- Jun 13, 2004
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No...I'm no prisoner. She doesn't know all the details and I am finally allowed to go where I want to go. Just last summer she still wasn't allowing me to hang out with certain people (after I'd lived in Philly for a year...the things I'd done, the things I'd seen...if she knew...I don't know if she'd stop me from going anywhere or let me go everywhere)....but now, I'm finally able to do what I want...but she expects to know where I'm going, when I'm going, and when I plan on being back. She's not containing me and keeping me at home, she merely wants to know where I went and who I was with in case I don't show up that night.
By nature, I'm a writer. Lately, I've deviated from that. When I write, it's because of something. Something I don't like. When I'm depressed, I write. When I get into certain states of mind, I write...the weird thing is (and it's chemical, I just haven't figure it out, but I've been reading up on it a bit and trying to wrap my head around it, but I dont' think there's much info on it yet), these "states of mind" aren't good. They are beyond bad. The last time I went into one was in January. I was awake all night and asleep all day (which was horrible sleep, so I might not have been getting much REM). I was going insane. I found out that I write some really amazing stuff while I'm on drugs. It's really sad. It makes me angry. And I miss it. I miss those poems...the words that flowed out of me as if they belonged on that page. A lot of times, I wouldn't remember the trips, but I had those words, barely legible, on the page, waiting for me afterwards when I came out of the near-coma-like state. God's renewing that in me, the creativity, the writing, He's taking it back for good...but for right now, I feel broken, like I'm missing something. I've got 66 pages, two columned, 9 point font of poems...My seven years of hell. I've got a few hundred poems...do you know how many of them are positive? A few...double digits below 25. That's what God's doing...he's going to give me His Truth to write. I get the intense feeling that he's going to take that twisted pain, the horrible struggle I've been through, and show the world how He can take that and turn it into beauty. And I do need to write it down. I've shared a lot with my best friend (he's 40, once my pastor)...but I know I need to share more with a few other people...God sent them. There's a reason we're together. There's a band of us...the first band of people my age I've ever had...I think this time, we'll stay together as a group to help one another.
Trish...you're solid. I can tell. God was right to call on you. If you can read through the cryptographs that I write to find what needs to be addressed, do it. I'm much more lonely than I could ever have thought, but I'm slowly working out the pieces...I don't feel like this as often as I used to and I mostly only feel this way now because I miss the familiar comforting things that I once knew...the darkness that is in the darkness...
Whomever i choose to acknowledge gains the power. You put a nail through a rock tonight...light shined in and burnt me. And it was good.
By nature, I'm a writer. Lately, I've deviated from that. When I write, it's because of something. Something I don't like. When I'm depressed, I write. When I get into certain states of mind, I write...the weird thing is (and it's chemical, I just haven't figure it out, but I've been reading up on it a bit and trying to wrap my head around it, but I dont' think there's much info on it yet), these "states of mind" aren't good. They are beyond bad. The last time I went into one was in January. I was awake all night and asleep all day (which was horrible sleep, so I might not have been getting much REM). I was going insane. I found out that I write some really amazing stuff while I'm on drugs. It's really sad. It makes me angry. And I miss it. I miss those poems...the words that flowed out of me as if they belonged on that page. A lot of times, I wouldn't remember the trips, but I had those words, barely legible, on the page, waiting for me afterwards when I came out of the near-coma-like state. God's renewing that in me, the creativity, the writing, He's taking it back for good...but for right now, I feel broken, like I'm missing something. I've got 66 pages, two columned, 9 point font of poems...My seven years of hell. I've got a few hundred poems...do you know how many of them are positive? A few...double digits below 25. That's what God's doing...he's going to give me His Truth to write. I get the intense feeling that he's going to take that twisted pain, the horrible struggle I've been through, and show the world how He can take that and turn it into beauty. And I do need to write it down. I've shared a lot with my best friend (he's 40, once my pastor)...but I know I need to share more with a few other people...God sent them. There's a reason we're together. There's a band of us...the first band of people my age I've ever had...I think this time, we'll stay together as a group to help one another.
Trish...you're solid. I can tell. God was right to call on you. If you can read through the cryptographs that I write to find what needs to be addressed, do it. I'm much more lonely than I could ever have thought, but I'm slowly working out the pieces...I don't feel like this as often as I used to and I mostly only feel this way now because I miss the familiar comforting things that I once knew...the darkness that is in the darkness...
Whomever i choose to acknowledge gains the power. You put a nail through a rock tonight...light shined in and burnt me. And it was good.
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