Why are You Downcast O My Soul?

I feel like I’m drowning.

I feel like I’m getting eaten alive.

I feel like I want to quit. Give up. Quitter, yea, say it if you want.

How many more twelve hour work days? Then getting in late the next day, getting reprimanded, then working another twelve hours to try and make up for it. How many more weeks til the next day off? How many more months til long Christmas vacation, unpaid Christmas vacation. How many more years of working til I can retire.

 

I feel so far from home.

I miss home.

I just want to be home.

How many hours to fly home. How many hours to drive home. How far to walk home.

A three hour time difference. Really? Are we really that far away, that our clocks read different things. I miss my mom’s smell. I miss her smell so much.

 

How many more drafts. How many more times do I need to rewrite this in order for you to like it. When is it going to sound good enough to print? Why can’t it just come easier. Why is writing so hard for me. Gosh I hope my page isn’t next to that one writers story about some one-night stand, that ish was intense and so well written. Maybe I shouldn’t have pitched anything at all.

 

How much longer must I wait.

How many more boys.

How many more stupid aim conversations. How many more drinks. How many more streetwear parties. I’m not trying to throw myself at you. It’s not cute. Or right. How many more hearts will break before it goes down. mine or his or theirs or whatever. How many more girls do I need to hear about. How many more engagements, how many more weddings. Where you at fool? Where the freak are you? I tire of listening to Brooke Fraser Love is Waiting.

 

How much longer will this discontentment reign in my heart. How much longer will this numbness turned discontent turned deep sadness covered by pleasant smiles and kind words last.

 

How much longer will You stay silent Lord. How much longer am I going to be this downcast. Why do words that hold power read like they’re empty. For chapters and chapters, for pages and pages and pages. I’ve never been this low and I don’t like it. It’s not me Lord. It’s not me. But it won’t go away. It clings, it sticks, it’s completely invading and intrusive. The only solution is to disregard. Disregard and work. Work a lot. Forget about it. Fuggedaboutit. Work sleep.

 

 

Lord. I just want to hear Your voice. Feel your touch. Stop looking to other things, for approval of mere man. I don’t want to care so much about boys. I don’t want to stress so much. I don’t want to be emo. I want to find all security, all joy, all trust in You. But I can’t right now. Help me Lord. You’re the Only One that can do it. Be pleased to change this rock of a heart Lord.

 

Psalm 18:16-19

He rescued me because He delighted in me.

 

Rescue me Lord. Save me from myself.