Hope vs Faith

I give nothing to fate. Fuck fate, it’s a fools inability to understand that shit just happens. At times, at the behest of your own doing, other times, the dime falls heads up. It is what it fucking is. No fucking magic, no ridiculous kismet, nope, reality just comes to fucking be, you know, reality. You want magic, deny yourself the ability to be (you), relinquish all that you hold dear, or better yet, just lose all fucking hope and watch your soul devour you from the inside out. Every day is death on repeat, miserable and un-fucking-yielding. Through the looking glass my ass, that bitch was shattered the day I took my first breath.

When the days linger and the nights seem to have no end, every once in a while I’ll catch a glimpse of a lost dream born in the forbidden depths of desire. The very sight of it makes me want to vomit – up-chuck the very core of who I am. At times, I so fucking hate myself. It’s a razor’s edge between this bullshit and whatever lies fucking beyond. Hope is the sister of Faith and in my life, them bitches aren’t talking. Fuck, to be honest, they’re warring over who’s the better trickster. As far as I am concerned, it’s an even split, they both can die along with every fucked up dream I was ever dumb enough to conjure up. Fuck them bitches.

Author’s Note: I wrote the above passage on May 17th, 2015. Needless to say, I wasn’t in the best headspace. I’ve been reading some of my past journal entries, trying to make sense of past actions, distant thoughts, and unresolved feelings. At least at times it feels that way. In retrospect, I can understand and, more importantly, accept, how deeply distressed I was in those moments. That’s okay. I have come to realize that regardless of how I might perceive a situation, my emotional reactions were indeed valid. However, depression can dissolve what I like to refer to as common sense reasoning.

On one side of the emotional equation, you can clearly see that whatever situation you find yourself in isn’t good for you. You understand that as clear as day. But on the other side of the equation, where the math doesn’t necessarily make sense. Meaning, shit don’t be adding up. It’s the confusion, hurt, and anxiety that consumes you, robbing you of the ability to plainly see what you surely know you must do—leave, cry, run, scream, breathe.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t still that person, knowing that 2 plus 2 is four but so caught up in the moment that I’m hellbent on making that shit equal 5. Oh, I’m still that person, but different. I can accept that shit happens. People fail you, and you fail them. It’s okay—we’re all flawed humans. It’s life and it ain’t always rainbows and butterflies. But when it is, it’s a beautiful thing.

I was reminded of that recently. After holding the door open to a coffee shop open for a woman working hard to corral a circus of kids, basically a stranger to my existence, turned to me and said, “thank you for being such a beautiful human.” Well, fuck me, I’m beautiful! Moments like that make me see beyond the fog of my internal emotional war. Yeah, I felt that.

MH ~