Detachment

I fell off the deep end.
Pessimistic and prideful, I thought I had life figured out, but my perceptions
were shattered.
Call it what you want: I started to backslide in front of God and everyone.
I stopped praying for
months, as if that would solve the issue of constantly screwing up.
I took a detour into anxiety.
I couldn’t sleep as much with a load on my chest that God used to handle when
the
devil wasn’t such a threat. I guess the byproduct of failing is the buildup of
stress.
Now it’s all my fault.
Oh Christ,
And Father God, don’t let
me leave your sight.
Don’t give up on me, please.
Don’t give up on me.
Oh Christ,
And Father God, I’m
terrified to die.
Don’t give up on me.
Please don’t give up on
me.
I discontinued my writing habits.
The verses were as weak as my faith.
Without a vision, the pages never filled to completion.
No matter how hard I strived
to create something beautiful,
the lines remained worthless. They couldn’t find their purpose.
Was it the same with me, God?
Oh Christ,
And Father God, don’t let
me leave your sight.
Don’t give up on me.
Please, God.
Don’t give up on me.
Oh Christ,
And Father God, I’m
terrified to die.
Don’t give up on me.
Please don’t give up on
me.
Was it worth it, all this worry,
all this guilt?
In your so-called loving intentions, you left me hopeless, broken, and
confused.
I don’t understand, and will I ever?
Will I ever comprehend the
point of struggling like I am?
How can I believe all things are for my good like You say they are,
When You destroyed everything I held dear and left me to cope with it all?
Did I lose my faith along the way?
Was it ever there to lose in the first place?
Self-defeat…
Self-defeat…