Here it is, the eve of my next birthday. I reflect on the past year, each year wondering what the next one will bring, I find myself in mostly familiar circumstance. Some of which is very upsetting to me. Things I care about, and still without. I’ve no doubt, most of the problem, if not all of the problem, lies with myself. Of which I seek to remedy by my own efforts, including leaving to God, things that are beyond me.
That said, and for all the optimism and resolve I do present on a daily basis, I am still very sad, very troubled, by isolation, and chronic distrust—as backed up by experience. In the past I went for years not wanting to be here, but staying out of hatred, not love, of those who would laugh at my demise. Like being in love, unless you’ve been so despondent, you’ve not idea what that is like to survive. Where it hurts to breath from the sadness of failed associations.
This is where veterans and law enforcement personnel are, when they take their own lives. Hurt because they care, killing themselves because they’ve lost all recognition and hope that what they care about, will ever itself survive. Decimated, done. The cost of finally coming to terms with the lies we’ve lived by, for all these years.
I have a better life now. I’ve grown into an American, and have learned along the way what that means. Not as a label, but a way of life. It is in surviving the mea culpa of ego drive ideological life that I broke through to the otherside, reality. God. Real God, not “my God.”
And on occasions like this, where I again visit those sentiments of desolation and grief, I remember life itself is a personal relationship with God. For as lonely as I am, and I am lonely, I am also still my part of God’s creation. I am alone, with God.
As a man, I want a wife, children, a family. This isn’t new, it is nearly as old as I am. And here I am a year later, still alone. Hit like this, death can’t come soon enough for me, and I am struggling to not resent being here in the first place. Family matters, and should and does hurt when it is missing. It is still missing.
I think for me, the abuses I survived, the damages done, when I experience an incongruity in my contact with a person of interest, I still react to these circumspect encounters with the instinct to break contact and move on. Which I do.
My life experiences show that nearly everyone lies, and nothing is to be trusted, ever. I learned that early in life from my abusers, but still experience this to be the state of society. Very few people are not ego driven ideologists. So I’ve very few people from whom I would consider the possibility of friendship. And that’s on me.
The point of this? My greatest misery is of my own doing, likely, but no matter what, my life itself IS a personal relationship with God. And of that, I accept it.
I out grew hope years ago. I have faith, not hope. Faith, not belief. Beyond my ability to see and understand. My faith is in God, not my understanding of God. I still want a family. I am willing to do what I must to engender it. I just don’t know what that might be.
Instinct, nature, contact, love. My short coming is contact. I was doing better about that, then the covid hoax hit, and we know what that’s done for contact.
Does the realization that by living, you have a personal relationship with God help you survive?
Thanks for the visit. Please share this if you like. See you next time!
Clarity, unity, organization, action. Let’s not fail where it counts.
Be American. Stay American!
David Weeks, Information Developer, Tampa, Florida.
PS: I’m choosing not editing this piece. I’m not up for it. Not even to re-read it. If there are idiot mistakes, that’s why.