The deadness on my inside hasn’t left.

 

I’m terrified, to be honest.

 

But the terror is muted over, like a gray, melting demon has not allowed me to even feel the fear.

 

Last night, I committed a grave sin. I can’t detail and confess the sin online, only that I committed it. I heard Our Lady’s voice tell me at the very moment after the sin was committed: “You have a committed a grave sin.”

 

Perhaps this wasn’t the actual voice of Our Lady; most likely, my own conscience was dictating this to me.

 

Yet the sin was committed and cannot be undone.

 

Sin is about life. Sin committed by myself, the people who would be counted among God’s number, is not about trying to hurt God; it’s about trying to feel alive. So much sin involves our emotional faculties, so much sin involves our feeling alive and our need to feel alive; even something simple like stealing something gives an adrenaline rush because one is “breaking a rule.”

 

So we sin, and we sin all for the sake of seeking to be alive.

 

A Red State Mystic wrote recently about wanting Reality over reality, and I want the same. Mystics throughout the ages have suggested that this life is like a dream, and that we must wake up.

 

Only I would say that this life is like a nightmare, and I know I’m asleep, and I still can’t seem to wake up; I’m screaming, I’m screaming so loudly, and I can’t find my way out.

 

I have those rare few moments where I do make it out, where I wake up, and I think, “Oh…!”

 

But those moments, those awe-inspiring moments of feeling alive, are becoming foggier and foggier. My mind feels as though it’s perpetually asleep, as though there’s always a wall between me and the world around me, and now, all I want to do is cry about it, because I don’t know what to do, I can’t imagine what to do, I can’t figure out how to change things.

 

I cry out to God, and God turns a deaf ear to me. It doesn’t matter that I witness to Him when I can: “Yes, I hear You! I hear You in the flow of the song, in the blow of the wind; I see you in the symbols of my dreams, I see you in the smile of children. Yes, I feel you when the covers are snug around me in my bed, when I walk into the morning warmth before going to Mass.” No, I am despised none the less!

 

I sound like the biggest pseudo-psalmist emo-boy that ever existed.

 

So, in summary: I am separated both from life and Life. I am caught in the in-between, in a world that’s awful and won’t give me the pleasures of the world and won’t give me the pleasures of God. It’s like being dead. Or Dead. This must be what Hell is like.

 

Beaux

 

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