Even as I found the clip and watched it, I couldn't sit well. I kept advancing it.


"I really don't think this is one of those wounds that heals over time."

She didn't agree. Ever the optimistic trooper.
At least she fights for something. Compared to what I've been doing.
Running "faster than truth and life itself". Running away.

...But not anymore.

It wasn't as bad as I feared, you know.
I figured people would say or think, "He just couldn't cut it. It was too difficult for him." Instead I heard, "I thought you dropped the class because it was far too simple for you." I laughed and said I wasn't like that and that I'd never think like that.

I'm fighting again. Slowly. Very slowly. I'm scared, though, still.
I'm scared about everything.

And I'm trying to fix things. I'm being honest. I've started being open with those I've been close mouthed with. I've yet to speak to my racist brother. I know I won't be able to knock any sense to him, but I can at least let him know that the mere fact that he thinks like that causes me to detest the fact that I share anything with him, especially a mother who deserves better. But, I will. All in due time.


Things have been odd to say the least. The kids are still as bold as ever. Only they're starting to understand more of who I am and what I'm there for. It's a good thing. Sometimes shocking to those who thought I was there to be a friend, and same goes for those on the opposite side of the spectrum. But it's for their best in the end. And they know it...


So, I guess things are turning for the better. Mostly because I had enough and I'm starting to alter those things myself.


But, at the end of the day, ...that wound is still there.

Comment! (3) | Recommend!

"It's like you took a few steps up... and then this panther came out of NOWHERE and knocked you back down." - Helena


I found a path for a sec. It was a one way ticket to "THE HELL OUT OF HERE". I hear it's a nice place. Preferably on the other side of the world. Apart from my strong desire that I've always had to go to Australia and other parts of the world, I also want to leave all of this behind.
"It's like I'm stuck," I told my mom.She didn't understand.
"Stuck HOW?" she asked me.
"It's as if I'm forced to do these things, be this person, follow this road that isn't me anymore, that I don't want to follow anymore."
Of course she was pretty upset.
I've been thinking about going back to UNT and making the best grades ever and then transfering... well,... AWAY. ANYWHERE.
I can't take things here anymore.
I hate the bipolar weather. I hate how nothing is pedestrian friendly here. I hate how everywhere I go I bump into someone I know/knew. I hate how I'm stuck in this horrible social web. I hate so many things.
I'm just not happy here.
And if people think I'm being rude for leaving my mom with cancer alone, all I have to ask is, Would it be better if I stuck around waiting JUST for her to pass away? Seems just as rude, doesn't it? And it's not fair to me. Or her.



I hadn't written in a long while. I haven't because I had. I wrote this LONG ASS entry that was deleted. I'm trying not to mention anything that I mentioned in that entry because it just seemed as if God doesn't want me to really share it. Don't know why. But that wasn't the first time I tried writting it out and sharing it. Each time it's gotten deleted, gone missing, or otherwise under strange circumstances. But, whatever. If it happens a few times then that means I really shouldn't do it.



But one thing I do just have to put down is this.
Last Sunday.
Well, I've started this thing, where if any of the youth want to share their testimonies (the story of their life and how God's played a part in it) they can.
One of my students approached me after two other youth had given their testimonies. And well, she's actually not a student. She's actually just a couple months younger. But she's been coming into the youth room instead of the service. I never knew why or asked why. But she asked me if she could share her testimony to me in private. I said sure. She warned me that it was really long and REALLY rough. I said sure.

I had no idea.

I ended up missing the english service completely. We had been driving around in my Jeep. She shared with me what she had shared with no one else. I was speechless. I couldn't believe she had just opened up that much to me. Why me? I couldn't give her any kind of response. It was crazy. Mostly because it wasn't over. Her old life is still trying to pull her back. But she knows she can't otherwise she will surely die. She knows it. I know it.
As I was sitting there trying to think of something to say, (all I managed to say was something about how no one should let fear paralyze them. How the devil enjoys throwing the mistakes you've done in your face and tells you how inadequate you are, how unworthy and stupid you are. How all of that was lies.) she told me something that threw me beyond off.
She looked at me in the eyes and said, "I knew I had to tell you this. I knew that speaking to a counselor again wouldn't help me any more than it has. And talking to the pastor won't help much either. I've already done that. This is why I come to the youth instead of the spanish service. I get more of it than I would if I was in the service." She gave me a hug.

Me?

Really?

What? How?





Then I helped out my racist pig of a bastard HALF brother this last thursday and friday. I would be fine helping him out and canceling youth stuff and all of that if he was a good guy. But the moment you go to the extreme of saying that 85% of all black people are horrible and have issues that are carried on in their genes because they were slaves... well... that just REALLY sets me off.
My dad later on told me that I needed to have patience. I asked him if he knew why I was upset. He said he didn't. I told him. He backed off.
Had my half brother not been related to my mother, I would have already punched him in the face. Nay. Taken a crowbar to his face. Repeatedly.
I don't excuse racism.
My mom kept telling me that I had to help him out because I was the only one who could/would help him. She said if I didn't, then she wouldn't know who I was. Not as a son, but as a christian.

I've been pissed since then.




Well, it's late.

Happy Easter.



...Forgiveness. Right? That's what it's about... *inhale*...*exhale*

Comment! (13) | Recommend!