How can I stop myself from thinking of you when I can't even start? When there's a voice in my head that feels like more than a voice? Does the deceiver live inside me? And what does that mean for my hope?
Someone inside says "I know nobody loves me, but does anyone like me" and I know it's not true. So where do I run? I try to find a cure and am running out of options. Am I the same, just different phases? The moon still shines, right? Can I be the new moon, but shining?
I only know One who makes all things new. It works. He knows everything there is to know about me and still makes me fresh. He makes me brand new.
Still, whose arms are these squeezing my heart? What can I do? How can I release them. I just want time to myself that isn't to myself. I want time to be with others. Unscheduled (or is it unstructured) time that is has joy pouring out of it. I don't want to break so easily. I don't want to fold where the creases aren't meant to be. The creases that I've made myself. It's gotten so much easier to fold there and I feel like if I keep doing that, I'll tear in two, or perhaps more.
Still, this love is without conditions. What does that mean? My brain can't wrap completely around that. Thanks be to God that it cannot though! I don't know it all. Far from it.
My life doesn't feel like it's based on no conditions. Even for myself. How can I love others if I don't love myself. Though loving myself feels selfish. So I don't know where to turn. I envision myself on the ground with my hands over my head receiving the punishment due me. Or perhaps I'm just there preparing for it and it never comes. My punishment has been paid for but it's so hard to accept. Why do I just sit there on the floor. I look down to nothing but my knees and the darkness below. Who will lift my head up? How will these clouds be removed.
It's like I must be picked up. I can't just stand up on my own. I need a fishing pole to grab my neck. Thinking it will be painful to even sit up, but perhaps it's necessary. Don't pity me. Don't talk me down. I'm already there. Don't talk me up either. Especially if it's not sincere. I think I need a couple days to put myself back together. What happened to the garden inside me? I've spoiled the soil and I don't know how I'll grow again, though I sense that I'm still growing.
Pick me apart if You must but please pick me back up. At least I don't have to cite the words in my brain.