Silence

no one sees this blog. No one cares.

Do I want them to see? Do I want them to care?

I am torn. I think it's best that no one misses me when I die. That is that.

Resolution

I have a purpose in this world, the Lord has shown me the secrets of the universe. I will complete my books, I will complete them quickly.

And then I will die, I will sink into the darkness and the silence. I have no more purpose. I am a broken clock, that can no longer tell time. It moves, but does not move correctly.

I want to die where no one suspects it. When no one thinks of it. And let their love forget me.

Life is unbearable. I have fought too long, without progress. The pain remains the same, and life just as horrific. All I ask is that I am able to finish my purpose quickly, and that You would protect those whom I love from this same fate.

I Hate The Thing That Is Man.

I hate it when it is in me.

I hate it when it is in men.

I hate it when it is in women.

I hate the thing that is Man.

Godzilla!

Here's a post I tried to make on 5/20/14, at 4:47 PM. I don't know what I intended to write.

I just saw Godzilla 2014 on the day it came out(lucky huh? I saw the early showing). It was action packed and was given a perfect story. It turns out that I was right. They weren't going to make the centipede creature talked about by the people who saw it in comic con. But the mutos played a perfect role as the antagonists.

The movie happened to waken the dormant Godzilla fandom in me, which I've possessed for as long as I can remember, but got bored of last year. So I've come up with an elaborate Godzilla reboot of my own.
Unlike in the Godzilla 2014 movie, Godzilla is a threat to mankind, and goes on an insane rampage.

In 1954, Godzilla was supposedly killed by the hydrogen bomb. But instead, he regenerated his body completely, but was in a sort of coma.

The story begins as a meteor falls into a forest in Japan. It was undetected by satellite. After it's massive impact, it begins sending out a sort of radio signal. Seeming....

Debilitating

Anxiety is debilitating. It's 1:23 AM as I begin this post, and I was on the edge of sleep. I was hoping, that, for the first time in a few weeks, I'd be able to sleep before 2:30. I doubt it'll get better. Tonight, it was my homework that did it. It's the last month of the semester, and the number of massive papers I have to write is enough to make me fold. Constipation is driving me insane. I can't sleep at night because of it. I hate life.

I feel like I'll never be free. Like nothing will ever be worth it. I will always be a few steps behind, and everyone is waiting to point fingers at me.

I wish I could do homework to help my mood. But anxiety is debilitating. It makes you worried about things you must do, and makes you powerless to do them. It's like it's all set up to torture me.

And no one is there to save me. No one to help me.

What I Want

 What do you want? The answer to that question leaves the soul of a man naked, exposed in his absolute purity.  It tells you who he is.

I want my loved ones to hate me as much as I do. Just so that, when I die, no one misses me.

Dear God, I want no one to miss me.

I want punishment for my soul... I don't want to be forgiven.

Help me, Lord. Please change my angry heart.

Abject Cruelty

 The other day, I was listening to My Chemical Romance, the song, This Is How I Disappear. As the drums beat, I imagined someone hammering nails into my wrists. I ask myself, why do I imagine this image so much? Who is crucifying me?

Then I saw Jesus. He was on the cross, tears rolling from His eyes, as He cried out in such agony I cannot express adequately. It brings tears to my eyes as I write this. And it was me who had the hammer. I was nailing His wrists. I was appalled at myself. I've heard preachers say, "We crucify Him daily when we sin". But most people aren't monsters like me. For the me that swung the hammer was rotten, with a chelsea grin carved into his cheeks, and teeth like razors. Black blood seeps from his body. He is my sin, the fleshly part of me. And the fleshly part is angry, and vengeful. 

It breaks my heart to realize that this part of me is the Flesh. It is the nature that wanted to protect the young boy, to make justice. But it wanted to punish those who had wronged me. He wanted to do unspeakable horrors. The terminology that has frequently crossed my mind, for the past few days, is "abject cruelty". He is cruel, and unforgiving. So were the Romans who crucified Jesus. In such angry thoughts, I am the Romans, I am the Judaists. I am worse than Judas, for even he did not scourge Him.

I have to forgive myself, if I want to go forward. Why is it so, so hard? 

I ask the question rhetorically, but I know the answer. I know why it is so hard. Because I have seen how I was not enough. I've heard my loved ones accuse me, and list off my sins. I've heard them recite the words of the voices in my heads, nearly exactly. I never cease my sins. I keep being awful. I keep being that disgusting thing that I hate. I don't want to be inside this monster anymore. I don't want to be him. He is disgusting. She called him disgusting today. I agree with her.

I was angry when she said it, but I agree with her.

A dead blog

 Hello, welcome to my dead blog. I started it after I was molested. I was about 11 when I published this blog, as well as a youtube account attached to it. Both died with the little boy I used to be. I remember how I would cry in the shower, and I didn't understand why. I remember when I didn't understand why all the will to publish on this blog or to publish videos completely left me. I was depressed, and I had no idea why.

You know that memory repression is a defense mechanism? When someone experiences something too traumatic for the mind to handle, it represses the memory. It makes them forget. Yeah, your brain forgets, but your body never forgets. So you have all of these triggers that you don't even understand, and you're lost in a pool of confusion.

I know no one will ever find my blog again. Maybe, I don't want them to. I just... want to disappear. I wish the world would forget me, so that they wouldn't miss me when I'm gone. For too long, I've felt inadequite, like I'll never be enough for anyone. My girlfriend tells me that I'm enough for her, but she tells a different story when she's crying. I think she's afraid to admit that she believes the same things about me that I believe about myself. I think that, in the deepest of grief, I am alone -- there is no mortal on earth who understands, or truly desires to understand. Not even I understand. I am lost in the black confusion that is life. After about eight attempts in the past four years, being in and out of psych wards, I wonder why I even am alive. It's not like anything in this world is enjoyable. And when she's angry at me, I don't think she wants me enough for me to want myself. I don't want myself. I feel like I am trapped inside the skin of a monster, who committed the greatest moral atrocities the mind could ever imagine -- yet I do not understand the monster. I am not like him. I want to be free of him.

I'm three months clean of pornography. Crazy, I think my addiction began close to the time I published this blog. It seems like children who have been molested incline to one of two extremes: 1) never wanting to be intimate again, 2) being absolutely obsessed with sexual desire. I was the latter, and I blamed myself. I hated myself, and I still do. I try not to, though. Jesus once said, "Love your neighbor AS YOURSELF", giving a clear command to love myself. Since I'm a Christian, and fight to serve Him to the best of my ability, then it follows that I should obey His command.

Maybe I don't hear His voice sometimes because my hatred for myself is so deep, and sin makes us deaf to the words of God. I am trying to forgive myself, but the greatest difficulty is...

I don't want to.