Trust, Tests and Turmoil

“we were too dumb to run to dead to die this was never my world took the angel away I killed myself to make everybody pay I would have told her then that she was the only thing that I could love in this dying world but the simple word of love itself I would rather die than run away this was never my world they took the angel away I killed myself to make everybody pay this was never my world took the angel away this was never my world they took the angel away I killed myself to make everybody pay we were too dumb to run to dead to die… its broken and bleeding and you can never repair and we can never repair

Some of us are merely born to die” –Manson

The trail of tears that runs from my eyes into a fairly steady drip from my chin is beginning to sting like it is eating the skin away to preserve this moment in time on my flesh forever. It is already etched deep into my soul, this pain that is, it marks my body in what had once been blood ridden lines and now the streaks rolling down my raw face once again remind me of how much it hurts to be alive. Not only is my heart broken, my soul in turmoil and my mind preoccupied with other just as potentially devastating things but now I am feeling the full onslaught of what should be a happy occasion –the birth of my child. 

However, I wasn’t so lucky. 

She was ripped from me by those who have no God, no higher power than themselves. We were given no chance to live or to die on our own. Oh how I wish I had died as well. How profound this hurt is because she is gone and I am still here. How sick it makes me that she had no shot at life. I love her. I miss her every day.

I find myself wondering why she would be given to me for only a few short weeks and then be taken back in such a brutal manner. Was God testing me? If so, I failed. It seems as though that’s all my life has grown to be, a big bad test that I forgot to study for. 

For me to trust you is a big deal. I don’t give my trust easily. I give love easily because we are told to love, unconditionally. I do that, regardless of whether people like it or not. Love is and always will be the key to sanctity and safety within the confines of our homes, our towns and even our world. If you so believe, love is also the true path into the heavens as God so loved the world he gave His only begotten Son.

Love and trust are two very different things yet often go hand in hand, especially in interpersonal relationships. I don’t have that luxury to just blindly trust. With me you start at zero out of one hundred, one hundred being full on trust in everything you do or say. Not too many people make it up past about 15-20 on my scale. I can open up to you, I can talk to you freely about my life because I have no shame, and I refuse to hide or lie by omission for the sake of raising myself up to those around me, however when it comes to trusting you with my emotions, with my heart, with my pain I can speak to you very matter of fact so that no matter what I say I don’t get hurt or I can talk to you with genuine emotion. Tears rushing down and soaking my face and shirt below as I literally place all of my hurt in your hands in hopes that you can make it better, that you can give me that ever coveted release, even just for a few moments so that I can relax, not worry, and have a sense of normalcy. Just for a moment. 

Yet every time I trust, every time I move someone up a notch or two into a place where I genuinely feel safe with not only my most intimate emotions but that I won’t get hurt because of them, that seems to be exactly what happens. I fall, quickly backwards as my trust in you is broken and the floor drops out from under me and I have to catch hold of myself before I am shattered once again into a thousand pieces that never fit back together as perfectly as the times before. Each time I break, tiny chards that one cannot even see are left behind, walked on, stepped on and often cut into your feet leaving a small trail of blood to remind you that I had broken even when it’s no longer visible those misplaced chards are still there waiting to cut, to tear, to remind you that I am still going to cry out in pain, that I cannot be walked on because I am in too many pieces. I am too broken. I am not strong like I was before. I have been put back together so many times that the scars are etched through my flesh deeply into my soul, my entire being.

The very few people who made it to full on trust don’t have my full on trust anymore, not for the most part. I have been blamed, punished, scrutinized. My words have been bent to say what they had never intended to say and that breaks my heart because I don’t say things so people can try and interpret them and read between the lines. Word for word I say it as I feel and I feel what I say.

Right now, I am hurt. 

I am broken.

Beaten.

Bruised. 
Fractured, never to be repaired to being whole again.

Who am I? What am I? Am I alive? Am I dead? Am I trapped in-between never to experience true joy or happiness or even death? I feel as though I am both in heaven and in hell, waiting for a resolution that will never come.