the second post... where i say so much less than i'd like to say...

if you haven't read the post that came before this one, start there... this is really just here as a realization that i have ten million things that i want to say, exactly zero things that are ready for vocalization, a pocket full of contradictions that are tearing holes in my new pants, and a desperate need for things to be different than they are.
there is no plan behind this post. i find that's when i'm my most bare, although there is a consistant reality, or at least the dream of reality, throughout these posts. it's a dream that i find myself dying to relinquish, wishing i could die to relinquish, wishing i could embrace, and hoping to embrace to find a life i love.
contradictions.
i have written a goodish number of little essays and treatises on the subject, each picking a different reason for the struggle, anything from pop culture to the church coming under fire as the culprit, or one of them, at least, behind this confusion, this lack of conviction swimming and drowning in an ocean of desire for conviction.
but i don't want to sound smart here, not to you, and certainly not to myself. i'm tired of sounding smart to myself, losing myself in my own rediculous smugness, like having the answers, or even a handful of them that work once in a while, is some grand accomplishment, before going home to wonder why i hate things so much if i have so many of the solutions at my disposal just waiting for my signal to go into the battlefield of my mind and slaughter confusion in a victory for holiness and goodness and all the stuff that i don't have. and it just makes me sicker to myself when i'm capable of making others believe that i have some kind of insight, like convincing them i love being thin and i can't get enough of the taste of my own finger, while they applaud my subtle emaciation.
but if i had real answers, i would be able to use them. wouldn't i? if i had a solution for my abstract laziness, then i would be efficient... if i had a solution for my crippling insecurities, i wouldn't regress... there are so many things that would change... so many... if they could...

lately, every time my mind is not as full as it could be, i find a persistant thought lurking in the scattered vacancies... and the thought scares me. i hate god. that's what my mind is telling me. and i try to convince myself otherwise, and sometimes it works... but a lot of the time, i'm not really convinced of my own sincerity. and that's a sure sign that god can see right through me. i want to ask for prayer, but at the same time, i'm convinced that it doesn't matter, that it won't work, and that i don't want god's attention at all. i want to touch the stove... i want him to smell my hand burning... i want it to hurt him...

i'm still not really saying anything... all i'm saying i guess is that, as usual, i'm immensely tired from all the struggle, i don't see the point, i'm tired of being a hypocrite, i'm tired of caring whether or not i seem like one most days, i'm tired of believing a set of things that i can't seem to uphold one day only to believe a different set that i can accomplish with ease but can't live with the next day, i'm tired of being too immoral to change but too moral to shield myself in a comfortable indifference.

and i'm tired of failing. it's all just a little too perpetual for my tastes. i enjoy the taste of my own blood enough to cut myself over and over again, but i hate the months in between as they heal and itch and get ignored by the people who i just want to ask the right question so that i can tell them that i'm not okay, that i want to scratch, that i wish some days i had no arms so that the option and the choice and the power wouldn't have to be mine, that sometimes i look at the chainsaw in the garage and a glimmer comes into my eye that i can feel spreading into my heart and mind...

anyway... like i said at the beginning, i'm really saying nothing... and i'm doing it in such a whining, petulant way that i'm sure to alienate anyone who might have once thought my blog something worth reading... and that's fine, this is really just one of those posts for me, where i can vent safely to the computer and not have to deal with all the terrifying mess of talking to an actual person. at least windows, when it chooses to reject me, has an explainable reason, even if it's not one that i immediately understand.

if you want someting more concrete, you'll just have to wait.
i have work to get to.

i'm so tired.
and it's only january...