What I Was Made For

My writing matters to me. My voice matters to my higher power. I have never been able to control any person.

It was so simple. Let’s talk. Let’s have a dignified conversation. My ears are open. I can listen, I continue to prove I will acknowledge the voice I’m conversing with. I don’t have to agree, yet I can still have a stimulating conversation with anyone.

One person let me call him. This person at least tried. It didn’t work the way either of us were hoping, but we both gave it a try. One other person spoke with me, but decided to make an excuse for detaching. I’m not saying this person was not as heroic, but I think maybe this person abandoned hope, as that guy in Oregon did not abandon hope. The guy in Oregon in fact, did not give up- I gave up, because I told him I did not want to be a burden upon his waking life. He even told me I wasn’t a burden, and I know he meant that. But, shit. This guy from Oregon is also a combat veteran. Let me tell you all something- most vets get it. This doesn’t mean it’s an approval of the anger and torment, because we all know that’s not the answer. That’s terrorism, plain and simple. To give in to hate and inflict it upon others.

I think having a chat on the phone, come as you are, be honest- it’s eons better than messaging through text. Especially when the person can empathize, really imagine what it must be like to be in my shoes. Some have it better, some have it worse, and some have it about the same. I think someone who can empathize has been someone who hates pain and suffering. Yeah, it is shitty- it’s inevitable, we all suffer in our own ways, but to let someone else know, “hey. You’re not alone. We can do this. Let’s keep going. We ain’t quitters.” That’s just an example.

I hope you realize I am not, in fact, Superman. Nor am I a monk who has taken a vow of silence. However, I repeat- I have no control over any one.

Maybe this goes in a pile and it’s lost amongst the billions of dreams. That’s okay. Sometimes it really hurts, when I think about that being the case. Yet my core knows I write because it’s an outlet for me to express the ideas and images that float around in me.

When I write and read what I’ve said I do see progress. Maturity. The episodes happen. I see that my creator isn’t locking the gates of heaven because I’m mentally imbalanced. I am doing my best. It matters because this is me, and I want to improve. For my creator. To show my maker I my active efforts to be a decent person.

If I feel peace within when it’s just me and God, that’s what matters.

People have broken my heart too many times, you all are beautiful letdowns. So am I. It was my dream from childhood to find one person to be beautiful letdowns together with. I can hear demon lords laughing their asses off in Hell. And God, well- God is silent. Which doesn’t mean God doesn’t care, or doesn’t want to wave the God wand. That’s not how God works. Miracles can and do happen. But few and far in between. Most often God lets it all happen the way it does here on Earth. It’s not for me to know why this is. That’s not my place. In fact I don’t wanna know what God knows. I want to let God direct me.

And God does. And that matters to me. I wish I could say there is no creator, that this is all a random occurence- I dunno. Maybe it is. And if it is I lose nothing. Nothing is alright by me too. Either way it sounds better than this life.

Anyway, I’m doing what I’m supposed to. It’s sad no one wants to walk with me, but hey- it is what it is. When I’m squared away I know people want mean as much to me as they once did.

Sad. But it is what it is.

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