing the same thing. In and out it goes, I see it. I see them all, I know how they look like, I see how their expression consume them for that moment.
I see how they enjoy it, some doing it because its a common practise or their being paid for it. There is no excitement anymore, just the same thing, same old feelings, me in my blanket and my hands in my breast pocket searching for snow.
I think I am trying, I would like to think I am trying, I think to think yet I know I am fooling myself with the very thoughts I think of.
I think I am trying but my fingers effortlessly type the same number all the time. Pay the same amount, how soft the particles are, how deep they can get, what comes out of them, how it would feel inside me and how beautiful they look.
I am sacred that I might do it again, that I might not stop. I know there is no desire anymore and goodness I am happy but the question is how long will it last?
I have made a promise to the great one but can I really keep it? Am I fit to do what I am planing to do in due time? Or am I fooling myself exactly knowing that tomorrow shall pass and I would've/could've done it again?
I want to change, this time I want to prove to myself that I can do it. That I am strong enough and I don't just move my lips. I am trying... I am moving...
In the night, I wet my blankets... The sweat soaks my bed and I cry. Cry not because I am confessing but because I am scared of change. These are my thoughts, the thoughts of a soul gone on surgery:
"Underneath your skin there is a human, buried deep within there is a human. Despite everything I am still human... But I think I am changing now".
Sent from my BlackBerry® smartphone.
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