Dear [Redacted],
There is no point to this message. I have nothing to say to you and never have. There is no revelation. There is no revelation.
I feel this bogging weight that tethers me to it, dragging me along and throughout the days. It’s like something huge inside, rising up from nowhere, towering over everything and making me feel small, scared, running from my own shadow. Depression is a disease and my soul is rotting. The rot starts slow, but it spreads, eating away at what’s left until it’s all decay. I’m sorry. I’m sorry. There is nothing for you to say, and there never has been. That is my revelation//the nothing, the empty space where something should be.
I sit here with my Noise, only in silence. The Noise is constant, buzzing in the quiet, making the emptiness louder. Begin again, they say, tomorrow you will awake and begin again. But what if in all of the days past, I have yet to move myself closer? All those mornings, waking to the same drag, the same weight pressing down like a giant fist ready to crush. Begin again? Really, to begin again? Another day askew, tilted wrong, no balance. Where is thy Savior? Hiding, gone, leaving me to this pull that never lets up. I’m sorry for even asking.
It’s almost like everything here is ensconced with an air of Unworthiness. It covers me, sticks to me, makes every breath feel wrong. Oh to be washed by something more Holy than water, and thicker than Blood//something that could clean the rot, stop the spread before it’s too late. But nothing comes, nothing changes. I’m sorry, I’m sorry my friend, there is no Revelation. Just the weight growing, the giant inside getting bigger, scaring away any hope.
I should consider finding sermon, perhaps revel in the rest of the Days assigned to my name, would God then feel convinced of my worth? If I sat there, listening to words about redemption, about flaws that can turn into something better, would that lift the tether? Would that allow for some courage, if not in this life, but the next? The next life//maybe there the weight isn’t so heavy, the rot doesn’t sting. But here, it’s all I know. Sorry for thinking it could be different.
Where do we begin, when nothing ends? The cycle just keeps going, no start, no finish, just endless drag. I feel Folded and discarded, an echo falling into a bottomless chamber, bouncing off walls that never end. It just doesn’t make sense to me sometimes//the way the weight pulls, like a flaw deep in me that’s supposed to help but only destroys. I’m sorry, God. I’m sorry. I am so unworthy. That is my revelation, the one thing that’s clear in all this mess.
I cannot bare look at you, friend. Your eyes would see right through to the rot, to the giant lurking, ready to smash everything. In 300 years, what is left of us? Dust, nothing, forgotten like the ancestors who probably felt the same pull, the same unworthy drag. Did our ancestors think the same? And who were they? Names lost, lives erased by time’s weight. That is the point, my friend, this Weight needs to be lifted, slowly, but all at once//like confronting the flaw head-on, winning by letting it break me. Rotting en mass, the ground we walk upon is littered with the dead Memory of yellowing Bones. I miss the childlike enamor of being persistently ignorant, consistently riddled, not knowing the rot was coming. I bet someday, I’ll never die. Stupid thought, but it sticks. I’m sorry, God. I’m sorry. I have gone wrong, and each day I cannot celebrate your eternal command, I feel bestowed into the pits of my own Hells//the ones I built from this flaw, this destructive thing inside.
That is my Revelation-that I am sorry for being here. Sorry for existing with this weight, this giant rising up and scattering my thoughts like those tiny figures fleeing in panic. I am sorry for the spirit in my flesh, caged and confined to a blue-gray cold, where the chill seeps in and the rot thrives. A dragging of Limbs through testaments of Mud, each step slower, heavier, the flaw morphing from survival to ruin. Do not leave me, God, for I am scared of the void, as it swallows us Wholly//the endless nothing where the giant finally falls, but takes everything with it. If you must, then leave, leave me to them, have them pick me apart, deep into the late hours of a days Finale. Scatter what remains of me, let the pieces dissolve like the blood spirals that never stop turning. I’m sorry god. That is my revelation.
∆Remember Us∆ 