My brother thinks that church was something that you did. Your parents expected you to obey. And I agree. His experience was different than my own. He didn’t absorb the world I did. The church I knew isn’t the same as the one he knows and knew. He may have gotten hints about it’s imperfections over the years, but not quite the way I did.

I’m smart, right? I can use words that seem impressive. Yet at the same time I am ridiculous in trying to justify things that cannot be justified to the ends I need them to make sense. I live in my own hole of sadness letting the world exist around here and I just observe. I want to live in that world, damnit! It’s my turn to live!

But how…. That’s The question. Mental illness literally makes everything seem…. Unknown. Nothing makes sense. Or it does for a bit, but then it’s gone again. I can say I’m a good person. My internal struggle says otherwise. I could be the pope and somehow I’d still say no one loves me.

I have to figure out a way to stop doing what I do and start doing what I don’t. And while it makes sense right now, I’ll wake up tomorrow and probably think I was on something when I wrote this. ( Truly, I wasn’t on anything)

I’m painfully aware of how interesting things are that I can never teach. It’s just incredibly interesting. Disfunction is interesting in the way it’s interpreted to the inside and outside world. I want to be someone who can use insight that I have to spread a message that is important. I feel like I have a lot of wisdom to impart. (Yep… Still serious)

Okay… Almost midnight. I’m almost off quarantine and I’ve gotta get to bed so I don’t choke going back to the second job.