Sometimes I Wish I Weren’t Me

I am not thoughtless enough to complain about my circumstances.  I know my blessings far exceed my merit.  But the person inside…the one nobody sees…  Sometimes, I hate her.

I am sick to death of my lack of originality.  I battle the same demons over and over.  I am plagued repeatedly by insecurities that don’t even bother with camouflage.  They tell me the same ridiculous story and I buy it every time.  And just when I think I am gaining ground…that I have learned to recognize the lies and the deceit for what they are…they strut right back into my life and own me.  And I am sent reeling from the surprise of it.  Like some pathetic dog that crawls back to an abusive master, tale wagging, thinking that somehow this time it will be different, only to be kicked in the face.  Again.

I want to be strong.  I don’t want it to matter what people think of me.  It matters.  I don’t want to need to feel significant.  I need it.  I don’t want to have expectations of those closest to me.  I have them.  What is wrong with me?

I am tired. And sometimes I don’t want to fight any more. I don’t want to submit.  I don’t want to obey.  I don’t want to expose myself to the attacks of an enemy whose cunning is too much for me.  I want to be someone so impotent and inconsequential that he won’t care what becomes of me.  I just want to be done. Would it matter?  If I just withdraw from the game, who would care, really?  What would be different?

I wonder.

What kind of arrogance is it to think anyone wants to know about the crap inside my heart?  My friend, Anne, tells me that when we share our stories, no matter how dark and difficult they may be, we give others permission to speak.  We help them understand they are not alone.

To the best of my ability, I have used the pages of this blog to share beauty.  Words, images, and stories that speak of transcendence and the otherworldly.  But there is a dark side to the world beyond.  And that is where I find myself at present.  It’s not the first time.  Not nearly. But it is the first time I have been sure I had to write about it.

I’m not sure why.

“Have mercy on me, O God,
according to your unfailing love…
…Restore to me the joy of your salvation
and grant me a willing spirit, to sustain me.”

Psalm 51: 1,12