So I have a new journal and am writing again, or attempting to write I suppose.  It feels like a lifetime since I've written anything worth reading, anything artistic, or anything simply interesting.  I'm easing back into it.  I so long for my past ease of flowing words.  I just want to let them drain from my soul, but they refuse.  They are stuck inside, and the pressure is building.  I am beginning to see slightly clearer again.  Clearer isn't always better artistically however. 

Imagine if lilypads were stronger than they are.  Suppose they reached the water's surface and stiffened so that I may walk and possibly even skip across the pond on their solid leaves.  But suppose the water then lowered or rose; the pads would no longer be in their proper place.  To be where they are supposed to be requires their flexibility.  I long for more flexibility...

Currently Reading Not Even a Hint: Guarding Your Heart Against Lust By Joshua Harris see related

I have so much I need to say.
Not surprisingly, I can't say any of it,
and my heart is suffocating.

I feel so strongly in so many directions.

I suppose I should thank you. 
I finally know what not to do. 
I'm finally losing all that weight. 
I'm finally desparate for God's love. 

I wish I had the courage to actually tell you things.
I wish you didn't brush me off.
You have a lot of nerve to brush me off, you know?
You have a whole lot of nerve to make me feel guilty.

"I don't know why" is not good enough!  You can't take that from me and then tell me you don't know why you did so so callously.  Yet, you did.

You said I could talk to you, yet when I do, you make me feel like I'm bothering you.  Is it because I make you face it?  Is it because you used me so thoroughly that now you want nothing more to do with me?

I really would never have expected this from you.  Maybe that was a problem.

I've kept it a secret...mostly.  I had to tell someone.  I couldn't live with the pain alone.  I couldn't live with the devastation in isolation.  And I knew you weren't there.   

I know I am horrible.  I know that.  I've always known that.  But I said no.  Why didn't I say no the 3rd time?  I don't know.  I suppose I was nervous.  I didn't want to hurt you.  HA!  What a joke.  I wanted you to be happy.  That makes me laugh so hard, I'm crying.  I can't believe I put you before myself, when the whole time, it was nothing to you.

I still need something from you.  I wasn't sure what exactly, but I know now.  I need an apology TO me.  I don't need a general apologetic "it was a mistake."  I need: "I'm sorry for what I've done to you."  But I know you'll never give that to me honestly.  That fact drains my heart and soul.  It leaves me hollow and pale.

You probably still think I'm overreacting.  You still probably think I'm just trying to blame you.  You still probably think I'm in denial of my own faults.  You still probably look down on me.  You still probably think I'm ugly.  You still probably think I'm worthless.  You still probably don't care.

You will never know any of what I need to tell you, yet I still somehow hope this gets to you.  I also fearfully hope it doesn't.
I know I can't directly place this in your path.  I know what you'll think of me.  I know how you do think of me. 
Maybe I don't know?
How am I supposed to know?!  I was dropped.  But I was never truely held I suppose, was I?
I was merely an object.  During those moments, I was never the heart and soul you knew and know I was and am.  Yet, it happened.
And here I am.  And it's all my fault.