Thursday, November 12, 2009

To be alone with your thoughts, sometimes, acts as suffocation.

To be alone with your thoughts, sometimes, acts as suffocation.

At least, I know it is for me.

I don't know what happened. This entire week has been nothing but good day after good day, after better day. 
Class has been going well.
The weather's been beautiful, or, at least not as dreary as it had been.
In dance, the teacher is pointing me out more often as doing a good job. I'm getting better in that stage of my life.
Izumicon, 2 awesome days with friends at an anime convention, is coming up this weekend.
My cosplay for said convention came in right in the nick of time, even when I thought it wasn't going to.
Everything's ... great, in theory. I'm blessed. Tremendously.

But today, after getting home early, I felt an instant mood in the house that tired me out. I fell asleep, but couldn't sleep.
I "woke" up an hour and a half later, to my bedroom room half-lit and grim feeling, and I felt sad for some reason. 
I don't know about what, but I did feel sad. And I didn't like it.

I got up and walked into the living room, seeing my brother was home talking to my parents. We all were talking about casual things, but then they 
brought up the shooting incident that happened at Ft. Hood last week.
Which reminded me of Columbine instantly.
Which for some reason, I couldn't get out of my head.
I sat there as they talked, thinking and thinking about how just anywhere, someone can just ... have the urge to kill everyone, and have the means to do it. 
People out there are so criminally insane, so put out with life, they don't care about anything.
I can't fathom the need or want to just ... kill someone. I can't fathom the idea of hating someone so much in the first place, 
let alone actually thinking about murdering them.
I sit and mope about silly high school-esque drama all the time in my life, getting upset or annoyed or angry with people over stupid things like THAT, while people out there are
sitting in darkness, with guns in front of them, knowing as they woke up, that day, they've willed themselves to shoot, and kill, as many as they possibly could.
And they didn't care what happened afterwards.

Thinking about stuff like that instantly puts me into a disposition I can't stand. I get extremely depressed. I get angry. 
I get undeniably scared, like I'd be scared to even live outside my house. I question God when I get like this, which is frightful to me the most.
Why does He let that happen? Why is there so much evil in the world? When will it all end? What if that happened to me, God, losing someone because of someone else's hatred ....
How would I cope? Would I cope?

If all that thinking wasn't enough, my brother - who'd been doing so well, living on his own, supporting himself after so much trouble he'd been through - is at rock bottom again.
I don't know everything that happened, or that it happened in the first place 'til now, but I do know he either quit his job, or lost it. 
He'd been sick the last week and a half with pneumonia and wasn't paid, so he seriously got behind in
paying for things like rent and utilities, and got booted out of where he lived. I don't know where he's living now. I don't know how he's getting by. He mentioned how
"they told me that the average person can live off $4.13 a day".
Is that how he's living now?
$4.13 was a few cents shy of the price I paid for a single frappuchino at Starbucks today that lasted me about 30 minutes.

What is that saying about me? I thought. My brother has gone through hell and back, up and down, and for some reason can NEVER seem to have something good last
for too long without it coming back around for the worse. He's always optimistic about it. Always grateful for what he does have. Has unbelievable work ethic. He never went to college, 
but he still gets by, even if it's barely. He's recovered from being a terrible alcoholic... He's living to survive.
While sometimes I'll complain if I don't get my way about something; if I have to clean, do this or that, if my parents get onto me. 
I'm not as bad as some teenagers, I will admit, but I'm sure as heck not as grateful as I need to be. I lie in bed wanting to sleep in a couple hours,
because I don't want to go to my eight AM class because "it's boring and I'm tired". While I know my brother would give anything to have the means to go to college, 
or some form of school, to be trained for a better job than restaurant after restaurant, or Jiffy Lube.

When I get into thinking like this, it seems to not leave me alone. Blogging about it here has really helped channel all my thoughts, write them down
sort them out, however, it's not HELPING. I sat in my living room, feeling instantly ugly, nearly hating myself in about every single way. I don't know how to stop it.
The questions that kill me the most, however, deal with my faith and spirituality. I know it's Satan attacking me. I know God will never leave me.
I know how much He loves me. But I'm a human, with sin, and the sin of doubt and worry, by FAR one of my worst attributes. I can feel God standing behind me as I get shrouded in my thoughts.
I can feel Him reaching out, and I'm not necessarily turning away. I'm letting Him put His hand on my shoulder, but I'm not turning around to crumple into Him, and just give everything over.
He's waiting for me to come to Him for this.

Shrouded, suffocating, I can't help but question everything about myself, and my faith .... "If something tragic happened in my life, if I was left on the street, if everything went wrong and crashed ....
would I be as cozy to God, and in love with God as I am when my life is filled with blessings and joy? Would I praise how I praise now, would I act
how I act now as a Christian, happy and "content"? Would I be proud to embrace God when I'm falling? Are these "blessings" ones I'm taking advantage of; is this
"joy" truly spiritual, or just industrialized to make me BELIEVE that way?"

God, I'm ... sorry.

Like I stated, thinking, being left alone with your thoughts, sometimes acts as a way of suffocation. Suffocating is slow and dreadful, letting life flicker on and off, instead of instantly shut down.
Thinking on such frightful, tragic things, or thinking such a way of myself, my faith, of my God, hardly has any difference to me.
It's nothing black and white, it's all the ugly, smeared colors of gray, wrapping and wrapping, not letting go.

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