it's not good.

When He talks to me, i get that feeling inside. my stomach gets yuck. i shake and it takes everything from deep within to keep me from weeping uncontrollably. i hate crying. tears are for the weak. hopelessness totally takes over and i picture myself clawing at my own face with rage to try to make myself pay for how horrible He's taught me that i am. i want to scream and never stop.

And i believe in Jesus Christ. that He is real and He came for the hopeless and broken. and that He IS hope and the thing that puts us back together. but not for me. He is not for me. He is for You. and for Him. He isn't for me. not my kind of failure. not my kind of worthless. i've gone too far. too deep, too bad, too black, too ugly. i'm gone. i always was. my purpose was to have The Babies, so they could bring light into this dark place. and then i go away.

and i hold on in moments because of the knowledge of that purpose. i break life up into them. into tiny little pieces so that i don't do something stupid with bigger pieces of time. the moments that follow every interaction with Him are hell. i'm reminded of the promises i thought were real and that i could be pretty and real and good and loved and needed and wanted. i see those, and they mock me and make me crave a knife in my neck and the subsequent death that would come from draining the bad ugly black dirty filth i'm composed of onto the floor and away from this ugly body.

i love to give too. i love to take hands and hold them gently and show them how to make movements towards hope and success and a better life. but i cannot receive. only He fully understood how to give what i needed. but He only did it for his own benefit and then went away when He was done. so there is no thing and no one else that can understand what i need. 

so i pretend i don't need and use what i must for the tiny little pieces of life i struggle thru for The Babies.

and try to talk to Jesus. my shame and guilt and hate for me keeps me away from my savior. i talk to Him with my head down and whisper because i have no right to go to Him at all. and i ask why. and i say i'm sorry. and i ask for Him to take away My Love and make Him not real and erase the pain and the memories so i can try to live and find out what life is like. it doesn't work. because it's up to me to break the chains. and i don't want to.

i'd rather have the hurt, because i deserve it. i'd rather imagine my death and all the wounds i wish i could self inflict as payment for the horror that i am without drawing attention. and let Him come back every once in awhile and make me feel that awful feeling that is really the only thing i know how to deserve.