Seeing where he is, watching the death in his eyes, and the forgotten grasp of reality breaks the very heart beating here deeply set in this cage of ribs. Watching this abuse is like watching someone place a gun in their mouth, pointing upward hoping not to miss the brain. A single bullet in the chamber and as the trigger is pressed back, a dichotomy occurs: one wishes for life and yet at the same time for death. Suicide. Reaching out trying to pull it out of their hands; you wrestle them. But they take you out at the knees, inflamed in rage and passionate defeat. And in the corner you blend with the wall and you whisper, defeated by the brokenness that abounds about your whole person, “please, please don’t do this.” But nothing works. Nothings are the worst of all. The whip crashes on their back, as the slave driver pushes them forward, pushes them farther, pushes them deeper. They fall, fall, fall. They crash head first into the ground, deep under the weight of its control. A slave of the poison. And nothings fall around them, deep inside of them; nothings. It drives them. It keeps them alive [dead]. The driving force is not that they desire to live, that they desire a future, or that they desire to find purpose; but that the voices of doubt are put to rest, the depression squelched, the pain pushed aside. As the flood of euphoria hits moments are nothing. Moments that cause time to pass, stand still. Floating and entranced by this new found “Eden” today and tomorrow, everything seems to be this poison. The slave driver offers hope. Offers freedom from the pain of worthlessness and the nothings that create a urgency where death is more appealing. But this “hope”, this “freedom” is followed by pain, by destruction, by fear and worthlessness leading further toward demise. Wreaking havoc in your mind, your soul, and your spirit. The slave driver: instant pleasure, followed by utter desolation and a low, lower than ever before. The crystallized version of life, the powdered form of living. The deeply inhaled hope for amnesia.
I have been privileged with a really hard past. I know, privileged, right? I watched things and experienced things that have torn me apart. That have shattered my soul. When the destruction and those things were occurring, I didn’t look at them as a privilege. Life has taught me that death, no matter how appealing it may seem, is not worth it. I have walked and wandered in the wilderness. I have touched the other side and lived deep within it. I risked everything; my life and my future. I watched death occur and couldn’t stop it. I know that reason is how we interpret events. I believe that it is not events that happen with a reason, but is us who form and take reason from those events. It’s been almost a year since death happened. Since death occurred. And I can’t explain it. I think about her still, every day I think about her. She has touched my life and she has shown me the frailty of humanity. I watch people destroy who they are; they desire alcohol and drugs to fill this internal void. And I see her face and I can’t, for her sake, I can’t do that. I can’t allow myself to get lost amongst all of that death; the death people wish for. I heard today a statement that “we have lost our divine center” and I believe that’s true. Emptiness, worthlessness, and nothingness become so consuming when we do not indulge and seek a way to fulfill our spirituality. We forget that humanity is broken and the only thing that will fix us is the belief in a God who is so majestic and so much bigger than the one religion and self-righteous fools try to place inside of their boxes; inside of boundaries and rules and regulations. God is the creator of the UNIVERSE. God does not seek to destroy that which God created, but to save it. We have destroyed ourselves. We are not pawns in a game, we have free will and we are the ones who decide what we choose to live for; whether it’s everlasting life or everlasting death.
It’s hard to watch him, because in his eyes I see the flash of her death in front of me and I want to tether him to me. I want to tie him to my waist and to save him from this life he is living. But I know that I cannot save him; I cannot give him salvation. I fear that the people I love will become her. That they will cross in hopes of death. That they will drive off the cliff. That, as they stand on this ravaged cliff, observing this darkened ravine that they perceive as life, they will all die a tragic and painful death. I have learned to love her. I love her for her pain and her hurt. I love her beyond any understanding. I could hate her; I could despise her for doing this. But I don’t. I don’t because she was someone who needed love and compassion to draw her from her hurt. I wonder, if I had seen her begging on the sidewalk, would I have even acknowledged her? Would I have looked down my nose at her? Or would I have reached out and been the one to show her Love? I don’t know; it wasn’t until her death that I was completely broken. I was so, so, so broken. She was broken, she was hurting, and she was high beyond comprehension. I heard that “it is through death and destruction that God breaks through and makes life grow.” Through this beautiful brokenness, I am blessed beyond comprehension. I am hurting for him. I want him to feel this Love. God is Love and Love is God.
Freud theorized that nothing happens by mistake and that in everything we might find reason and understanding.
