The Battle

I keep having this dream. I'm in a battle and I'm fighting. I have many dreams of battles. But in this one I'm fighting this battle. I feel alone, but I'm aware of other people on the battle field who are on my side. I can see arrows and darts flying by. Its a harsh battle. Sometimes some of the others are there with their arms wrapped around my waist holding me up as I weild my sword. I'm so high on the chemicals flowing through my blood, surging giving me strength. I fight my way forward and get to the person on the other side. The head person, my nemesis. I throw her to the ground and I'm standing over her with my sword ready to kill. I rip off her hood and look into her face and... its me.

Sometimes I get so frustrated with myself because I feel like the only thing I'm fighting is myself. Its something you hear frequently in the Christian comunity. "You're battling with your flesh." The thing is, I'm not just battling with my flesh, I'm massacring it. Literally. I'm sure this isn't anything like what they had in mind when they were writing the bible. The whole dying to the flesh part I mean. In fact the bible tells us that our body is a temple. I'm sure not treating it as such. They are talking about dying to your sin and desires. It just seems so ironic that if I'm battling with my flesh, then the battle is trying to prevent myself from destroying it.

I'm not one of those odd people who feels I should literally crucify myself daily, no. Self injury is something I've been doing since long before I became a Christian. It feels like my dirty, shameful little secret. Please don't misread me in this post I don't do it for religious reasons. I do it because I have no other way to cope. Sick as it sounds, sometimes pain just makes more sense when you feel it physically rather than in your heart.

I'm just so frustrated. It seems like my biggest sin is one of the strangest. It leaves me feeling so alone sometimes. All I want is to stop. For good. I know I'll get there some day, but the things most worth achieving take time. This is one of those things. I'm just sick of hiding.

Coming Out of the Closet

This is such a struggle some days. I feel like a person wearing a mask, constantly. I want so desperately to share who I am and the things I've done, but this kind of thing isn't so accepted. What is it about this sort of thing that makes people recoil? Well, yes, I know this sort of thing seems repulsive. It is really. I'm repulsed by my own self some days. Some days I struggle with thinking that I'm completely insane because of it. But I'm not. I'm just a hurting person who's coping. I'm desperate. Desperate for life, desperate for someone who loves me unconditionaly. The thing is, anyone whom I've shared with has pulled away. I'm affraid. I desperately want to tell the people around me right now. I want help dealing with this. I'm affraid of being judged again. Why can't I share? Why can't I tell people what I'm fighting with. I just get so frustrated with the conditions we humans put on our love. It seems like for stuff like this there is no such thing as unconditional love.

So I guess this is a round about way of saying that I think I'm going to come out. I'm living in community right now. In a group of 13 people. We all love each other very much. I love them. Some of the group has been sharing some pretty harsh things. Some even about mental illness. It makes me think that maybe I could share. I guess I'm affraid that even in this group there are limits on love.

So I've been thinking and reflecting on this whole journey lately. And a lot about what people struggle with. Their sin, desires and addiction and stuff. Listening to the confessions makes me think of my own struggles. What kind of person is addicted to blood? Not even just blood, but the sight of my own blood. Why is this the only method I have used for the last however many years that I know of do deal with life? I have a good day I gouge, I have a bad day I pull out nail clippers and take them to my own skin, I feel I need to be punished and I look for a blade. Who does that? I want so badly to finish this, I want it done, over, final. Who takes a thumb tack to their face? I get so jealous of people who have had a heroin or alcohol addiction who just prayed and never craved it again. I've prayed for this so often it feels like a futile battle. I feel so broken.