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P33ish056: Dear Diary, I Hate That I Have These Questions

Dear Diary,

Today is November 7th.

Exactly five months.

Twenty full weeks.

And I think it's about time. Truly.

It has now become embarrassing how stuck in yesterday I feel. And the past twenty-four hours have been especially horrifyingly mortifying, no thanks to my unique case of PTSD: post-texting stress disorder. I slipped, Diary. I couldn't hit my 7-week mark, again. I feel weak. I feel super terrible; udderly stupid, like I showed up on stage naked before an audience without even realizing it. But maybe I should not be thinking about the 'audience'; maybe then this wouldn't choke so bad.

But I need to not keep slipping up like this. I owe it to myself to get some sort of exorcism: to let myself forget. To stop wishing. To stop waiting. To stop...mourning. I can't be this person, it has messed with my flow long enough. And every day that passes without a hint at an answer to my many weepy prayers just pushes my anxiety closer to the surface, leading me into corridors I have no business roaming: like wondering about the efficacy of (my) prayers. And I can't have that. My faith is my life's core, I would be empty if I ever lost it. It would tantamount to losing me. And what would I have then? So maybe it's time to pack up and concede to the forces on this one, admit they're too strong for my mustard seed faith to handle; because it's either that or have myself asking questions that would more than rob me of everything keeping my feet on the ground.

I need help. Maybe some sort of twelve-step plan to letting go, but I'll take simply making it through Christmas and to New Year's without another slip. If I can go a clean seven weeks, maybe then there'd be a hope of a win: the kind that keeps my face forward. Five months. Twenty weeks--by my own count. Sounds like an awfully long time to spend staring out at an empty horizon after a ship that has long sailed, wishful-thinking. Too long. Pathetic even. Outright sad. I should make a list perhaps, to keep my head in the game. I'm sure there's a ton of points that'd help: starting with the lopsidedness of this inability to un-cling and make peace with the deadness of the situation. I need to learn to let myself want someone else, too, whatever my fantasies. Because, however hard it kicks my pride, this was a fail: I didn't get this right, and there shall be no do-overs; and it's about time I got that in a frame. I just need something, anything, to just keep me reigned in from making another spectacle of myself. I need to un-anchor myself. And if it must take a twelve-step, burn-when-done ritual, then so be it.

I need to not want to fix it anymore.

'Cause I can't.

But deep down, Diary, I must be honest and admit that my faith in the fix-it-all ability of prayers has been messed with. I hate that I feel like this--that I have this thinking. But I do. I almost feel like it doesn't matter now the "better" that comes later; I truly would have loved to know that at the end of the day, we're not just all left to time, or que sera sera. I needed that, Diary. I had everything else to go but that: that knowing. I have never wanted anything as badly. Nothing. And it would have done me several generations' worth of good to have had that...cinch, on prayer being everything it's famed to be. Because I did it all, without ceasing. I made sure about my motivation too. And I fought. Consistently. Like I never have before. Downright got in the mud. Because I needed to know. Because never in my life have I been in that if-you're-real-show-yourself situation. Never quite had a specific prayer before too. But I got there, and it was hard: throwing it all down for one thing for this long; damn near split my mind in two and outright turned my core inside out. But I did it anyway. Because I needed to know...for later: for future battles. I needed a win--one win--to inspire my pursuit of other wins, from my knees.

And I got nothing, Diary.

Nobody came to save me.

Or at least it don't feel like they did.

But maybe time would prove me wrong. :)

And I think that that right there is the root of my anxiety: I am truly afraid of there probably not being any 'divine tweaking' to {most} things. And I hate that I am: afraid. Every time I read a "realistic" material about there being "no one coming to save you" and prayer being a "waste of time," my spirit revolts, and I drop down to my knees and break down. "Please come through," I'll plead, "don't let them be right." Because--even though my life never entailed much more than a thank you Jesus or Lord have mercy or please help me fix this--this is a huge part of who I am, it's all I've known, the alternative is just too...dark. Darker than I am used to. Even more scary is the fact that although I won't lose my worship or stop reading my bible, I don't think that there's anything anyone could say to me now that would fix my shifted view on praying or receiving. I think we all just wade through time, while doing the best we can—faith, worship, pray—to be at peace while we wait for it to happen for us. I think that at the end of the day, we all just waiting on time.

Yes, Diary: I wondered if I maybe made too much of a mess, too. Or maybe it just was too ruined to repair? But let's face it, people make worse messes. And they don't even get after-guilt about it.

They don't pray either. :)

And they get all the chances.

But what do we get?

All that binding and casting and supplicating...


I really hate that I'm thinking like this. I feel so...disillusioned. But the Talitha in me still hopes that there'd be a sign from the skies that knocks this thinking out of my mind, though, 'cause it feels like a literal fight now. But I'll settle for just having these haunting thoughts out of my head in the meantime. Because this is my whole life blown into splinters here.

But hey, God. If you're seeing this, I hope that you don't get mad at me. I do believe that grander plans do exist--and that they are Yours. No one else's. But I just would have loved that confirmation: that prayer actually could sort anything, even messes like mine. But now I'm just... I don't know, Lord. I don't. Please send some light. Because I'm down here wondering if maybe faith is just easier when we aren't asking for specifics, or on a deadline, or losing it all at once; or trying to change anything. And so we just call the things that (inevitably) happen with time, after a prolonged wait, the "answer" to our prayers.

But are they, really?

Or did time just happen?

I really do hate that I have these questions...


A/N: Thank you for reading. Please don't go getting all 'sorry' on me now, lol. And don't go telling on me to my Sunday School teacher. Putting this into words really does take a load off; and now I realize I probably should have done this a while back, but stubbornness :). I am certain too that I'm not the only Christian who feels like this, wondering if "this thing" is working. I can't be that special...or can I? But whatever the case, I'm going to pray for peace on this matter anyway: that's a prayer imma pray until something happens. And hope it works; and it comes 😊.  Pray for me, will ya? 


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