Maximillian Amadeus Banzai (banzai) wrote,
Maximillian Amadeus Banzai

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Bad memories

Haven't been myself of late, though I don't recognize who I am instead. That's not entirely true— there are moments of fearful recognition, flashes of things past, yet to be, and never. Hard to say what the triggers are: sometimes a scent, sometimes a phrase, sometimes a feeling. Last night I nearly broke down, faced with the possibility of more loss for which I would bear the responsibility. I've lost enough. I've failed enough. No more. Please.

I'm desperate. I don't know how to persevere without killing my heart. I need God to make things better or make me a better man. He is in the business of both, but I grow restless and faint in the waiting.

My everyday life knows little of my wrestling, though the strain shows occasionally. Focus eludes me. I keep a lid on, as much as I can, and return home exhausted. I know why so much of me shut down for so long before.

But it's not before, not anymore. I feel alive and dead inside all at once. I'm so tired of myself. Press on. Persevere. Have faith.

Come, Lord Jesus.

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