Sunday, January 19, 2014


Hey reader, I apologize, it has been veritable ages since my last post. If you follow me occasionally, then I thank you. If you see this on Facebook and just check it out out of curiosity, well, prepare to be a little shocked.

I like to think that I'm an honest person. At least, that is what I try to be. I have an extremely rocky history with honesty. My father, brothers, sister, and mother can all attest to that. There was a point in my life when every other sentence that escaped my life was a lie. And lying only leads to worse actions. Coming to bible college, I have indeed learned the value of honesty. Not necessarily "in-your-face" honesty, but simply being yourself, and then being astounded as you notice that as a whole, you begin to change. You begin to be more honest with yourself, especially once you realize that the only person in this world that you can ever really change is yourself.

Anyway, I guess I have a few confessions to make, as the more I allow them to float around in my small brain, the sicker inside I feel, which transforms itself into an ugly monster of rage and envy. So perhaps getting my thoughts out, in my favorite form (aside from music) of communication with people; writing. Not to be confused with that abomination known as texting, or facebook wall posts. Blecck..

I am an unhappy person. I am a bitter person. I am.. a very lonely person. So intriguing yet? Yea.. I know.

I am unhappy, because I am bitter. I am bitter, because I am lonely.

I attend a small bible college near the border of Wyoming, set in a small town called LaGrange. My student body is like, two hundred students-ish. I often, well, everyday, question why I am here. Why would one subject themselves to the ridiculous segregation, pier pressure, and jerkishness that is a common thread of attitude here? What force could possibly uproot a small town boy, from his chaotic and already lonely life, and dump into an equally chaotic and lonely life at a bible college? I have spent many nights, almost every night, out on the highway that runs through town, zooming through the darkness on my longboard. I love my longboard. Probably more than I love my care. Naa, I DO love it more than my car. My brother gave me that longboard.

Every night, (when the wind isn't that bad) I try to get out on my longboard for some exercise. I love feeling the wind rushing through my hair, I love looking down at the road, and seeing nothing but a blur. It reminds me of one of the coolest most memorable times in my life, when I got to pilot a small airplane all by myself. The feeling of being on top of the world, of being able to just turn the controls and just go where ever, was more effective than any drug. I've never forgotten that feeling. Freedom. A word that is losing its meaning and inspiration more and more every day. When I hop on my longboard, I feel a little memory of that freedom. In my mind, that longboard is like a platform that allows me to stand just a few inches taller than this tiresome world, even if only for a short time.

But even that longboard can't whisk me away from the feeling of loneliness that resides here. Here, I get up, get dressed, and go to class. Where more often than not, I am passed over, forgotten. As a usually empty seat next to me demonstrates. When I am noticed, I look into the eyes of the person talking to me, and see a look of annoyance. Like even the thought of wasting breath on me is a pain to them. When I see that look, a very unmistakable look, I feel as small as I always feel, when I am with my own family. Where I am the smallest. Where I am the youngest. Where there is no heart, where there is no conscience. Where a kind word is almost always no where to be found. I have had to endure the searing pain of having to realize that I don't get to see my own mother for months on end if I am even that lucky. I have to go toa school where the majority of these students have a healthy close nit family. They don't even understand how blessed they are. How every time I hear that they receive a letter or a care package from their families, I can barely keep myself together. I wish, oh I wish from the bottom of my heart that I didn't feel so alone. That I could feel the comforting warmth of knowing that my mom and dad were happy together, that when I go home for holidays, the house would have that same warmth and brightness, instead of the darkness, the loneliness that festers there. I wish, I didn't feel the pain or the weight of that wound anymore. I hate it with all my heart. I wish I could understand why people avoid me here. Why they see nothing of interest in me. I've even had people forget I am even here. I wish I could feel like I belong. Like I'm part of something again. Something that doesn't get abandoned, or forgotten.

I am tired of feeling like my heart isn't worth giving. That there is nothing special about it. I thought for an entire summer, and fall semester, that the actual girl of my dreams, was attending my very school. That I had finally found the love I have dreamed, written, and wished for. My twin, the better half. The piece of my heart that I am missing. The last line of my love song. I was wrong. Another had already won her. When that happened, I cried for the first time in months, the last time of which was right after I had to say goodbye to my mother, right before I left for my first semester back at college, as she was moving away, to a place far away from me. It was then I realized that Home, had nothing left for me. I took that wrenching pain to realize that I was missing out on what could have been the happiest thing in my life. And I did. I missed it. I missed her. I feel like I have been paying for it everyday. Everyday that I wake up at this place, I have to realize how alone I am. That I have missed moments in my life that I should have treasured more. I wish with all my heart I could've known that my mom would one day leave, so I could've made more of the times I had with her. She forever holds a very special place in my heart. As someone who has always sacrificed everything she had to be more then what life tried to make her to be. She was my best friend, my biggest fan, and when I felt alone, she didn't allow me to grow up to be a boring colorless man. I think whatever hope and life I have left in me, that makes me smile, that makes life seem a little brighter, is when I think of my mom. It was remembering her that inspired me to first try to play the piano here at school, in the darkness of a classroom, it was memories of her that began to flow out of me and into notes. I've never felt like I have been more honest with myself than when I have listened to the sounds that echo back at me from a piano. Or sad. I miss my mother. I hate being forced to grow up in this stupid world alone. In a school where I am appalled at people's cold and calloused behavior, because they don't know the value of people. I do. Because some of the people that I love most in this world, I almost never see. Please, reader. Don't think of me as some whiney college kid who backs himself into a corner by his own doing. I hope you don't think less of me for venting. I have felt lately like I have no way of opening myself up. So if you are reading this, and you share residence with me at this school, please know that I don't hate you, or blame you for anything. As is obvious, I am bearing many crosses, and are becoming quite heavy for me. I do not expect you to understand my pain. So here's something for you reader. Please. Value the people in your life. Don't just pass them over. Don't think that they have nothing special about themselves that isn't worth your time or effort. They may just be someone who could change your very life. God didn't love and die for the elect that He thought were "cool" or "hip". He died and LIVES for ALL. Don't. miss. out. on. the. moments. you. have. to. share. with. people. As I am learning, sometimes those times end, and you don't realize until years have passed, that it's

too late to go back. I await the next chapter of my life. I know God is in control, and I thank him for allowing me to remember, and if possible. Atleast grow in some way from these scars I carry.
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